Sylene hurried to follow, but as he stepped down from the automobile, Melchior suddenly moved back toward him. Before Sylene could react, a white cape—thick, warm, heavy—was draped over his torn, filthy clothes. Melchior fastened it smoothly, as if it were nothing.
"Go with that blondie and Regulus," the vampire said quietly. "He'll fix your wounds and get you settled. I have things to handle."
Sylene blinked at him, startled. The cape was pristine white, beautifully made—far too fine for someone as dirty and bloodstained as him. Yet Melchior didn't even glance at the mess it would become. He didn't care.
Regulus nudged him just then—head butting Sylene's waist, urging him forward. The lion pressed again, firmer this time, huffing impatiently as Sylene stumbled into a quicker pace.
Sir Melchior was already gone, swallowed by the other vampires and the castle entrance, his silhouette busy and purposeful.
Sylene clutched the white cape a little tighter.
He shouldn't disturb him.
