The Malcontents were the most dangerous group of vampires in existence. The secret society called themselves the True Ones and spurned the more evolved sensibilities of the modern-day Vamp. The Malcontents could afford to buy the richest blood manufactured by Romatech Industries. They could afford the most exotic, gourmet blood from Roman's popular line of Vampire Fusion Cuisine. They could even afford to drink from the finest crystal. They just didn't want to.

For them, the thrill of drinking blood was not the blood itself. These creatures lived for the bite.

They believed nothing could replace the intense pleasure of sinking one's fangs into the warm, pliant skin of a mortal's neck.

In the past year, communication between the Malcontents and modern Vamps had degenerated until an undeclared state of war hovered over them. A war that could result in many deaths—both mortal and vampire.

"Have Laszlo come in."

Gregori zoomed to the door and opened it. "We're ready."

"About time." Laszlo sounded upset. "The guard out here was about to perform a cavity search on our guest of honor."

"Och, ye have a bonnie lass there," the guard murmured in his Scots accent.

"Leave her alone!" Laszlo marched into Roman's office with a female clutched in his arms as if the two of them were doing the tango. Not only was the female taller than the short vampire chemist, she was noticeably naked.

Roman jumped to his feet. "You brought a mortal here?" A naked mortal?

"Relax, Roman, she's not real." Gregori leaned toward Laszlo. "The boss is a little nervous about mortal females."

"I am not nervous, Gregori. Every nerve ending in me died over five hundred years ago." Roman could see only the back of the false female, but her long blond hair and rounded derriere certainly looked real.

Laszlo set the female in a wingback chair. Her legs stuck out straight, so he leaned over to bend them. With each adjustment, her knees made a small pop.