The Raven (28 page)

She grabbed his wrist.

“Are you positive the illustrations you have are original?”

“Yes.” His eyebrows knitted together in irritation. “Forget about them. You’re the only work of art I’m interested in.”

He brought his lips to her throat.

Raven knew she was fighting a losing battle. His touch was light but sensuous, leaving a scorched trail across her skin.

No one had ever made her feel this way before. She felt as if he were drawing away her resolve, little by little, and soon there would be nothing left.

“You have to give them back.”

William lifted his head.

“Absolutely not.”

“You own a lot of beautiful things,” she said quietly. “Don’t you want to share them?”

“No. And I’d rather not discuss them, especially when I’m trying to seduce you.”

“Is that what’s happening?”

“This is the dance of love. Men and women have been doing it for centuries. What did you think was happening between us?”

“No one ever looked at me with . . . desire.” She fumbled her words, embarrassed.

“Because human beings are shallow, ignorant creatures.” He lifted his eyebrows, as if daring her to contradict him.

Her eyes dropped to her hands, which were gripping the quilt. “You don’t mean love, you mean sex.”

He frowned. “I am not capable of love, Cassita. No vampyre is.”

He lifted his hand and ran it through her hair.

“But I am capable of tenderness, I think, at least with you. Can’t that be enough?”

Raven fought the urge to wince.

Perhaps these had been the words William spoke centuries earlier to the woman who jumped from the bell tower. For her, it had not been enough.

Raven had always discounted love, thinking it wasn’t possible for her. She wondered bleakly if William was offering her the best she could do.

She moved toward the head of the bed, putting space between them.

“Let’s not talk about love, okay? It’s ridiculous to have that conversation when we barely know one another.”

William’s expression tightened, but he did not disagree.

“Would sex bond us?” she asked.

“Bond us?”

“You mentioned something once about vampyres bonding.”

He shook his head. “That bond is through the intake of blood.”

“Oh.”

“The sexual act unifies the two, unless the parties will that it doesn’t.”

“So is that what you’d do? You’d have sex with me, but will that it didn’t bring us closer together?”

“I never said that.” His eyes took on a strange light.

Raven didn’t want to consider what that meant.

“Getting back to the illustrations, since they’re original, why don’t you share them with the world? The way the Emersons did?”

William stood, placing his hands on his hips. “Don’t mention the name of those thieves. They stole from me and they’re going to pay for it.”

At that moment, Raven was almost grateful for William’s anger. It was a great deal easier for her to deal with than his hands on her body. But she found his response distressing.

“You’re talking about a man and his wife and child. You wouldn’t harm them, would you?”

His expression remained unchanged.

“The Emersons weren’t alive a hundred years ago,” she persisted. “They didn’t break into your house.”

“That is no excuse.”

“They’re a young family with a baby. I don’t know the professor, but I met his wife. She told me they’re going to adopt a child from the Franciscan orphanage.”

Something shifted in William’s eyes, but he didn’t speak.

“It’s true. They’re going to adopt a little girl who has special needs. I volunteer at that orphanage. I know Maria. No one wants her. If you kill the Emersons, that little girl will never have a family.”

William clenched his jaw.

“That is not my concern. I cannot tolerate thievery. If the others realize I let this go, it will weaken my authority.”

“Can’t you strengthen your authority in other ways? Find out who stole from you originally?”

“I have my suspicions.”

“Then leave the Emersons alone.”

“Never,” he said haughtily, moving toward her bedroom door.

“William,” she called. “I need to tell you something.”

“Proceed.” His tone was cold but his eyes radiated concern.

“I think it’s obvious I’m attracted to you. And I—” She struggled for the words. “I feel something for you.”

She held up her hand. “Not love. I’m not sure love is for me, anyway. But if you harm the Emersons, whatever is between us will end. I can’t condone punishing the innocent for someone else’s crime, especially a mother and child.”

“I’ve already decided not to harm the family,” William responded primly. “But Emerson received stolen property. That hardly makes him innocent.”

Raven’s eyebrows knitted together. “Do you think whoever sold him the illustrations revealed they’d been stolen? The Swiss family probably wasn’t even alive when they were taken from you.”

“I want justice.”

“In your justice, don’t forget mercy.”

William’s gaze moved inexplicably to the kitchen, then back to Raven.

He said nothing.

“If you’re intending to hurt Professor Emerson, take this back.” She picked up the gold bracelet from her nightstand and held it out to him. “I don’t want it.”

