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vamp was stupid enough actually to be murdering his victims, that could only mean one thing:
    The prince would be crawling out of whatever hole he’d been hiding in for the past century.
    He’d have to. He’d never allow something like this to jeopardize the safety of his minions.
    Alaric grinned. His week was looking a whole lot brighter.
    Suddenly, through the crowds, Alaric saw a uniformed Walmart employee coming his way, toward the car the girl’s parents had described as hers and that Alaric had carefully parked alongside.
    Sarah didn’t resemble the photo her parents had provided…at least, not anymore. Being a vamp’s personal blood donor could do that to a woman. Her formerly round cheeks were thin, and her uniform was hanging on her wasted frame. Her curly red hair had lost its bounce, and she was wearing a kerchief of some kind around her neck to hide the “love bite” her new friend had left behind during his last visit.
    She was so anemic, she didn’t even notice when Alaric got out of his car and stood there in front of her, a massive figure in the noonday sun,Señor Sticky carefully hidden—for now—in the folds of his trench coat. She just kept slurping on the large cup of soda she was holding.
    She needed all that soda, he supposed. She had to keep building up new plasma if she was going to be someone’s dinner tonight.
    “Sarah,” Alaric said quietly.
    She stopped short and finally looked up at him, her blue-eyed gaze listless.
    Now was the time to show her the sword. Sometimes it was the only thing that got through to them in their ardor-induced stupors.
    Alaric pushed back the folds of his coat.
    “Just tell me where he is, Sarah,” he said gently. “And I’ll let you live.”

Chapter Eight
    2:00 P.M . EST, Tuesday, April 13
ABN Building
520 Madison Avenue
New York, New York
    Y OU ARE CORDIALLY INVITED ….
    W HAT : A fancy dinner at our place, 910 Park Avenue, Apt. 11A
    W HEN : Thursday, April 15, at 7:30 P.M .
    W HY : Emil’s cousin, the prince, is in town!
    D RESS : Fancy! DRESS UP! This is your chance to meet real, old-fashioned royalty! Dig out your fanciest, sexiest, most expensive shoes and dresses and have fun! No need to feel down just because your husband won’t let you take the platinum card out for a spin! Shop your closet and we’ll see you on Thursday!
    xoxo Mary Lou
    Meena stared at her computer monitor.
    She was supposed to be working on the dialogue for next week’s explosive scene in which Tabby confronted her mother for sleeping with her riding instructor, Romero, on whom Tabby herself had a crush.
    But all she could think about was Shoshona’s promotion and her horrible vampire story line, which Fran and Stan had, of course, approved, agreeing with the network (who agreed with CDI) that it was going to make Insatiable more appealing to the all-important eighteen-to-forty-nine female demographic…which would in turn bring in more advertising money. Which would in turn get them all raises (the Insatiable writing staff had been under a pay freeze for more than a year).
    Then Mary Lou’s e-mail had popped into her in-box.
    And Meena lost all ability whatsoever to concentrate on anything else.
    Appalled, Meena forwarded the e-mail to her best friend, Leisha.
    “Who is this person?” Leisha called a few minutes later to ask.
    “My next-door neighbor Mary Lou,” Meena said, astonished that Leisha wouldn’t remember. She only complained about something Mary Lou had said or done every other day.
    “Oh, that’s right,” Leisha said. “The one you used to like until she started stalking you on the elevator every day—”
    “—trying to fix me up with every single guy she knows,” Meena finished for her, “after David and I broke up. Right. Plus, she keeps going on about how she traced her husband Emil’s ancestry back to Romanian royalty. She figured out he’s a count, which makes her a—”
    “Countess,” Leisha said. Meena could hear hair dryers