The Raven

  And what a world it was—dark, violent, destructive.

  As he entered the room, he caught sight of his reflection and pushed a few wayward strands of blond hair from his forehead. He never spent long looking at himself, despite the fact that his body was far more attractive now than it had been in life.

  Favor is deceitful, and beauty is vain.

  Funny how he could still quote Scripture. Funny how he, who had once been a servant of God, was now counted among the Church’s enemies.

  He frowned, thinking of a beautiful face with green eyes.

  He pushed her image aside. He’d recklessly interfered in human affairs because of a centuries-old memory. Because of another beautiful face with haunting eyes . . .

  He scrubbed his face with both hands. His body never tired but his mind needed rest. On this morning, he wanted nothing other than to spend hours in quiet meditation. But that would not be possible. He’d scented Aoibhe the moment he’d entered the palace, and she was behind him.

  “You’ve been hiding.” She spoke to her erstwhile lover in English, rolling to her side on the large bed and absolutely neglecting to cover her naked body.

  (She had few virtues. Modesty was not among them.)

  Dawn was just peeking over the horizon. In a few hours the lark, no longer wounded, would awake in her apartment. But at this moment, the Prince forced himself to forget her and gazed hungrily at Aoibhe’s naked form, her firm, full breasts and long, tempting red hair.

  He licked his lips. “Good morning to you, too. How did you know I’d be here?”

  “I guessed. You’ve been in that impenetrable fortress of yours for days. I knew you’d have to feed eventually. Then you’d come here.”

  “I thought I changed the locks.” He pulled the blackout shades over the windows. The action was for her comfort, not his.

  Unbeknownst to the others, he could brave the sunlight.

  Aoibhe rested her head on an upturned hand, looking remarkably like a Renaissance painting.

  “You did. I wandered into the museum and persuaded one of the servants to allow me upstairs. I would have come to you at the fortress, but as you know, I can’t pass through the gates.”

  The Prince ignored her pout, his gray eyes narrowing. “Is the servant dead?”

  “Of course not. Merely—indisposed.” She lifted a pillow and threw it at him. “I wouldn’t kill one of your humans. At least, not without asking.”

  He cursed, batting the pillow aside. His memory was drawn to the green-eyed girl, cowering in an alley while Aoibhe begged him to share the “exceptional vintage.” The memory, like the feelings that accompanied it, made him uneasy.

  He turned his back. “Servants are easily replaced, but it’s inconvenient to do so every time a guest gets hungry.”

  Aoibhe paused, for she’d seen the discomfort that flitted across his face a moment before. “You never used to care about them. I can recall when you executed your entire staff on a whim.”

  Her comment hung in the air as he crossed over to the aged wardrobe opposite the bed.

  “I don’t have whims, Aoibhe. I executed them for good reason, I assure you. Servants are like clothes. As long as they remain useful, I’ll keep them. When they outlive their usefulness, I dispose of them. Perhaps it’s more correct to say that I mourn the departure of a nice garment. A servant? Not so much.”

  The Prince removed his black jacket and hung it up before retreating to a chair and attending to his boots.

  Aoibhe continued to watch him. “This is what I find so curious about you. You’re the most human of any of us in some ways, but the least human in others.”

  “I’m sure there’s a compliment in there somewhere,” he said wryly.

  “You’re our prince, but no one knows how you keep your fortress secure or who your maker was.” She lowered her voice. “Not even I know when you were brought across, although I surmise it was a few hundred years before me.”

  “Is there a question?” His tone was gruff as he placed his boots next to the wardrobe, avoiding her probing gaze.

  She lowered her voice to a soft, seductive whisper. “We’re lovers. Tell me your secrets.”

  He gave her a pointed look. “We aren’t lovers, Aoibhe. We simply fornicate on occasion.” As if to emphasize the point, he stood and removed his shirt.

  She closed her eyes and inhaled as his scent swirled in the room. “You killed a human this evening, but fed on another. I smell someone’s blood on you and a different one in you.”

