“Wait until you see the inside.” Brandon parked and came around to open her door, offering his hand to help her out.
The contact sent a familiar spark through their bond—one that made his jaw tighten before he released her.
Always pulling away.
They climbed the wide stone steps to doors that were easily twice her height, carved with intricate patterns that seemed ancient and holy. Before Brandon could knock, the doors swung open to reveal Jason.
“Brandon,” he said warmly. “Muriel. Welcome.”
“Thank you for arranging this,” Brandon said.
“My pleasure. Armand is quite excited. It's been a long time since he's had a proper research project.” Jason's eyes twinkled. “He's in the library. This way.”
Jason led them inside, and Muriel forgot to benervous. The foyer alone was breathtaking with its white marble floors, soaring ceilings with paintings that would put museums to shame, and a crystal chandelier that had to be at least twelve feet across.
“This is incredible,” she whispered.
“Vlane has good taste.” Jason led them down a corridor lined with artwork and carved woodwork. “Armand's library is his sanctuary. Consider it an honor that he's invited you in.”
He stopped at a set of double doors, knocked once, and opened them. “Armand, your guests have arrived.”
The library beyond stole what little breath Muriel had left.
Two stories of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, with a cantilevered walkway providing access to the upper level. The scent of leather and old paper and cedar filled the air—rich and intoxicating. Comfortable reading chairs were scattered throughout, and warm light spilled from antique lamps.
It was, quite possibly, the most beautiful room she'd ever seen.
“Miss Brennan.” A man rose from one of the chairs near the fireplace. “Welcome. I am Armand Castellano.”
Muriel forgot how to breathe.
The man lookedthirty. Thirty-five at most. Dark hair pulled back with a leather tie, classical Roman features, dressed simply in dark slacks and an immaculate white shirt. She'd been expecting... what? Grayhair? Weathered features? Some sign of his thousand-plus years?
“I—” She caught herself. “I'm sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. I was expecting someone... older.”
His lips curved in an amused smile and bowed slightly. “You flatter me. I was thirty-two when I was turned.”
“A thousand years ago,” she murmured.
“Give or take a few decades.” He gestured to the chairs. “Please, sit. Would you like some refreshments?”
She was far too nervous for that. “No, but thank you.”
Muriel settled into one of the chairs, the satchel in her lap. Her fingers tightened protectively on the strap.
Armand took the chair adjacent, sitting with a grace she could never hope to achieve. “Brandon says you have something you'd like me to examine?”
“Yes. A book. A grimoire, I think. I’m not exactly sure what it is, but it is imbued with powerful magic. My mother left it to me when she died. I can open it, but I can't read it.”
“May I see it?”
She hesitated, second-guessing her decision, then decided she really didn’t have a choice if she wanted answers. She carefully extracted the book from her satchel and set it gently on her lap.
The moment it was free, the air in the library changed. The book hummed with power, responding tothe ancient magic that saturated this place. Armand's eyes widened fractionally.
“Extraordinary,” he murmured, leaning forward. “May I hold it?”
Muriel started to hand it over, but the book grew hot in her hands. Not burning, but warm enough to make her pause. “I... I don't think it wants me to let go of it yet.”