The Raven (12 page)

I
n the Prince’s experience, coincidences were rare. That was why he flew with great speed to Jane’s building.

It was possible another woman had evaded the feral because of a talisman. It was possible a policeman other than the one he’d seen following her had been killed.

He wanted to ensure she was safe, although he took great care to conceal his movements. He didn’t want to draw more attention to her and he certainly didn’t want it known that some relics had no effect on him.

Maximilian and his allies would have declared the Prince’s tactics paranoid and unnecessary. But there was a reason why his coven had lasted so long. There was a reason why his principality was safe, while others around the world were threatened or even destroyed. He kept his secrets secret.

What humans did not know about, they couldn’t fight. Certainly they couldn’t recruit the coven’s enemies without knowledge of the coven itself.

There’d been a time when he and his kind were well-known in Europe and had not lived in secret. Then came the Black Death, poisoning their food supply. His brethren had shrunk in numbers, some being destroyed in their hungry, weakened state while others quit Europe for unblighted parts of the world.

Then the Curia had emerged. It was a mysterious group, formed by human beings, but wielding limited supernatural powers. It had tried to eradicate his kind and had waged a war against them. When the war ended, neither side won, although both claimed victory. The uneasy truce that emerged between the European covens and the Curia required the covens to live underground, in shadowy, secret societies. Any public exposure was perilous.

With the rise of the Enlightenment and the triumph of science over the supernatural, first-person accounts of encounters with his kind became stories, and the stories eventually became myths. The Curia intervened to protect the public from what lay hidden in their midst only when provoked. The covens did their best not to provoke it by attracting attention.

Thus, the Prince jealously guarded his city, even to the point of killing to secure it. The feral and its witnesses threatened his world, as did whoever escaped the feral.

And if it were Cassita . . .

He surveyed the piazza from the building next to hers.

He could have chosen a better vantage point, that of the church nearby. But despite his ability to walk on holy ground, he couldn’t do so unscathed. He tended to avoid the pain, unless it accompanied his daily triumphal climb to the top of Brunelleschi’s dome. And he only visited the dome before the sun set and his brethren awoke.

From his vantage point, he could see the police. They’d cordoned off an area in front of Jane’s building, erecting tents to stave off the rain. He saw one of the officers wheel a black Vespa toward the tent. The Vespa looked familiar.

Keeping to the shadows, he leapt to the ground at the back and walked to Raven’s building. He unlocked the back door and swept inside, out of the rain. The stairwell was illuminated but empty.

Brushing the rain from his blond hair and face, he held his breath. The woman in the apartment next to Jane’s had cancer. He’d smelled the stench before and it was most unpleasant. He didn’t relish inhaling it again.

As he gazed at the staircase, he contemplated cutting off the electricity to Jane’s apartment.

Truthfully, he both wanted and did not want to speak with her.

He wanted to shake some sense into her and force her to leave the city. But he also wanted to ascertain that she was safe and that she hadn’t volunteered any information to the police. These goals would be difficult to achieve without speaking with her and, he admitted ruefully, frightening her.

When he’d saved her life that night, over a week before, he had no idea his very existence would change—that he would be forced to come to her aid again and again.

She needed to leave the city. For her own safety and for the security of his principality, she needed to flee Florence and never return.

Within minutes, he’d cut off the electricity to her apartment and unlocked her door, slipping inside.

He moved through the kitchen, purposefully making a few muted sounds. He wanted to announce his arrival, but softly, so as not to frighten her. By what he could hear of her heartbeat and breathing, he knew she was awake.

As he walked toward the bedroom, she began moving.

“Are you injured?” he whispered in Italian.

He knew she wasn’t. He could smell her blood, of course, but the scent was muted. She didn’t have any wounds and there was no indication of tears, either.

His Cassita had not cried. He took pride in the fact.

He paused for a moment, listening to her struggle to breathe as quietly as possible. But to no avail.