He scowled darkly. “It’s for your protection.”

“Which I no longer want.”

“You wanted it badly enough a few minutes ago.” William sounded bitter. “I see you return gifts from men with practiced ease.”

“Men don’t give me gifts.”

“I have no interest in taking my revenge against a mother and child.” His eyes sparked with anger. “My issue is with Emerson.”

“Don’t you understand, William?” Raven lowered her voice intentionally. “If you kill him, you destroy his family. I know what it’s like to grow up without a father. Things happened to us after he died, terrible things. Please don’t do that to Julia and Clare.”

William started. “You know their names?”

“I met them, yes. And I liked them. Julia is kind and gentle and Clare is a beautiful baby. Would you condemn that beauty to a lifetime of sadness?”

William regarded her, his expression blank.

He glanced at the gold bracelet, but didn’t take it.

His gray eyes moved to hers. “Good-bye, Jane. Be well.”

“Wait.” She struggled to her feet as he strode through the door.

Hurriedly, she grabbed her cane and made her way to the hall. “William, wait. I can’t walk that fast.”

By the time she reached the kitchen, he was gone. Mysteriously, the door was still locked from the inside.

Raven pulled out a kitchen chair and sat, on the verge of tears.

She hadn’t expected his visit that evening, or the way her heart leapt when she saw him. She hadn’t expected to feel so warm and desirable in his embrace, or to feel her spirits rise when he kissed her.

She hadn’t expected him to say good-bye.

She looked at the bracelet, still in her hand, and felt loss.

William wasn’t a friend and he wasn’t a lover. He was something else—something for which there was no name.

He’s Zephyr, hovering in the shadows. He took pity on Psyche and helped her and then he disappeared.

She felt unshed tears burn in her eyes.

You’re selfish
. Her conscience spoke.
You’re crying over someone who isn’t even a friend, while a whole family is at risk
.

Her conscience’s reminder was enough to stop the tears. The Emersons were in danger.

She doubted he’d go after them tonight, when there were hunters in his city. He had more pressing concerns.

You need to warn them.

But how? She knew there was no point in writing a letter to Julia, pointing out that she and her husband had angered the vampyre prince of Florence. They’d think she was mad and probably persuade Dottor Vitali to dismiss her from the gallery and have her put in the hospital.

She had to do something.

If she couldn’t warn the Emersons, her only alternative was to change William’s mind. Based on his parting words, she doubted she’d be successful.

She wouldn’t offer herself this time. She’d have to come up with some other way to persuade him.

Raven poured herself a large glass of wine and sipped it, trying to come up with a plan.

He wouldn’t come to her again. He was through with her.

She would have to go to him.

T
wo hours later, Ispettor Batelli stood on the other side of the piazza, watching the lights go out in Raven Wood’s apartment.

He was not alone in his observations. At a nearby café, a man sat and smoked, keeping careful eye on both the apartment and the inspector.

Unbeknownst to both of them, a vampyre stood on the roof above, noting with interest the comings and goings of the apartment building opposite.

When the lights in Raven’s apartment went out, the vampyre leapt across the rooftops in the direction of the Duomo, a group of hunters tracking him from the ground.

The vampyre saw movement below him and doubled back, moving in the opposite direction.

The hunters regrouped, some of them on motorcycles, speeding along behind him.

With one tremendous leap, the vampyre sprang into the air, his body hurtling over an alley toward the roof on the other side.

At that moment, a hunter who had been lying in wait aimed his crossbow toward the sky. When the vampyre came into view, the bow snapped and shot the arrow at its target.

There was the sound of something sharp piercing flesh and an agonized cry.

The vampyre was hit midair and fell like Icarus from the sky, crashing to the ground below.

Before he could rise, other hunters encircled him, quickly pouring a perimeter of salt around his body. Now he was trapped.

Black blood poured from the wound in his chest, the arrow piercing his heart. He lifted a hand to break the shaft, but one of the hunters threw holy water on him.

He screamed as the water ate into his flesh like acid.

Two hunters approached from behind, looping a closed garrote around his neck. They flipped a switch and stood back. A loud clicking sound echoed across the alley.

The vampyre lifted his hands to tear the metal cord from his neck, but it was too late. The garrote’s mechanism clicked and tightened until, with one terrible, grotesque sound, the vampyre’s head was severed from his body.

