And now?

She knew if she slipped her hand into Lucien Antonescu’s, she wouldn’t just be risking possible arrest by the New York City Police Department.

She’d be risking her heart.

Was she really going to do this?

But what other choice did she have? Was she just going to sit on the couch like Jon for the rest of her life, waiting for the perfect person, the perfect job, the perfect life to come along?

How did she know that perfect person wasn’t standing in front of her right now? How did anyone know?

Easy. They didn’t. They took a risk.

She slipped her fingers into his.

Maybe she couldn’t see into her own future.

But that didn’t mean she didn’t have one.

“All right,” she said with a smile. “Show me. Show me everything.”

Chapter Twenty-six

12:45 A.M. EST, Friday, April 16

910 Park Avenue

New York, New York

Alaric saw them come out of the building together-the tall, dark-haired man and the petite brunette with the short hair and the tightly cinched trench coat. She was walking a Pomeranian mix. The dog looked like it was foaming at the mouth in its desire to attack the dark-haired man…

…who looked exactly like the author photo of Lucien Antonescu that Martin had e-mailed him earlier.

Alaric dropped the Archie comic into his pocket and straightened. He wasn’t going to go for his scabbard. Not yet. He’d follow them and see where they went, if the guy tried anything.

Then when he did-and he would; Alaric knew he would, knew it as surely as he knew that his sword arm would never fail him-Alaric would slice off his head and have the pleasure of watching the prince of darkness finally turn to dust.

The only problem was, when Alaric took a single step toward the couple, a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder. Startled-it wasn’t often Alaric was taken by surprise-he spun around, his sword half out of its sheath…

Only to come face-to-face with his boss.

“Goddamnit, Holtzman,” Alaric said, lowering his blade. “What are you trying to do, get yourself filleted?”

“You’re in violation of orders, Wulf.” Abraham Holtzman was a balding man who’d dressed for the assignment of shadowing the ruler of all that was unholy in jeans and sandals. With socks. At least he had the sense to wear a Star of David at his neck. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Nice socks,” Alaric said. “Very unobtrusive. No one in Manhattan will notice you or think you’re from out of town. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go kill the prince of darkness before he gets away.”

“Stop!” Holtzman threw out a hand to halt Alaric just as Lucien Antonescu put out his own hand and, his gaze falling on Alaric and Holtzman, steered the dark-haired young woman in the opposite direction, away from them.

Had the prince seen the two of them? Alaric didn’t know.

But he had felt a sort of chill just as that dark-eyed gaze had rested, however briefly, on him.

Had the prince known who, or what, he and Holtzman represented? Did he know that the Palatine Guard was watching him?

Alaric would never know. Because Holtzman was reaching into his suit coat and pulling out the only thing in the universe Alaric dreaded more than a pack of vampires whipped into a frenzy by the smell of fresh human blood.

The Palatine Guard Human Resources Handbook.

“No,” Alaric said, a spurt of irritation coursing through him. “For God’s sake, Holtzman. We don’t have ti-”

“Look here, Wulf,” Holtzman was already saying. “It says right here on page fourteen of the handbook, ‘If an officer should witness his partner wounded in the line of duty, he will be required to take a minimum of no less than two weeks’ leave for psychological R and R as well as undergo mandatory counseling,’ which we both know you’ve dodged, as usual. And it says that he will not be allowed back on duty until he’s completed both of these. Now, we all know what a workaholic you are. You haven’t had a vacation in years. And God knows what Martin went through in Berlin was horrific. You stalked that entire nest by yourself afterward…don’t deny it, I saw the report. It’s not your fault they went underground and were never found…undoubtedly because they didn’t relish the idea of being stalked by you. So we’ve been willing to turn a blind eye to your refusal to follow the rules. But when it comes to the prince of darkness, you’re going to have to stand back and let us-Alaric! I say, Alaric!”

But Alaric had already heard more than he could stand and had sprinted off after the couple who had just disappeared around the corner.

Except of course by that time he’d lost them.

Which shouldn’t even have been possible. The man was over six feet tall and the woman a diminutive five-four in heels, at the most. They made a striking couple and certainly stood out in a crowd. She’d been toting along a golden-brown walking fuzzball of a dog.

How could they just have vanished? “They’re gone,” Alaric cried when Holtzman came rushing up beside him. “They’re gone. And it’s your fault, you bureaucratic buffoon. If you hadn’t stood there quoting the HR handbook at me-”

“They aren’t gone.” Holtzman scanned the street. “He’s playing with us.”

“What?” Alaric shook his head. He’d always have some respect for the training his boss had given him during his early days as a vampire hunter. But the man’s refusal to do things any way but by the book had always made Alaric’s blood boil.

“He saw us,” Holtzman said. “And he’s thrown up a glamour to protect himself.”

Alaric was taken aback. “Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”

Holtzman shook his head sadly. “Because you’re too personally involved in this, Alaric. Why do you think I asked you to concentrate on the case to which you’ve been assigned-finding the killer of the dead girls-and not the prince? Your desire to wipe out the entire vampire race for what they did to your partner…it’s made you ineffective at your work. Now go back to your hotel. Which, I’ve heard, is the most expensive one in the city…as usual. I hope you don’t think Accounts Payable will accept receipts from a place like that. There’s no earthly reason why you couldn’t have stayed downtown at the rectory at St. Clare’s, like me.”

Alaric set his jaw. He didn’t like being told what to do, not even by his oldest mentor.

Or that he ought to stay in a barren church rectory on his employer’s dime instead of the luxurious hotel he was paying for himself.

Nor did he like being told that his personal feelings were making him ineffective at his job…even if there was a slight possibility that it was true.

But most especially, he didn’t like the fact that he’d encountered a vamp with the kind of casual power Lucien Antonescu seemed to possess. The ability simply to turn invisible on a less-than-crowded sidewalk? And to make the woman he was with-and her dog-invisible too?

Alaric had battled some pretty powerful vampires in the past-the South American ones, he remembered, had always been particularly awe-inspiring-but none with those kinds of abilities.

“We don’t even know if he’ll come back,” Holtzman complained irritably, staring off toward Fifth Avenue. “He’s seen us now. He’ll know we know about the Antonescus. We’ve lost him.”

Holtzman didn’t come out and add, And it’s your fault, Wulf. But Alaric could tell he was thinking it.

“We’ve still got them,” Alaric said. “Mary Lou and Emil Antonescu. We can use them to find him.”

“They’ll never talk.” Holtzman sounded sorrowful. “Especially not if I leave you in charge. You’ll whack off their heads before I even get a chance to ask them anything. I know you.”

Alaric shook his head. He squared his shoulders and turned around to head back to 910 Park Avenue.