At the sight of her, the Prince scowled. “You can’t fight in a dress.”
“I’ve been fighting in a dress since I was changed.” She gave him a saucy look. “But since you object . . .”
She divested herself of her garment, tossing it aside. She stood in an ivory slip, her long red hair a riot of waves about her body, her hand clutching a sword. A murmur lifted from the crowd, for Aoibhe was a goddess in body as well as in face.
“Shall we?”
He regarded her for a moment, then pointed his sword at hers. “Perhaps you’d prefer something smaller.”
“The size of your sword is more than adequate, my lord.”
Laughter filled the hall.
“Then we’ll spar until first blood.”
“Agreed.”
Aoibhe winked at him and took a fighting stance, her body turned sideways, her sword lifted with both hands and pointed toward the ceiling.
Before she could take a single step in his direction, he blurred toward her, then retreated just as quickly. Aoibhe stood, shocked, a small line of blood drifting from her cheek to the edge of her mouth. He’d caught her with the tip of his sword before she could even draw breath.
Her tongue peeked out, straining toward the blood. She smiled slowly. “It seems you are not as well fed as you claim.”
The Prince scowled. “Are you hungry for more?”
“Indeed, my lord. Clearly, your little pet isn’t sating your appetite. You’ll have to take another. Or more.” She resumed her stance, her white cheek still stained with the blackish blood, even though the wound had closed.
The Prince gripped his sword more tightly, the knuckles of his hand indicating that her taunt had found purchase. He beckoned to her.
This time, she moved immediately, approaching him with speed and swinging at his chest. The Prince sidestepped her at the last moment, his hair fluttering in the draft created by her weapon. He smacked her bottom with the flat of his sword, causing laughter to bubble up from the crowd.
She turned, swiping at him from the side. Once again, he sidestepped her blow.
Aoibhe was beginning to lose her temper. She swung in the direction of his head and he ducked, pushing her abdomen with his hand and knocking her over. Her sword went flying and landed a few feet away.
The Prince turned his back on her and strode to the door, to the sound of great applause. He handed his sword to one of the younglings who stood nearby, and exited the hall.
Aoibhe picked herself up. “What are you looking at?” she snarled to the crowd, throwing her dress over her head and walking to the door.
Later that evening, Raven sat at her desk in her bedroom, staring at her laptop. She deleted an e-mail from her mother, suspecting it would be an angry, ranting diatribe, excoriating her for upsetting Cara.
Raven also ignored an e-mail from Father Kavanaugh, who, according the visible subject line, had recently arrived in Rome. No doubt he was updating her about his new position in the Church.
Father Kavanaugh had become a father to her and, to a lesser extent, Cara. He’d taken them to Covenant House when they fled their stepfather, he’d protected and fed them, and he’d brought them to a police officer they could trust. He’d advocated for them with child protective services and the courts. And he’d made sure that they had someone in their life who cared about them and encouraged them to go to college, even to the point of finding scholarships for them.
Raven owed Father Kavanaugh a great deal, but more than that, she loved him. While she didn’t share his religious beliefs, she knew him to be a holy man. And she knew that, in his way, he loved her and Cara. Should the need ever arise, he would move heaven and earth to help them.
But she didn’t want to talk to him about Cara. Not now, when the pain was still fresh. For this reason, Raven decided to save his e-mail for another day.
With a pained heart, she typed another e-mail to her sister.
Dear Cara,
I’m really sorry I upset you. I’m sorry I upset Dan.
Please don’t cut me out of your life, especially over this. He took so much from us already. Don’t let him take my sister from me.
I love you,
Rave
Chapter Twenty-four
The following evening, Gregor appeared before the Prince in his private apartments at Palazzo Riccardi. He stood nervously while the Prince read the message he’d delivered—a note from Counselor Tarquin, the current leader of Venice.
Since Tarquin had been put in place by the Prince of Florence after he’d defeated the previous ruler, and since Florence claimed dominion over Venice, Tarquin was not allowed to hold the title of prince. He was only a counselor. And like any black-blooded vampyre, he chafed under the title.
The Prince looked at Gregor and smiled. “It appears your mission was successful. Tarquin has apologized and, according to his letter, sent double tribute. I take it you have the tribute with you?”
“It has already been deposited with Lorenzo, my lord.”
“Excellent. Are the Venetians worried about the Curia?”
“They made no mention of them.”
“Did you note anything amiss in the city?”
“They resent being under the control of Florence, my lord. But other than that . . .” He shrugged.
The Prince placed the message on his desk, regarding his personal assistant carefully. “You seem no worse for wear.”
“No, my lord.” The Russian shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Tarquin and his advisers considered killing me, but since I wasn’t a member of the Consilium they said the injury to them would be greater than the injury to Florence.”
“Wise words, but I would be sorry to lose you, Gregor.”
The assistant seemed taken aback by the admission. “Thank you,” he stuttered. “I have prided myself in my loyalty and service.”
“I take pride it in as well, which is why I am sending you on another journey. One that you must keep secret.”