  “A fool surprised me while I was feeding.”

  She opened her eyes. “Then why not enjoy dessert?”

  “You’re losing your sense of smell. I don’t have a taste for rapists.” He removed a man’s silver Baume et Mercier watch from his pocket and tossed it to her.

  She caught it and admired its elegant simplicity in the lamplight before dropping it on the nightstand. “A pity you were the one to end him, since you’re so indifferent to human affairs. I would have made him suffer.”

  “He suffered well enough.” The Prince’s gray eyes twinkled. “You would have enjoyed it. He begged for his life, confessing his most secret sins. He even soiled himself.” The Prince smiled, exposing white and perfect teeth. “He said his name was Professor Pacciani.”

  “The Paccianis produced a professor? I can hardly believe it.”

  (The name Pacciani was shared by a famous serial killer who had haunted Florence for decades. Of course, the humans didn’t know that a number of the killer’s alleged victims had been contributed by Aoibhe herself, and the others of her kind.)

  “You killed a rapist. You ended three men last week in order to feed on that girl. This is strange behavior. Why the sudden interest in humans? You let the serial killer prey on the city for years.”

  He busied himself with his socks. “I interfere when it’s in my interest.”

  Aoibhe rolled onto her stomach, exposing her beautiful back and backside. She tossed her hair over her shoulder.

  “It wasn’t in your interest to dismember the men in an alley and leave the pieces to rot.”

  The Prince’s gaze flew to hers. “Gregor disposed of the corpses.”

  “You could have frightened them away or used mind control.” She gazed at him curiously. “Max isn’t the only one who found your actions peculiar. There’s been talk among the Consilium members.”

  He leveled cold eyes on her, his expression menacing. “If Maximilian wishes to talk, he knows where to find me. He won’t like how that conversation ends.”

  She shivered and looked away. “I spoke in your favor, of course. I would have done whatever it took to secure the girl, even if it meant dispatching the men. She was exquisite. And they were going to waste it.”

  The Prince said nothing but stood, removing his leather belt with a resounding snap.

  Aoibhe toyed with the sheet, watching him. “How did it taste?”

  He coiled the belt in his hand before placing it carefully on the wardrobe shelf. “My appetite is never quenched.”

  Once again, Aoibhe laughed. “You need to take a lover—a human pet to fulfill your needs, day and night. There are beautiful women and men at Teatro. You’d have your choice.”

  He hid his grimace by closing the wardrobe door.

  The muscles of his naked chest and arms rippled with every movement, and Aoibhe admired them, wetting her lips with her tongue.

  “In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never had a woman for an extended period of time. Why?”

  He turned his head minutely, spearing her with his gaze. “Humans aren’t meant to be enjoyed for an extended period. They lack resilience. Besides, I had you.”

  “Our coupling has not been frequent.”

  The Prince pressed a fist to the wardrobe door and clenched his teeth. “You took a new human lover less than a month ago. Where is he this morning? Dusting your palace on his knees, naked?”

  She rolled to her back, breasts exposed, staring up at
the ornate canopy overhead. “Human lovers lack stamina. I nearly killed him within a week. And he has to sleep, on occasion.”

  “Ah, yes. Humans have to sleep.” The Prince removed his black trousers and tossed them over the chair. “So you’ve enjoyed his body for the evening and now arrive to enjoy mine for the day. How flattering.”

  She turned her face toward him. “Nothing compares to our kind. And you’ve always been . . . attentive.” Her dark eyes lingered on his muscled, lean frame before resting on the firmness of his backside. “I’m sure you were never in want of female company when you were human. There must have been a legion of sweet young virgins outside your home, begging to be seduced.”

  The Prince turned so quickly the movement was a blur, his eyes darkening and almost pinning her to the bed. “Cave, Aoibhe,” he growled.

  She lifted her hands in apology. “I beg pardon. I forgot you were a priest.”

