The Raven (The Florentine 1)

“Don’t torture me.”

“It’s the truth. For years, I thought my days and nights were filled with beauty. Beautiful things, a beautiful city, and beautiful women from time to time. Then you appeared and I realized I’d been deceived.”

Raven closed her eyes. “We need to go. It’s painful for me to be here and I don’t want you to be in danger.”

“I’m sorry for causing you pain. We’ll go at once.” His hand brushed against hers. “But don’t spare a thought for my danger. What can they do to me? I’ve already lost the only thing I value.”

“What’s that?”

“You.”

She shook her head. “I gave you my heart and you handed it back to me as if it were nothing.”

“It isn’t nothing.” He spoke in her ear. “I value it and I value you. I think you know this.”

“It doesn’t matter. I won’t relegate myself to a life of misery, loving someone who doesn’t love me.”

“You’re the only one I want.”

Now Raven struggled against his arms, albeit carefully. “Take me home.”

“Just a moment, that’s all I ask. Please.” He appeared to force a smile. “I’ve learned a verse for you. Do you know it?

“‘Cupid being now healed of his wound and Maladie,

not able to endure the absence of Psyches, got him

secretly out at a window of the chamber where hee

was enclosed, and (receiving his wings), tooke his flight.’”

“Apuleius.”

“Yes.”

“You speak in riddles.”

“Only because language fails me.”

Are you saying you’re healed of your malady?” she asked, fearing his answer.

“There’s no cure for vampyrism except death. But for coldheartedness, I think there is a cure.” He turned her in his arms and looked at her gravely. “The warmth of a pure heart, for example. And the stunning pain of loss.”

He stopped, his arms wrapped around her waist.

“My human memories are indistinct for the most part. We all have the same complaint. Memories are stored in the brain. When our biology changed, our brains changed as well. It affected our ability to access those memories.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I’m trying to share a secret.”

Raven stilled. She felt his worry, his uncertainty.

She placed her hand over his.

Tentatively, he laced his fingers with her own.

“Everyone, including Aoibhe, thinks I’m English, but that isn’t true. I’m not Anglo-Saxon; I’m Norman. My name is William Malet. I was named after an ancestor of mine who was one of William the Conqueror’s companions in the Battle of Hastings. My family lived in York in the thirteenth century and that’s where I was born. My first language was Anglo-Norman French. I was the oldest son of a noble family and destined for a certain life, but I fell in love with a merchant’s daughter. Alicia.”

He gazed out over the city, a haunted look in his eyes.

Raven squeezed their connection, prompting him.

He looked down at their fingers.

“Because of the difference in our stations, and the fact that she was Anglo-Saxon, my family opposed the match. But we were young and in love. We thought the differences between us were meaningless.

“We decided to flout my father and elope. Alicia was supposed to meet me in York one night so we could run away together. She never appeared. I went looking for her, and after searching for hours I found her, lying by the wall.” He cursed. “She was alive, but barely. A group of men had happened upon her while she was on her way to meet me. They took their pleasure and broke her body. She died in my arms.”

“I’m so sorry.” She held his hand firmly.

William’s expression was tortured.

“She’d been a virgin, secretly betrothed to me. The way she suffered and died . . .” William’s voice trailed off into a curse. “I should have met her at her father’s house and not compelled her to wander the streets alone. Or I should have let her go and she could have married someone else.”

“You loved her,” Raven said quietly. “And, from what you’ve said, she loved you, too. You couldn’t have known what would happen.”

“She died nonetheless.” William struggled to continue. “I tried to avenge her death but couldn’t discover who had done it. In the interim, my father arranged to have me marry a girl from another Norman family. It was a political and economic alliance, as most marriages were in those days.

“I had no wish to marry anyone, let alone a spoiled aristocrat I’d never met. Angry and in despair, I fled my father and went to Oxford. I was there only a short time when the Dominicans took me in. I began my studies at Oxford and later went to Paris.”

“Was she beautiful?”

William squeezed Raven’s hand. “Very. She had red-gold hair. I’ve never quite seen its likeness. And she was kind and very sweet. I fell in love with her the moment I saw her.”

He cleared his throat. “When Alicia died, I knew my ability to love died with her. I became a novice with the Dominicans, taking a vow of chastity. My intention was to become a priest.”

His eyes lifted to Raven’s, a strange fire in them.

“When I saw you that night, pressed against a wall, those animals eating you, you reminded me of her—this beautiful, gentle girl. You were going to die because you’d been walking a dark street alone. I couldn’t let that happen.

“Aoibhe and some of the others found us. Your blood smells sweet and they wanted it. By then, I knew I wasn’t going to feed from you. I told them you were mine and took you away.”

“William,” she whispered, “thank you for having mercy on me.”

He stiffened. “I don’t think mercy is in my vocabulary.”

“But you acted mercifully. You honored her memory by saving my life.”

“I may have saved your life, Cassita, but I lost you just the same.”

The despair in his voice both wounded and irritated her.

She disentangled her hand from his. “You only lost me because you don’t love me.”

“You are mistaken.” He pulled her against him, his expression earnest. “This past month I’ve been waiting, thinking what I felt for you would recede. If my ability to love died with Alicia, or if it ended when I became a vampyre, I should have been able to forget you.