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knowing someone close by was a traitor who had aligned him- or herself with rebels, when the precise knowledge of their identity eluded him?
    It was the sensation of battle, of coming turmoil, that most disturbed him. The last thousand years had been relatively peaceful, and his six hundred years on the Council had been productive ones. Order was required for the continued existence of his kind. He had done his part to keep the peace, and everything within him told him that the peace would soon come to an end.
    Hector had no great love for humans; he barely remembered being one himself. But humans were necessary for the existence of his kind, and as long as vampires were thought to be nothing more than myth or fantastical beings from horror tales, their survival was ensured. There were always a handful of vampires who thought differently, who wanted to openly take their place at the top of the food chain, but they had never had the strength of numbers and were easily taken care of.
    Until now.
    There was a knock on his door, and with that knock an increased sensation of the end. He didn’t answer, but he knew the locked door offered only a brief delay of theinevitable. He wasn’t a warrior, had never been a warrior. If Luca were here … but he wasn’t, and wouldn’t be for a few more hours.
    All he could do now was use his ability, and Luca’s, to pass on what he could. Concentrating, Hector did his best to fill the air with his thoughts, his energy, and his knowledge. He was looking at the door when it flew open, and in truth was not surprised to see who was on the other side.
    He thought the name, whispered it, imprinted the face in his mind, and set it loose.
    He fought, of course he did, but he’d been old before he was turned and his physical strength had never been great. The outcome was a foregone conclusion, one he had sensed approaching. And he was aware, at the very end, that there was another traitor in the hallway, listening, waiting, hiding from the power she knew he possessed.
    She
.
    Out of respect, the attacker didn’t drink Hector’s blood before he drove a long-bladed knife into his heart. Three times, it took, before the heart was so damaged that Hector’s long life ended in a burst of bitter, gray dust.

CHAPTER
TWO
    It was late morning when Luca arrived in D.C. The sun was shining brightly as he stepped out of the terminal building at Reagan International Airport, and he pulled on a baseball cap before sliding dark sunglasses into place to protect his pale gray eyes as he crossed to Parking Garage A to pick up his rental.
    Unlike vampires who were either younger or weaker—the two weren’t always synonymous—he could tolerate sunshine, but he didn’t like it. He protected himself with the cap and sunglasses, as well as long sleeves, but sunlight was still an irritant, making his skin feel as if he was being scrubbed with a stiff-bristled brush. His eyes were the most sensitive; when he’d been a fledgling, all of his senses had been so acutely sensitive that he hadn’t been able to tolerate anything other than complete darkness, and as he’d grown older he’d pushed his limits too far a couple of times and temporarily lost his sight. He didn’t want to repeat that mistake. As far as he was concerned, sunglasses were one of the humans’ best inventions, and it pissed him off that a vampire hadn’t thought of dark lenses centuries ago. Hell, why hadn’t
he
thought of it, instead of just enduring and waiting?
    That was one of the weaknesses of being a vampire:generally, his kind lived so long and were vulnerable to so little, that there was no need for them to be inventive. Humans, on the other hand, were vulnerable to almost everything and lived very short lives, so they didn’t have the luxury of waiting. They were like bees in a hive, constantly working and adjusting and coming up with a million little ways to make the hive more comfortable. Vampires certainly enjoyed those creature