“Of course. Where shall I go?”
“Switzerland. I wish you to visit Cologny, near Geneva. I’m interested in knowing how a particular family acquired a set of illustrations by Botticelli a hundred years ago.”
“Yes, my lord.” Gregor hesitated.
“Out with it,” the Prince ordered impatiently.
“It is not for me to question you, my lord.” Gregor fidgeted, his gaze on the floor.
“No, it is not. But in this case, and in view of your loyal service, I’ll volunteer that I am trying to solve an old mystery, which I hope will aid in solving a new one.”
Gregor appeared confused. “Of course, my lord.”
“I shall also mention that I sent someone on a similar journey many years ago. He returned empty-handed. Let’s hope you return with something more.”
The Prince dismissed his assistant with a wave of his hand, before contemplating the shadow that first fell over his city at the time of the theft of his illustrations.
The shadow must be destroyed.
Chapter Twenty-five
On Sunday evening, after spending the day together, William and Raven stood outside his villa next to his prized Triumph motorcycle.
“I can’t.” Raven backed away. “The last time I rode with you, I was sick.”
His eyes locked on hers. “This will be different. I swear.”
“You like to drive fast.”
“Yes.”
“But I have trouble holding on. Sometimes it’s painful for my injured leg. I may have to ask you to stop so I can stretch.”
“Then we’ll stop.” He moved closer and caressed her face with the back of his fingers. “I won’t let harm come to you. I swear by the relic.”
Heat flared in Raven’s middle at the sound of his words. “You must respect the relic very much. It’s the only thing you swear by.”
He nodded, his gray eyes dark and very intense. “We don’t have time for the story tonight. I need to be sure you’re deposited in yo
ur bed early enough to rest before work tomorrow.”
“I’d rather listen to your story.”
He brushed a kiss across her lips. “Another time.”
She pressed her cheek to his chest and listened to the strange sound of his heart. “The restoration project is almost finished. I’ll be on vacation until the beginning of September. We could go somewhere.”
“I would like that.” He nestled his fingers in her hair. “I would like to take you to York, where I was born. But I can’t leave the principality when the Curia is watching and there’s a traitor in our midst.”
“Traitor?” Raven pulled back, alarmed. “What traitor?”
A muscle jumped in William’s jaw. “For some time, a person or a group of people inside the principality have been trying to destroy me.”
Raven’s eyes widened. “What? You never told me that.”
“I did, actually, during one of our conversations about Aoibhe.”
Raven wrinkled her nose. “You’ll forgive me if I’ve blotted out most of that conversation.”
“I believe someone betrayed my location to the hunters, which is why they were outside Teatro waiting for us. If Aoibhe was the traitor, she would have avoided that area.
“Additionally, two years ago, I was attacked by would-be assassins. They came from Venice but were aided by someone inside the city. I haven’t discovered whom. Yet.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
“It happened before I knew you.”
Raven shook her head. “What happened to the assassins?”
“I destroyed them.”
“What, all of them?”
“There were only ten. After the assassination attempt, we went to war with Venice and defeated them. Since then, the traitors have been too cowardly to risk open conflict. They colluded with the hunters to try to kill me. Now I believe they’re trying to use the Curia.”
“You defeated ten vampyres? What, at once?”
William smiled. “I am an old one.”
“Why would the traitors use the Curia? If they come, they’ll kill all the vampyres.”
“The Curia makes treaties when it suits its purposes.”
“William,” she whispered, resting her cheek against his chest once again.
He wound a lock of her hair around his finger, his gaze fixing on the black strand. “This is not how I envisioned our evening. At least now you understand why I cannot take you to York.” His expression brightened. “But I would like to take you with me tonight.”
Raven looked at the motorcycle, her grip on him tightening. He watched her, a shadow of hope crossing his handsome face.
She could not disappoint him. “Lead on, old one.”
He smiled widely and led her to his machine.
William appeared to have chosen the darkest, most winding road that led from the city. Fortunately for Raven, his Triumph roadster had twin headlights that cut through the night.
She held him tightly, sitting as far forward as possible, her front pressed to his back, her arms clasped around his waist. The position was uncomfortable for her leg, but she ignored the discomfort, focusing on the feeling of being so close to the person she loved.
He wore sunglasses, but no helmet, much to her consternation. He liked to feel the wind in his hair, he’d said, and was indifferent to the risk of an accident.
“I won’t let harm come to you,” he’d promised, insisting she wear a helmet. He’d procured a black leather jacket to protect her from the wind and took great pleasure in placing it on her.
Raven clutched him more closely, shifting forward on the passenger seat at the back, her face turned to the side as the large, powerful motorcycle wound around the curves at high speed.
“Are you all right?” He lifted his voice above the roar of the machine.
“It’s a little fast.” Her reply was muffled by the helmet.
She lied. It was far too fast and the strain of having to hold him so tightly aggravated her injuries, but she knew how much William enjoyed speed. She could feel his joy, his wild abandon, as he revved the engine in the straightaways and effortlessly guided the bike around the curves. Excitement thrummed through his body, his muscles taut with control.
