Page 25

“I don’t like to leave my car at the airport,” Cassian explains. “That’s my new driver, Fabian.”

“His name is Fabian?” I ask incredulously as the man opens an oversized black umbrella and heads our way.

Not to be rude, but he looks exactly like a Fabian should. In his late twenties, he’s tall, with gym-built muscles and a tan that proclaims he’s probably not a final-stage vampire. He wears his short hair in a style that makes me think of men’s hair product commercials, and he’s dressed like a male entertainer who’s posing as a chauffeur.

I’ll never be able to take this man seriously.

“Miss Edwards,” he says, extending the umbrella over my head like he plans to escort me to the car.

Cassian gives my shoulder a nudge and starts walking.

Oh, okay. I guess we’re doing this.

I offer Fabian a nervous smile and walk down the steps, shaded by the umbrella like I’m some kind of celebrity or member of a royal family.

When we reach the sleek, black car, Fabian opens my door. As I’m sliding onto the butter-soft tan leather, I notice a gun and several stakes under his jacket. The man is armed for battle.

But I’m too preoccupied with the car’s upholstery to worry about it. This is the kind of seat that makes you sigh—you can’t help it. Yousit, and yousighbecause your rump has never perched upon something so soft and cushy in your life.

“Thanks,” I say to Fabian, feeling awkward as heck.

His dark brown eyes meet mine. “Would you like me to fasten your seatbelt?”

“Nope,” I say immediately. “Totally got it. Been buckling myself in for a while now.”

Amusement twitches his lips, and he gives me a solemn nod before closing the door and rounding the front of the car.

“Okay, don’t take this wrong,” I quickly whisper to Cassian, “but what kind of establishment did you find this man in, and did they usually tip him in small bills?”

The vampire chuckles. “He’s one of Sophia’s half-made creations. He decided to work for me after Noah and I had a run-in with his…group.”

“Group?” I watch the man as he reaches his door. He must be a first or second-stage pre-vamp. “Did he sell insurance?”

“Something like that.” A smirk tips Cassian’s perfect lips as Fabian-the-ex-criminal takes his place in the driver’s seat. Once he’s settled, the prince tells him, “I’ve sent the address to your phone.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll get you there in no time.”

“Excellent.” Cassian then pushes a button, and a black privacy screen rolls up between us.

It’s just like in the movies—the political ones, with the super important people and the bad guys who want to kill them.

Here we go again.

“Are you hiring thugs now?” I demand quietly, not sure if the privacy divider is soundproof. “Why, exactly, is your driver so well armed?”

“No reason.”

Oh, there’s definitely a reason. We’ve never driven around with an armed driver before. But from the look on Cassian’s face, it’s obvious he isn’t going to tell me what it is.

“Sure.” I look around, not used to this kind of opulence. “What kind of car is this anyway?”

“It’s a Rolls-Royce.”

“That sounds fancy.”

Cassian smirks as he scrolls through his phone. “It is.”

“And the windows are super tinted.”