Menessos had transferred his headquarters to Cleveland! Heldridge had barely gotten away from him, barely established himself as a legitimate vampire lord, and his night-father had followed him to measure his every move.

He thinks he’s found his Lustrata. His witch queen. If I can’t have autonomy in my own haven, then he can’t have her. If I can’t part them, once I tell the Excelsior what I know . . . VEIN will.

Heldridge wiped his mouth on his coat sleeve, immediately realizing the mistake. The scent of blood would linger. He shuffled his small packets of home earth from his coat to his pants pockets, then traded overcoats with the unwitting donor. This new coat reeked of cheap cologne, but that would be a benefit. Snatching the man’s fedora as well, he fled.

He flipped the collar up and lowered the hat brim so it mostly hid his flaxen hair. Hopefully, this was enough to conceal his distinctive features; Heldridge could have modeled for comic book artists. His chiseled jawline and broad-shouldered body had brought him much admiration.

Tonight, however, being easily recognized was a problem.

On K Street he strode directly toward the massive building where VEIN was housed.

With an easy gait he passed the building, examining the security. Two vampire sentries stood under the awning on either side of the revolving door, chatting. Though they scented him, it was a superficial effort. They detected the terrible cologne and dismissed him as a mortal.

Behind them the lobby inside was empty except for the receptionist at the desk. Relying on cameras, they kept the real security forces out of sight. This maintained a nonaggressive appearance in the nation’s capital—where lawmakers would be more than pleased to have an excuse to deem VEIN a threat.

Heldridge snapped his fingers and turned as if he’d forgotten something, then hurried back the way he had come. At the last second, he rushed toward the revolving door with inhuman speed.