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seat one of the chairs across from him. “Come in, my son. I’ve been awaiting your arrival.” The older man remained stoic, his expression utterly blank. “Please, sit down.” Andreas hesitated before plopping down in a chair. He felt sweat pool at the base of his neck.
    Damn if his father didn’t make him nervous as all hell.
    “Father, I realize you must be upset about the attempted breakin to your office.” Andreas scrubbed a hand over his face as he tried to explain. “I assure you that Natasha and her team are doing everything possible to ensure Miravale stays as safe as Fort Knox.”
    “As she should, my son. But I have not called you here to discuss our home security. We have another, more pressing matter to deal with.” His father’s vacant stare made Andreas all the more uncomfortable.

    “What is it, Father?” Andreas squirmed nervously, tempted to jump out of his seat and shake the information out of the older man.
    Aristotle Kristopolous was one of the oldest living pure bloods. Unlike so many of the vampires roaming the streets of New York City, and thousands of cities like it around the world, his father was born, not made. At one time, Aristotle had been the strongest, most powerful creature alive. He built this city from the ground up using his own blood, sweat, and tears. But after he’d lived through centuries of bloodshed and war, life began to take its toll on him.
    Looking at Aristotle now, he seemed old and frail. It wasn’t until after the death of Andreas’s mother, Christine, some fifteen years earlier, that his physical appearance started to change. His father lost his will to rule, and the baton had been inevitably passed down to Andreas, his sole heir.
    On the outside, his father’s body projected a frail, lifeless facade. But his mind remained keen enough to second guess every decision his son made. It was a bone of contention between the two men and the reason why their meeting had Andreas on edge.
    “Let’s talk about Natasha for a moment. Do you trust her implicitly?” Aristotle’s subtle question undermined his confidence in their head of security and put Andreas on the defensive.
    Andreas expected the patriarch to berate him. But he hadn’t anticipated the attack on Natasha. “Father, Natasha has worked for our organization for over a hundred years. First, as the personal guard to a member of the coven’s board of trustees and for the last twenty five years, as our family’s head of security. “I would put my life in her hands.” Andreas inched closer to Aristotle, careful to balance respect for his father with the understated challenge fighting toward the surface. “What makes you question her loyalty, after all this time?”
    “Yes, son. You are right. Natasha is a valuable asset.” The older man raised his hands in defeat and conceded the point to his son. “But lately, I am hearing rumblings about the Russians. Reports of security officers getting a bit rough with patrons at your night club, particularly those that are human. Last week, another employee of Russian descent, beat up his girlfriend and nearly bled her to death after a lover’s quarrel. She, too, was human.” Andreas gaped, his mouth hung wide-open. He couldn’t believe one of his own would put his hand on a female. Unspeakable.
    After a stunned moment, he shook off his surprise.
    “I will agree that we have had a few complaints about the security staff at The Crypt . All were newly turned of Russian descent.
    Unfortunately, I have not heard about the domestic dispute you speak of. But what does all of this have to do with Natasha?” Aristotle peered down at his offspring, disappointed in his inability to connect the dots. “Andreas, as you know, Natasha is well-connected in the Russian community in Brighton Beach and the area surrounding Coney Island. Not only is she a role model for young vampires, but she is also known for helping recent immigrants get accustomed to life here in New