Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
As we descend, Hanna leans in close to me and whispers,
“This whole place is amazing. I swear to God, if I wake up and this turns out to be some kind of fever dream, I’m going to be so mad.”
I snort under my breath.
“If this is a fever dream, my brain has an extremely specific aesthetic. Besides, I think I would have woken up by now.”
The elevator opens into the grand entryway, where black marble columns rise up like tree trunks in a haunted forest. The front doors stand ahead of us, tall enough to swallow a person whole. When Lucian motions, the two guards push them open and outside air rushes in—cool and crisp with a faint scent of damp earth and fallen leaves.
It smells like Autumn. I know, because I haven’t always lived in Florida, where we don’t get Autumn. We get “still summer,” and then “slightly less summer,” and then “Christmas decorations in eighty degrees.” Which sucks—I hate a hot Christmas.
But I remember the scent of Fall from my childhood, when I lived with my parents in Virginia. I remember the faint scent of burning leaves and the crisp feeling in the air and that’s what it feels like now.
Also, the reddish-gold sunlight makes everything look like an eternal October afternoon. There’s the faintest chill in the air, but it’s refreshing—not too cold. And the sunshine is bright, but not blinding. The light has a soft, coppery quality I love—so different from the relentless, muggy sunshine of Florida.
I look back at the building towering behind us. The Crimson Spires don’t look quite as foreboding in daylight.
Not that I’d ever say they look friendly—let’s not get crazy—but the red-gold sunlight takes some of the edge off the jagged black towers and wicked ironwork. It makes the stone glow faintly, like the whole place is lit from within by old embers. The stained-glass windows aren’t just dark, glaring eyes anymore—they catch the light and throw ruby and garnet reflections across the front steps like scattered jewels.
It’s almost…pretty.
Which is honestly unsettling in its own way.
A clop-clop-clop sound makes me turn my head and my eyes go wide. Because standing in the long-curved driveway before the Crimson Spires is an actual horse-drawn carriage.
Not a car…not a sleek vampire limo.
A carriage.
Like Hanna and I are about to go on a proper Victorian drive in the country.
“Oh my God,” Hanna whispers. “Is that real?”
“It’s real,” I say. “And it looks really authentic.”
“Look at those horses!” Hanna murmurs. “I wish I could take a picture—Sophia would love them!”
Sophia is our vet-tech friend from Book Club and I have to agree—she’d go crazy for the two enormous black horses harnessed to the carriage. Their bodies are glossy like polished obsidian and their muscles ripple under their coats when they shift. Their manes are thick and wild, braided in places with crimson ribbons that flutter faintly in the breeze.
But it’s their eyes that make my stomach dip—they’re red. Not cartoon red or Halloween decoration red. They’re red like burning coals.
One of them snorts, a deep, smoky sound, and stamps a gigantic hoof against the stone. The metal fittings on its harness clink softly—silver, engraved with swirling symbols I don’t recognize. The air around the horses feels…different. Charged—like standing too close to a storm.
Okay, these are definitely not normal horses, I think.
But there’s more to see. The carriage itself is spectacular.
It’s made of dark wood so polished it reflects the red sunlight. Silver filigree curls along the edges in ornate patterns—vines and thorns and roses—like someone took an antique fairytale carriage and decided it needed to be sexier. The wheels are huge—lacquered black with silver spokes—and there are little ruby lanterns at the corners, unlit but gleaming.
The door is already open, and inside I glimpse deep crimson velvet seats and plush cushions that look like they could swallow you whole. The whole thing smells like cedar and leather and something faintly floral…like roses crushed between your fingertips.
The driver sits up front, straight-backed and silent.
He has long silver hair tied back neatly, and pointed ears that pierce through his hair like sharp little secrets. His face is pale and unreadable, almost too calm. Like nothing surprises him anymore.
He inclines his head at Lucian—just a brief, respectful nod—and then his gaze flicks to Hanna and me. The look he gives us isn’t hungry or leering—it’s more assessing. Like he’s already calculating how to keep us alive if we run into trouble—which I really hope we won’t.
But I don’t think Lucian would be sending me away on a trip if he thought there was any danger. Making extra sure we’re safe by hiring a driver who looks like he can fight is the careful kind of consideration I’m beginning to understand is part of my Vampire Don’s personality. He’s just extremely protective and possessive.