  “I was no priest,” he spat out. He crossed the room, planting his fists on the mattress and leaning over her. “I was a novice. Do you intend to talk all day or did you plant yourself in my bed for some other purpose?”

  She reached out a hand and wrapped it around his wrist, her touch soft and sensuous. “You’ve been in Florence so much longer than the rest of us and you’ve guarded your past securely. Can you blame me for a lapse in memory? I know so little about you.”

  He gave her a heated look. “You know enough, it would seem, in order to bed me. You’ve entered my home, you’ve taken off your clothes, and you’ve deposited yourself between my sheets. Shall we get on with it?”

  “Just a moment, my prince.” She gave him a patient smile. “You served the Church. You lived in an age in which women were supposed to remain virgins until they married. Perhaps that’s all you can countenance. Tell me, is that why you haven’t chosen a consort?”

  The Prince disentangled himself from her grasp.

  “Precious few of our kind survive the change with virginity intact.”

  “I was a virgin once.” Her tone was almost wistful. “Before my father insulted one of the English lords. My maker had a surprise when he took me. He favored virgins, too, but misread my scent.”

  “I’m sure you had other virtues that more than made up for it.”

  Aoibhe squinted, trying to read his expression. She shook her head.

  “No human lover, no assignations at Teatro, and no consort. Of course you’re angry and in need of release. Man cannot live by blood alone.”

  “If you’re so concerned about my sexual needs, then you’d best do something about them.” He spoke sharply. “I’m going to put something in your mouth to silence you if you don’t stop talking.”

  “I’m trying to help. We are friends, are we not? After so many years?” She smiled prettily, sliding over so there was room beside her.

  He stood naked and proud, his erection straining toward her. His hands clasped into fists at his sides and the tendons in his arms rippled.

  “Friends? No. But you’ve certainly been a welcome ally.” His gaze traveled the length of her body and up again, resting on her breasts.

  She sighed and rolled her eyes heavenward. “I suppose that’s the most I can hope for from an Englishman. It’s a good thing I gave up killing your countrymen in the nineteenth century.”

  “Enough.” He moved quickly, stretching his body over hers.

  “Finally,” she whispered, pressing her red lips to his neck.

  His hands moved up and down her sides, digging into her perfect skin.

  She purred like a cat at his touch and lifted her right breast to his open and eager mouth.

  He licked it, encircling the nipple several times before drawing it between his teeth. She arched off the bed at the sensation, lifting her other breast for his attention.

  He repeated the movement before closing his mouth and sucking.

  Aoibhe moaned, thrashing her head from side to side. He raised her thigh, pulling her leg around his hip before entering her. She groaned heavily as he began to move.

  Their coupling was active and frenetic, as was typical of their kind. The Prince’s strength was such that he could hold himself over her with one arm, while he drove into her again and again.

  Aoibhe lifted her hips to meet his thrusts before rolling him and climbing on top. With a triumphal cry, she rode him vigorously, head thrown back.

  His hands explored her bouncing breasts before he sat up and replaced his hands with his mouth.

  Aoibhe groaned her pleasure, trying to capture his mouth in a kiss, but he lifted her bodily and sprang out of bed, pressing her back against the wall.

  She tried to kiss him again, but again he spurned her, whispering his lips up and down the column of her throat.

  He felt her begin to orgasm and thrust into her more deeply. As was the case with their kind, her orgasm lasted several minutes.

  When she had finished, she dragged him back to the bed and climbed atop him again, moving so quickly her body shimmered in the air.

  With a cry, he thrust up his hips, emptying himself in her.

  Aoibhe growled and bared her teeth, bending to sink them into his neck.

  In an instant, he pushed her to her back, pinning her arms over her head. His body continued to shudder with his orgasm, his breathing almost labored.

  “No,” he snarled, his gray eyes flashing with anger.