With lightning speed, the hunters moved the head some distance away, then set to work. In less than thirty minutes, the body was drained of blood and the corpse was left to decay.

A cursory observation of the vampyre’s body, along with a quick test of his blood, indicated that he was no youngling.

The hunters cheered.

With one last triumphant cry, they retrieved the head and left the scene, bolstered by their success and eager to fell their next target.

W
illiam was angry.

He left Raven’s apartment after she’d ended things and immediately flew to Teatro.

He’d had her in his arms. She’d thanked him for coming to her rescue, again. This time, he felt the beginning of trust in her embrace.

They’d even talked about sex. Her ardor fanned the flames of his hope, cautious as it was.

Now she was willing to throw everything away, and for what? For a proud, arrogant thief.

He conceded the need to spare the lives of Emerson’s wife and child. He’d already made that determination when he left their hotel room.

That was not enough for Raven. She wouldn’t be satisfied until she’d saved the world.

He leapt into the air, landing lightly on the roof of the building next to Teatro.

The surrounding rooftops were empty. Vampyres young and old were either in the club or pursuing pleasure elsewhere.

He was glad of it. How could he explain to his brethren that he needed to feed at Teatro when he had a perfectly good pet at home? A pet with long, silken hair and soft, fragrant skin that smelled of roses.

A pet who guarded her body as if it were clad in a chastity belt.

He growled, rubbing his face.

Raven was not a pet and he wasn’t angry simply because she’d tried to save Emerson. He was angry because she’d sent him away, as if their connection were tenuous and easily broken.

He’d allowed himself to hope, knowing that hope was vain. Just as quickly, his hope had been extinguished. And there would be no Raven to reignite it.

He leapt to the ground, standing in the alley outside Teatro’s side entrance.

A burly security guard moved menacingly in his direction but stopped when he scented the Prince. The guard bowed.

“May I be of service, my lord?”

“Not at this time.” William dismissed him.

A taxi drove up, stopping at the entrance to the alley.

As if on cue, the door to the club opened, and a young woman exited. She was slight of height and build, her eyes large and almost black, her hair dark. Her skin was a coppery brown and she spoke to the security guard in Spanish.

She was thinner than William preferred but he inhaled her scent eagerly; the spicy tang of her blood almost a taste on his tongue.

“Good evening.” He addressed her in Italian.

She peered around the bodyguard with a frown. When she caught sight of William, she smiled.

“Good evening,” she replied, in Spanish.

She turned as if to go to her taxi.

Suddenly William stood in front of her. “May I see you home?”

“I have a taxi.”

“I’ll walk you.” He stared deeply into her eyes.

This was the test, of course. Would she look away or return his stare?

She returned his stare and smiled.

William allowed the hunger in his belly to grow. He instructed the security guard to dismiss the taxi.

Offering the young woman his elbow, he escorted her from the alley to a side street.

“Your name?” he asked.

“Ana.”

“Ana.” He repeated her name, as if trying its feel in his mouth.

She didn’t ask his name. Or perhaps she intended to but wasn’t given the opportunity.

He quickly pulled her into another alley and pressed her back against the wall.

He didn’t kiss her mouth, as he usually did in such moments. In fact, he closed his eyes and went for her neck, immediately.

She gasped as his tongue tasted her skin, her hands lifting to grip his biceps.

She rubbed herself against him, her breasts pert and high on her chest.

He placed his hand to her waist, leaning into her, before swiping his thumb across her nipple.

When she moaned and lifted her leg to place her thigh against his hip, he sank his teeth into her throat.

She cried out as he drank furiously, carefully counting the number of times he swallowed. Too much and she’d faint.

He drank quickly, but savored every mouthful. Her blood was light and sweet, like her body, with a delicate spice that hinted of recklessness.

When he reached the maximum volume he could drink from her, he carefully licked her wound. She gripped his arms tightly and orgasmed.

He waited until she stopped shaking, then carefully disentangled himself from her.

She murmured at him and tried to kiss him, but he kept her at arm’s length, escorting her back to the security guard.

He’d given the young woman pleasure and fed from her, but he felt no joy. In fact, he felt even hungrier—hungry for blood, hungry for sex, hungry for hope.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to blot Raven’s image out of his mind. His inability to take pleasure in the simple act of feeding did not bode well.

He instructed the guard to send the girl home in a taxi, then he melted into the shadows, feeling empty and conflicted.