The Raven (The Florentine 1)

“Mercy,” the girl cried, wrapping her arms around Aoibhe’s lower legs. “Please.”

Aoibhe gave Maximilian an impatient look. “If you’re going to flout the rules, do it elsewhere. Or I’ll be forced to report you.”

“Go fornicate yourself, Aoibhe. I’m a member of the Consilium, too. This is none of your concern.”

He pulled the girl to her feet and she began screaming hysterically, thrashing about and trying to crawl into Aoibhe’s lap.

Aoibhe scowled, noting that a group of humans and their nonhuman counterparts had begun to stare in their direction. “You’re making a scene. Get her under control or let her go.”

“No, no!” The girl screamed louder.

Maximilian appeared to be enjoying the spectacle. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against his body, grinding his groin against her backside. He placed his mouth to the wound on her neck and snaked out his tongue, lapping at the blood like a dog.

Aoibhe huffed before reaching out a single finger, forcing the girl to look into her eyes.

“Silence,” she commanded.

The girl stopped moving, despite the man assaulting her neck. Her eyes widened as they fixed on Aoibhe, who spoke in soothing tones.

“You are not afraid. Not anymore. Look into my eyes and focus on the sound of my voice. I am your mistress now.”

The girl nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Inhale deeply and feel your heart slow. That’s a good girl.”

“Aoibhe, stop it.” Max lifted his head, tightening his grip on his prey.

Without breaking eye contact, Aoibhe spoke. “Too late. I told you to get her under control.”

She lifted her hand, signaling to the bouncers, who stood by the door.

Max bellowed in anger and tried to wrench the girl backward. But he was stopped by the arrival of two large men. They functioned as a kind of security for the club and were of the same kind as he and Aoibhe.

She blinked, and the girl closed her eyes and sagged against Max.

“Tomas, Francesco. Be so kind as to escort Sir Maximilian to the exit. He has broken the rules.” Aoibhe glanced at him in distaste.

“You can’t do this! You can’t evict me.” Max leaned forward but Aoibhe held out her hand.

“One more step and I’ll take you outside myself. I’m older than you by at least a century. Do you really want to challenge me?”

Max snorted derisively but didn’t move. He knew, as did Aoibhe, that the older the supernatural being, the more powerful he or she was. Certainly her strength and agility were well-known. If she wanted Max dead, she could kill him. But not within the city—at least, not without cause.

The larger of the two bouncers glanced at the unconscious girl. “What about the human?”

Aoibhe waved a dismissive hand. “He can have her.”

Max’s head jerked in surprise.

She smiled slowly. “Think of her as a final gift. You are no longer welcome here. If you return, I’ll report you to the Consilium and you’ll lose your position.”

Max spat in her direction but she turned her head swiftly, his spittle landing on the wall behind her.

She turned her head and gave him a long, slow smile. “Enjoy your takeaway.”

He lifted the unconscious girl into his arms and the men escorted him from the club.

Those who had paused their activities to watch the clash between the supernatural beings quickly found themselves distracted by other pursuits.

Aoibhe straightened her dress. Dealing with Max and the other masculine egos of her kind was exhausting. Why the devil couldn’t he follow the rules?

The Prince didn’t make public spectacles, even when he happened upon an extraordinary vintage as he’d done recently. He’d simply taken the human and fed on her privately, discreetly disposing of the corpse or having Gregor dispose of it for him.

“You look in want of company.” A smooth voice sounded in her ear.

“Ibarra.” She smiled warmly at the tall Basque who leaned over her.

He kissed her cheeks and signaled to a waitress to bring him a drink.

“How is the fair Aoibhe this evening?” He sat next to her on the sofa, placing his arm around her shoulder.

“Annoyed, at the moment. I’ve just had to have Max thrown out.” She sighed dramatically.

“I’m sure he deserved it.”

“He did. Insolent fool.”

When their drinks arrived, they clinked their glasses before drinking.

Ibarra placed his glass on one of the tables nearby. “We’ll need more recruits if we’re going to oust troublemakers like Max.”

“Just kill him and get it over with.”

“Not within the city.” He winked at her and she laughed.

“Take him outside the city, then. I’ll give you whatever you want if you rid me of him. I’ve had trouble with him twice in as many weeks.”

“Anything I want?” He ran the back of his hand over her neck.

She leaned into his touch. “Within reason, Ibarra. Although I’m sorely tempted to offer you carte blanche at the moment.”

He gave her a hungry look. “I’ll remember that. Rumor says that Max’s trouble was with the Prince.”

“Trouble with the Prince is trouble with me.” Aoibhe’s tone was sharp.

Ibarra smiled sadly. “Alas, I’m too late.”

“You aren’t too late.” She kissed him eagerly but pulled away before he was able to reciprocate. “How go the patrols?”

He groaned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Give me a bit of warning before you do that. Now look at me.” He gestured at his lap in frustration.

“I can arrange to have you serviced while we speak.” Aoibhe turned in the direction of a group of young women seated nearby.

Ibarra placed his hand over her wrist. “I’d prefer you to service me.”

“I’m too old to kneel in public.” She gave him a frosty look and withdrew her hand.

“Who said anything about kneeling? Sit here and I’ll pleasure you.” He gestured to his groin.

She paused, her eyes darting to his lap. Certainly Ibarra was very attractive. And the Prince had always been indifferent to her romantic activities.

“Another time perhaps.” She licked her lips. “Tell me about the patrols.”

“I’ll hold you to that promise.”

“Please do.”

He groaned again, muttering a Basque curse.

“The patrols are good enough. Our borders are secure.”