  She had no choice but to nod as he continued moving within her. They were almost matched in height and in size, but he was older and far more powerful. He could end her handily and take her body out of the city to burn it beyond recognition. No one would ever be the wiser.

  She stared up with wide, panicked eyes, holding her breath.

  When he was spent, he hung his head, a few locks of his hair skimming her breasts.

  “Let me be your consort,” she whispered, as her womb fluttered from the aftershocks, the pleasure continuing to flow through her. “We’ll rule Florence together. Drink from me and I’ll drink from you.”

  She exposed her neck and what lay below the surface of her skin.

  The Prince opened his eyes slowly, like a gray-eyed dragon, and growled.

  “Please,” she begged.

  He dislodged himself from her and walked naked toward the wardrobe.

  She sat up, fanning a shaking hand over her throat.

  “What are you afraid of, my love? The connection that comes from the exchange of blood?”

  He glared. “Don’t use appellations you don’t mean. Your honesty is one of the few things I’ve always admired about you.”

  She pressed her lips together, but said nothing.

  The Prince retrieved a clean set of black clothes from the wardrobe and approached the bed. “The palace is at your disposal until sundown. I’ll instruct the servants. See to it you leave me with the full complement.”

  She studied him, her hair a riot of red curls around her lovely oval face.

  “I thought we’d progressed a little over the past centuries. I was mistaken.”

  He clenched his jaw. “Don’t lie to me. Everything you do is calculated.”

  “I don’t deny it, but in this case I’m doing you a favor. We won the war with the Venetians, but how long will the peace last? And what about the attempt on your life? We still haven’t discovered who helped the Venetians breach our borders. You must take a consort, if only to strengthen and protect your position. I’m one of your oldest friends. I’m the obvious choice.”

  He regarded her, studying her face and expression with restrained hostility.

  She threw back the bedclothes and stood before him.

  “You have to be thinking of the future. How old are you? Who knows how long you have before the—”

  “Enough,” he interrupted. “Our coupling has not been frequent, as you mentioned, but it has been fair. Until today.”

  He took a moment to admire her body, the creamy cast of her skin, her gentle curves and long legs. He shook his head.


  “Your performance was unnecessary. I would have given you the same answer had you approached me in the street. We’re allies, Aoibhe, not lovers. And from now on, that is all we shall be. Don’t come here again.”

  And with that, he swept from the room.

  Chapter Four

  When Raven approached the Uffizi Gallery, she was stunned to find it cordoned off.

  Several officers from the local police stood watch at the barricades, while carabinieri in their signature dark blue uniforms roamed the U-shaped courtyard.

  A number of men in dark suits stood in a small group, talking to one another near the entrance to the gallery. Journalists from around the world gathered around the perimeter, shouting questions to the carabinieri in English and Italian. Their questions were ignored, but not by Raven.

  Something terrible had happened.

  The famed Botticelli illustrations—copies of Botticelli’s drawings of Dante’s Divine Comedy—were missing.

  Raven covered her mouth, a sick feeling ascending from her stomach to her throat.

  “Permesso.” A masculine voice sounded in Raven’s ear as someone tried to squeeze past her.

  She turned and recognized Patrick Wong, one of her friends from the gallery.

  “Patrick.” She touched his arm.

  His dark, almond-shaped eyes examined her face. “Do I know you?”

  She switched to English. “It’s me.”

  He looked at her in puzzlement and she remembered that her appearance was greatly altered.

  “It’s Raven.”

  Patrick shook his arm from her grasp and glared. “What do you know about Raven?”

  “It’s me, I swear.” She retrieved her Uffizi identification card from her knapsack and held it out to him.

  He snatched it from her hand, bringing his face next to hers.

  “How did you get this?” he hissed. “Where is she?”

  “Patrick, it’s me. We work together, remember? I’m part of Professor Urbano’s restoration team.”

  He curled his fingers around her identification card. “Everyone knows Professor Urbano’s team. That doesn’t mean anything.”