Melchior's gaze returned to the hybrid standing beside him.
He was close now.
Close enough to be watched. Close enough to be protected.
Safe.
It would take weeks—months—for rumors of a silver-haired hybrid to reach vampire territory. By then, he would be ready. Prepared. If that bastard ever decided to come and claim what he called his experiment, he would be waiting.
Melchior's lips curved faintly, but there was no warmth in it. Only cold certainty.
Rosencraft.
Just watch yourself.
---
The automobile waiting outside was spacious, its interior designed for long travel. Even so, it quickly filled as luggage was loaded in—rows of sealed travel pouches, crates, supplies. Not only Sylene's side, but Melchior's as well.
Sylene hugged his own small pouch tightly to his chest as the last of the bags were placed inside. It felt almost comical—how little he had compared to everything else.
The seats filled fast.
