Raven heard the door open and close.
She collapsed on the lowest rung of the staircase and placed her face in her hands. Her black hair fell forward, partially covering her arms and flowing over the shoulders of her raspberry-colored sundress.
She did not cry. But her heart ached.
She pushed aside thoughts of herself and her fate to think about her neighbor, Lidia.
She loved her. And she was very, very sick.
Raven exhaled in anguish.
Chapter Twenty-six
William took three steps outside the library and realized he’d forgotten the letter Ambrogio had delivered earlier. He returned to the library to retrieve it.
As soon as he entered the room, he saw Cassita huddled on the staircase, her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. She was crying.
Something twisted in his chest.
No doubt she was overwrought. She’d said herself that she’d left America and come to Florence in order to find happiness. She’d told him she’d found happiness here.
Now she was giving up that happiness and the work that delighted her so he would save the lives of her friends. And he wouldn’t agree even to that. He’d promised only to help the boy.
The sensation in his chest increased, feeling a great deal like pain.
It was a foreign feeling.
He picked up the letter and put it in his jacket pocket, with the intention of leaving her to her tears. His gaze dropped to the floor, alighting on two items resting a short distance away: her simple white cardigan and his handkerchief.
The cardigan was no longer pristine. Like his handkerchief, droplets of vampyre blood blackened its appearance.
His eyes traveled from the cardigan to its owner, who was huddled into a defensive ball.
He found that the sight of her in that posture displeased him. Greatly.
It had been a long time since he’d concerned himself with the feelings of a human being. Because of the nature of vampyric transformation, many of his human feelings and memories were gone.
But he remembered loss. He remembered the pain that accompanied anxiety for someone you loved, even though he’d not loved anyone for centuries. Truthfully, he believed himself and his kind incapable of love.
Although he wasn’t practiced in empathy, he felt it at that moment, watching the beautiful, brave Cassita weep for her friends. And perhaps, for herself.
More than that, he was able to discern the central aspect of her character.
Cassita was a protector.
She was the kind of person who cared so deeply for others—even homeless men and neighbors—that she would do anything to help them, including sacrificing herself.
He hadn’t recognized this quality in her before but as soon as the thought occurred to him, he knew it to be true. He also knew that this trait of her character went very deep, to the core of her being.
In this respect, as in several others, she resembled the young woman whose image he kept carefully concealed in his desk. He’d failed her, many, many years ago, and she’d paid the ultimate price.
His regret and anger over what had happened to her were what propelled him to make an exception and save Cassita’s life. Now he’d taken the wounded lark and manipulated what made her noble and good, and for what? For his own selfish purposes? For sexual intercourse?
He looked down at the white cardigan she’d used to try to stem his bleeding and despised the blood that fouled it. She’d come to his aid, knowing he was a vampyre. Now she sat in his library, crying, because he’d forced her to trade herself for her friends’ lives.
William despised himself.
“Cassita,” he whispered.
When she lifted her head, he expected to see cheeks streaked with tears, but they were merely blotchy and red. Her green eyes were watery and she looked miserable. Miserable and contrite.
The pain in his chest increased.
“I changed my mind.”
“No,” she cried, panic overtaking her. She scrambled from the steps to stand in front of him. “Please don’t go back on your word. Please.”
He shook his head, lifting his hand to quiet her.
“I’ve decided to let you go.”
“You can’t! We had an agreement. You said you’d help him.”
“I did.” He fixed his eyes on her and gave her what he thought was his most sincere expression. “I will honor that promise and help the boy. I will instruct Ambrogio to find medical help for your neighbor as well. That’s the best I can do for her.”
Raven’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”
He shook his head. “No catch. I offer these things to you as a gift.”
“You brought me here as your prisoner. Now you’re going to let me go and give me what I asked for? I don’t believe you.” She wrapped her arms around herself.
His face grew pensive.
“You shamed me by offering yourself for the lives of others. I am regaining my honor.”
She eyed him skeptically, but said nothing.
He lifted his hand, touching her face. “A bird in a cage is never as beautiful as a bird that is free, Cassita. You’ve been wounded enough. I won’t add to your wounds.”
He bowed stiffly and turned to go.
She grasped his arm. “Can I go home?”
His gaze traveled from where she was touching him to her eyes, which looked hopeful.
He felt her hope like a brand on his skin.
“You’d be safest here, with me. But I won’t keep you.”
She released his arm and placed a hand to her mouth, relief washing over her.
He lifted his hand in caution. “But you must promise me something.”
“What?”
“That you will accept my protection. It’s for your safety, I assure you.”
“As long as I can go home.”
He dropped his hand. “When I return, I want to introduce you to my brethren.”
Raven opened her mouth to protest, but William interrupted.