He entered her room.

Just as his foot crossed the threshold, she leapt from behind the door, swinging something in the direction of his kneecaps.

He jumped, evading the object.

She swore as she swung in vain, pitching forward on unsteady feet.

When he landed, he pulled what turned out to be her cane away from her, breaking it in half with a loud, angry crack. He threw the two pieces across the room, ignoring the sound of them striking the wall. Then he pulled her against his body, so they were chest to chest.

For a moment he stared. Having her in his arms provided a tangible distraction, as did her large, unseeing green eyes.

“Let me go!” She struggled, pushing against his shoulders.

“I came to see if you were hurt. Clearly you aren’t.”

“I said, let go!” she shrieked, pushing and kicking at him with all her strength.

With a loud curse, he held her more tightly, lifting her off her feet.

Now they were close, very close. He could feel her breath on his face and if he moved a few inches, her lips would be his.

Instinctively, he moved toward her mouth.

“You came back,” she managed to say, breathing roughly.

“Yes, Jane.”

“You’re hurting me.”

The Prince paused, eyeing her attractive mouth.

He placed her on her feet and loosened his grip, but did not let go. His arms encircled her, pressing their bodies together from shoulder to thigh.

He brushed the hair from her face.

She turned her head. “Don’t touch me.”

Now he released her.

She tried to get as far away from him as possible. Disoriented in the darkness, she tripped and fell.

The Prince watched in horror as her forehead caught on the metal frame of the bed. The tang of her blood sliced through the air.

She cried out in pain.

He was at her side in an instant, crouching beside her. “Let me see.”

Raven didn’t answer, holding her hand to her wound.

He pried her fingers away and swore.

“Don’t move.”

He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and walked to the bathroom, where he soaked it in cold water. When he returned, she was still sitting on the floor, stunned.

“This should help.” He placed the cloth to her forehead.

She winced from the cold.

“I hit my head.”

“Yes, I see.”

“Not all of us can see in the dark, you know.” She glared in his direction.

“I’m beginning to realize that.”

He found himself inhaling her scent. It wasn’t particularly enticing. Her own sweet vintage was muddled with the blood of the old ones he’d transfused. He’d never found their scent attractive.

“You’ll heal more quickly than usual, but you’ll have a wound tomorrow.”

“Why will I heal more quickly?”

He pressed his lips together. “You have larger problems to worry about.”

“My health is a pretty large problem. Tell me why I’ll heal quickly.”

“Leave the city and I’ll tell you.”

He lifted the handkerchief in order to inspect the gash and shook his head.

Her heart rate had slowed somewhat and her breathing evened out, but she still wore the scent of fear.

There were dark circles below her eyes. She looked exhausted.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said softly.

“I’ll be fine.” She tried to push his hand away, but he resisted, pressing the cloth to her wound.

“It may scar.”

“There goes my chance at Miss America.”

“What?”

She sighed. “Never mind.”

“You confound me,” he whispered, more to himself than to her.

Lightly, he brought his other hand to her face and traced the ridge of her cheekbone.

Raven was surprised at how comforting his touch was. She rationalized she was feeling shaky after hitting her head and that there wasn’t anything special about how he was touching her. He could have been anyone—any Good Samaritan who came to her aid.

Abruptly, he helped her to her feet and directed her toward the bed. When she was seated, he positioned her so she was holding the handkerchief to her wound.

“Something happened in the piazza this evening. Did you see it?” He tried to sound casual.

She shuddered. “Yes.”

“Were you afraid?”

Her heart skipped a beat, providing him with an affirmative answer.

“Are you going to kill me?” she whispered.

The edges of his lips turned up.

“If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead by now. I wouldn’t have bothered to lend you the relic. Or my handkerchief, which you can keep.”

Raven removed the cloth from her head and turned it over in her hands. She couldn’t see it but she could feel it. It felt like linen.

She placed it back on her wound.

