Orson Starr readjusted his tie for the seventh time and cleared his throat nervously.
He had only met the Elites on one prior occasion.
With little explanation, he had been called to their residence and appointed as the representative between the vampires and the human government.
During that visit, the female, a petite woman with flowing mahogany hair and closed eyes, had smiled softly at him before he left.
Leaning towards his ear, she whispered in a quiet, breathy voice:
'Your memories are as lovely as your father's were.'
When she had taken his hand, he had shuddered at the temperature of her skin, even colder than his own and departed hastily, thankful that their correspondence had been written ever since.
And yet, that evening he had received an alert for an urgent, in-person meeting, the suddenness of which caused his stomach to twist uncomfortably as he sat inside of a large hall.