“Maximilian and Aoibhe have seen you. If they see you a second time, they’ll take you. Once I’ve asserted my protection and put a few measures in place, no one will dare touch you. Then I will take you home.”
“I’d rather go home now.”
His expression grew momentarily severe. “My condition is inflexible.
You either agree or not.”
“I agree,” she said quickly.
“Good.” He pushed a lock of hair back from her face, an ancient sadness visible in his eyes. “Enjoy your day, Jane.”
He turned toward the door.
She watched him walk a few steps before she called to him.
“My name is Raven.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Raven’s view of the world had been transformed. It was, she thought, much like the switch from a geocentric view of the universe to a heliocentric one. Except her heliocentric universe included supernatural creatures that healed from knife wounds in minutes and fed on human beings.
She’d experienced a myriad of emotions—fear, wonder, relief, anger, and even, at some moments, desire. Raven was exhausted by the time William left her and so she ventured upstairs to the master bedroom and curled up on the bed. Within a few minutes she was asleep.
When she awoke, she felt much better. William had promised he would let her go and he’d also promised protection from the other vampyres.
He’d protected her in the past, but she worried what his future protection might include. He’d already revealed his plan to take her to meet Maximilian and Aoibhe. She did not relish a formal introduction.
If she were to be honest, she’d have to admit she was attracted to him. His eyes, his appearance, his mouth . . . he was handsome and magnetic in many ways. He kissed with such focus she almost believed he felt more than just attraction to her.
Almost.
She’d changed his mind, at least. That was no small victory.
Sh
e was relieved to be able to focus on William’s art collection, rather than the events that had transpired between them and the looming danger of her forthcoming meeting with William’s associates.
After a late lunch she engaged Lucia and Ambrogio in the task of helping her to examine two pieces—the Michelangelo in the front hall and the version of Primavera in the master bedroom.
They removed the works from the walls and placed them carefully on the dining room table, which had been shrouded in a white sheet.
Raven was careful to touch the paintings only while wearing white cotton gloves, obligingly provided by Ambrogio. She examined every inch of the works with a magnifying glass, dictating any damage or wear to Lucia, who made copious notes.
Without testing the age of the paint and using much more sophisticated equipment than was available in the villa, Raven had to guess at the dates of the paintings. By her estimation, both pieces seemed genuine.
She wished she could ask Professor Urbano’s opinion, especially of the purported Michelangelo. If authentic, that work would change art history.
Michelangelo was thought to have completed only one painting in his lifetime. He’d sketched in chalk and ink and painted on wood, but had focused much attention on sculpture and, of course, the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.
Throughout the afternoon, Raven tried from time to time to engage Lucia or Ambrogio in conversation. They were polite but distant and entirely mirthless.
She asked questions about William, but most of her inquiries were met with either silence or a change in subject. His staff gave a respectable account of his membership in British aristocracy and his love for the city of Florence. They avoided any hint of impropriety.
She wondered if they knew anything about his supernatural activities. She wondered if they’d enrolled in a Stepford-style training program for domestic servants.
In any case, Raven was certain that William’s staff would never disclose any of his secrets, nor would they ever, ever disobey his orders.
Chapter Twenty-eight
At ten o’clock that evening, Raven and William were seated in a black Mercedes, driven by a large man called Luka. The windows were tinted, keeping them safe from prying eyes.
When William had returned to the villa, two hours previous, he’d instructed Raven to dress in black and to cover as much skin as possible. When asked for his rationale, he’d patiently explained he was taking her to meet some of the others of his kind.
(His explanation was not extremely informative since she already knew that.)
Raven was terrified but bolstered her resolve by reminding herself that after the meeting he would take her home.
While she was grateful for her freedom, she was saddened to be leaving his art collection. She hoped she’d be able to return in order to examine and perhaps restore some of the works. More than a little of her curiosity had been piqued by their owner, as well. In a more relaxed setting, she wondered if he’d tell her about living through the Renaissance.
The possibility intrigued her.
As they drove down the winding road toward the city, she adjusted the hem of her black silk dress to cover her knees. Her legs were encased in black stockings, her feet placed in extravagantly expensive black designer heels.
William had been insistent she cover her neck, so Lucia had supplied a black vintage Hermès square in a conservative pattern and Raven had knotted it carefully.
(Raven was beginning to get the impression that his lordship had a thing for the color black.)
She was completely covered, with the exception of her face and hands. She fidgeted with her fingernails, unable to keep still.
William reached over to take her hand, clasping it in his.
“Sorry.” She gave him an embarrassed smile. “I’m anxious.”
“That is an appropriate reaction. Do you like the dress?”
“Very much, thank you.”
He smiled. “You look beautiful.”
Raven squeezed his hand in thanks, but she didn’t believe him. The fabric of the dress was handsome, but silk clung. Even though Lucia had provided her with underthings that smoothed out her body, she knew her stomach, hips, and backside were far too prominent and that the fabric of the dress only emphasized their size.