Her thighs tightened on the outside of his as they went around a corner, her arms cutting into the unyielding steel of his abdominals. William decelerated and she heard him chuckle, the sound of his amusement disappearing on the wind.
He was happy. He was free. And because he loved her, he wouldn’t dare approach the speed he preferred.
“It’s a lovely night.” He gestured to the inky sky that peeked through the canopy of trees above them.
She hugged him in response. Her injured leg began to throb, so with regret she squeezed his right side, the signal that she needed a rest.
William slowed immediately, pulling off to the side of the road near a private drive. He removed his sunglasses, climbed off the bike, and helped her with her helmet, placing it on top of the seat before offering his hand.
When her stiff leg wouldn’t cooperate, he lifted her into his arms. In the dim starlight, she could still see the joy on his face.
His eyebrows drew together under her perusal. “What?”
“Seeing you happy makes me happy.”
Without warning, he pressed their mouths together. When they came apart, he whispered in her ear, “I’d forgotten.”
“You’d forgotten what?” Her questing fingers sifted through the hair at the back of his head.
“What it’s like to be loved.”
She hugged him as tightly as she could, trying to show with her body what she couldn’t communicate with words.
He placed her on the ground, winding his arm around her lower back to support her. “I rode horses when I was human. I liked them. I have a couple of fast cars, including a McLaren.”
“What’s a McLaren?”
William grinned. “It’s a car made by a company that makes Formula One race cars. It’s an exceptional vehicle, but ever since my first ride on a motorbike, it’s been my favorite.”
“I can understand that.” She returned his grin.
He led her into a grove of cypress trees that skirted the edge of a private drive, piloting her up a smaller hill.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere special.”
They walked for some time. Just as Raven was sure she couldn’t walk anymore, the trees thinned out, revealing a beautiful terraced garden. There were small white lights wound around some of the trees and a few electric lanterns scattered across the terraces, interspersed with terra-cotta pots filled with flowers and greenery. Rosebushes and lavender perfumed the air. To the right side, a short distance away, was a grove of what looked like orange trees.
He brought her to the center of the largest terrace, next to a large, impressive fountain that featured a statue of Venus and Cupid. Potted lemon trees stood broadly around its circumference. Raven inhaled the sunny, citrus scent.
“It’s incredible. What is this place?”
“The garden belongs to a villa farther uphill. It was built in the fourteenth century.”
“Do you know the owners?”
“I knew the original owners. I believe the villa is still in the family.”
“They were friends of yours?”
“I don’t have friends, Raven. The owners were friends of the Medici, which is how I met them.”
She glanced around. “We’re trespassing.”
“The current owners are elderly. They’re probably asleep.”
“Do you come here a lot?”
“I was a guest several times in the fourteenth century. Since then, I’ve visited only on occasion, always under cover of darkness.” His attention drifted over the terraces, pausing from time to time. “I’m fond of the gardens. It’s very peaceful here. And not a vampyre in sight.”
“Have the gardens changed much since the fourteenth century?”
“
Happily, no.”
She fitted her arm around his waist. “Tell me what it was like living during the Renaissance.”
William rubbed his chin. “It was fascinating. There were tremendous innovations in architecture, art, politics, and science. Florence was the center for many of those innovations. And at the center of Florence were the Medici.
“I played the part of a wealthy Englishman who was eager to spend his family’s money and rub shoulders with the elite. Florentine society welcomed me with open arms. I used that opportunity to learn all I could from the intellectual innovators, and quietly began acquiring art.
“Vampyres had been driven underground by the Curia, but it was easy enough to mingle with humans between the hours of sunset and sunrise. They were suspicious enough to keep their distance but not fearful as their ancestors had been, when we lived openly.”
“You knew Dante and Botticelli.”
William frowned. “I did. I can’t say I liked either of them. I certainly admire Botticelli’s work, when he isn’t trying to paint me into one of his paintings.”
“You knew Beatrice.”
“Not well, but I met her. She was lovely, very noble, and the kind of woman who turned heads when she walked down the street. I knew Botticelli’s muse, Simonetta Vespucci. I knew Brunelleschi, Machiavelli, Michelangelo, Donatello, Leonardo, Savonarola, Galileo . . .” William waved a hand in the air. “I had the advantage of a long life and access to the circles in which they traveled.”
“Were any of them killed by vampyres?”
“No.” William’s gray eyes danced. “But two of them became vampyres.”
Raven’s mouth dropped open. “Really? Which ones?”
“Guess.” William appeared amused.
“Um, Michelangelo and Brunelleschi? They’d make good vampyres.”
“No.”
Raven frowned. “That’s too bad. I would have liked to meet them.”
“I can introduce you to Simonetta. She’s the Princess of Umbria.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, I am not. I can also introduce you to Machiavelli, but you’ve already met him.”
Raven fanned a hand to her forehead. “What?”
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