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.
As though he can hear my thoughts, Lucian turns slightly, his hand brushing the small of my back in a gesture that is somehow both possessive and reassuring.
Then he speaks to the driver, and his voice is low and lethal.
“You will take careful care of them,” he says. “You will bring them to the orchard and vineyard, and then return them safely to me.”
The driver nods.
“Yes, my Lord,” he says.
Lucian steps closer, his eyes narrowing.
“This is your Queen and her friend—you must guard them with your life. If anything happens to either of them, your head is on the chopping block.”
The driver nods again, his eyes serious.
“Yes, my Lord. I understand.”