William’s appetite for blood must be impairing his vision.
“Lucia said you picked the dress.”
“She bought it on my instructions, yes.” His focus moved from her face down her body to her legs. He gave them an admiring look. “I like to surround myself with beauty.”
Raven resisted the urge to scoff.
“I’m surprised vampyres travel in cars. Or on motorcycles.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.
“This car provides a measure of security. As for the motorcycle, I like speed.” He flashed her a winning smile. “So, beautiful Jane, why did you say your name is Raven? Ravens are scavengers. They feed on carrion.”
She turned to look out the window. “It doesn’t matter. That’s my name.”
He tugged at her hand. “Tell me why you want to be called Raven.”
“Because they’re intelligent. They’re independent.” She paused. “They’re survivors.”
William stroked his thumb across the back of her hand. “And what have you had to survive, little Raven?”
The tone of his voice, low and inquisitive, caused her to meet his gaze once again. He wasn’t hiding his concern, as if her answer mattered.
“I don’t want to talk about it. Especially tonight.” She disentangled herself from his grasp.
Involuntarily she glanced down at her right leg.
William’s eyes followed the path of hers. He frowned.
“Something made you strong. It’s common for vampyre blood to have that kind of effect in humans, but I think your resilience is your own.” He paused, then asked, “Who is Cara?”
“My sister,” she whispered.
“I had a sister.”
Raven turned to him with interest. “Older or younger?”
“Younger. I was the oldest. There were six of us, four boys and two girls.”
“I always wanted a brother.”
“It was just you and Cara?”
Raven nodded.
William regarded her, his face unreadable.
Under his gaze, she grew progressively more anxious. She swept her hair behind her ears.
“Stop staring at me.”
“Why? I like to look at pretty things.”
“So you say,” she huffed.
“And I haven’t seen anyone as captivating as you for a long time. But you’re a lark, not a raven.”
“I have a large number of euros that belong to you.” She changed the subject pointedly.
“Keep them, in case of emergency.”
She wanted to argue with him, but concluded the exercise would be fruitless. “Does it bother you to be near me?”
He looked puzzled. “Bother me, how?”
“Does it make you—hungry?”
She almost winced when she said the last word. She didn’t like to think about his feeding habits.
“I’ve already eaten. Your true vintage is masked currently by the blood I gave you a week ago. In a few days, however . . .” His voice trailed off suggestively.
She looked at him in revulsion.
“It doesn’t hurt, when done with care.” William brought his face close to hers. “I’d take you to my bed and we’d engage in all the sensual delights lovers enjoy. I’d touch you, taste you, bring you pleasure. Vampyres can engage in intercourse for hours. I can promise you the best delectation of your life. Only when you were in the throes of climaxing would I feed from you. It would be very pleasurable, very erotic.”
Raven began to feel a little warm at the sound of his words and the movement of his perfect, sensual lips.
She closed her eyes to dispel the magnetic pull of his mouth and the way his voice pronounced the words climaxing and erotic.
>
The car approached the bottom of the hill and turned.
She looked outside.
“Where are we going?”
William’s expression grew grim. “We’re going to the hospital. Your boy has taken a turn for the worse. I need to see him immediately.”
“Can you help him?”
“Yes, but I’ll only give him enough to keep him alive. That will buy me enough time so I can schedule a more convenient visit. Being in the hospital exposes me.”
“Thank you.” She made eye contact so that he would see her sincerity.
“You’re welcome. While I’m in the hospital, you’ll wait with Luka. Under no circumstances are you to get out of the car. Do you understand?”
“What happens if Luka decides to take a nap with some fish?” She tried to suppress a grin.
And failed.
William’s eyebrows drew together. “What are you talking about?”
Raven took a moment to assess him. He was not amused.
“Haven’t you seen The Godfather?”
William’s face was devoid of recognition.
“You know, the movie?”
He cleared this throat. “I find film—banal.”
Raven laughed. “Of course you do. One of these days, you need to see The Godfather. It’s the best film ever made, next to Casablanca.”
“Would you watch these films with me?”
She blinked in surprise. “Would you want me to?”
He stroked her wrist with his fingers, back and forth across the skin. “I can think of few things more pleasant than an evening in your company, even if it includes a film.”
Her attention was drawn to his fingers and what he was doing to her. It felt incredible.
“Okay, but I have a condition.”
He paused his movement. “What?”
“That you let me examine your art collection.”
He frowned. “That’s it?”
“I’d like to see what you have and assess the condition of each work. Then I can let you know what should be done to restore them.”
“In exchange for this work, which will be extensive, given the size of my collection, you’ll watch films with me?”
She mirrored his frown. “I’d need your word that you won’t try to detain me. I want my freedom.”