“The man who killed the other man, is he who you warned me about?”

“It wasn’t a man.” The Prince’s response was swift. “And no, I hadn’t expected one of those creatures to enter my city.”

“Your city?”

“The city,” he amended quickly.

“If it wasn’t a man, what was it?”

“We call them ferals. As you saw, they’re dangerous.”

“Are there more?”

“Yes, but we keep them outside the city. Somehow that one breached the border.”

“But he wasn’t what you were warning me about.”

The Prince clenched his teeth. “No.”

Adrenaline spiked in her system. He could smell it and hear the way her heart rate increased.

“He was a cannibal,” she managed to say.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“He saw me first. Why didn’t he attack?”

The Prince frowned. “I should have thought it would be obvious. It’s because of what you’re wearing around your neck.”

Raven removed the handkerchief from her forehead. “Bullshit.”

“Ignorance,” he rejoined, sounding cross. “You modern people live in your own version of the Dark Ages, dismissing anything you can’t understand. If the relic didn’t stop him, what the hell did?”

Raven shut her mouth abruptly, not knowing what to say.

The Prince relaxed his posture and lowered his voice. “Are you in pain?”

“I’m fine.”

“Hardly. You’re in danger and the danger is real. Tonight you watched a feral feed but you didn’t dissolve into hysterics.” His tone bore the merest hint of admiration. “I thought you lacked an appreciation for the true danger you are facing. Now I know that isn’t true. I’m beginning to think you may have courage.”

She shifted, picking up a pillow and hugging it to her chest.

“Why are you here?”

His smile faded.

“As I said, I came to see if you were all right.”

“Why?”

“Does it matter?” His tone cooled.

“Why do you keep cutting off my electricity?”

“Why don’t you do as you’re told and leave the city?” he snapped.

“You gave me two weeks. I was hoping you’d keep your word.”

“That was before a policeman was killed by a feral in front of your building. How dangerous do things have to be before you decide to leave?”

Now he’d lost his temper.

He turned his back on her and walked toward the door.

“It’s likely he was the same man who has been following you since yesterday, but I can’t say for sure.”

Raven hugged the pillow more tightly. “He saw the man yelling at me. He came to help.”

“Policemen tend to do that.” The Prince sniffed.

She pointed a contemptuous look in his general direction. “You don’t care, do you? You don’t care that he died trying to protect me.”

“No, I don’t. His protection was unnecessary. I was protecting you, through the relic.”

“Why?”

“Why, indeed?” he muttered to himself.

“There has to be a reason.” She turned toward the window, which was shuttered. “I don’t have any money. I don’t have anything of value. What do you want?”

Several answers sprang to the Prince’s mind. But he was not about to entertain them. Or confess them.

He moved toward the bed and adopted a lighter tone.

“Perhaps I’m captivated by those green eyes of yours.”

Raven blinked in the darkness. “Now I know you’re lying. Why don’t you tell me who you are and what you really want?”

The Prince’s gaze focused on her so sharply, she almost felt it.

“I want you to leave the city.”

“You seem to know a lot about what goes on in Florence. Something happened to me last week. I lost my memory and—things changed.”

“I know that.” His voice was low.

“Tell me what happened.” She put the pillow aside and moved to the edge of the bed. “Please.”

He ground his teeth together. “No.”

“I have a right to know. You have to tell me.” Her expression twisted his insides.

“Promise me you’ll leave the city and I’ll tell you everything you wish to know.”

She sat back on her knees. “If I have the relic and it seems to work, why would I need to leave?”

“Are you mad?” he growled.

“Is the man who attacked the policeman the one who killed the others?”

The Prince froze. “What others?”

“
La Nazione
reported that several bodies were found downriver.”

His eyes narrowed. “When?”

“It was reported yesterday, but I haven’t had a chance to read the article.”

He swept away from her to the far side of the room, his mind spinning. He was unaware of the bodies and his anger at being surprised was almost boundless.