The Raven (The Florentine 1)

He lifted his hands, palms toward her.

“Jane.”

She retreated to the metal staircase and scrambled to the top, shouting as she climbed. “Help! Help!”

“No one will come to your aid. Lucia, Ambrogio, and the others do exactly as I tell them, without exception.” William stood at the bottom of the staircase. He did not look pleased. “Climb down from there before you fall.”

“Don’t come near me!” She reached over and pulled a very heavy atlas from one of the shelves.

“Sard,” he swore, throwing the bloodstained handkerchief on the floor next to her cardigan. “I’m sure the revelation comes as a shock, given your preconceived notions. But you should remember that I’ve done nothing but help you.”

“Let me go.”

He straightened his shoulders. “I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can. I’ve done nothing to you. Just let me go.”

William regarded her, his face taking on a contemplative expression.

“You thought I was a cannibal and yet you came to my aid. You sacrificed your white sweater for my wound.”

“You were bleeding, for God’s sake! Of course I tried to help.”

“Not of course. Few have ever lifted a finger to help me in the past few centuries. When they did, it was always with an agenda. You’ve not only surprised me, you’ve impressed me. And I am not easily impressed.”

He stepped to a table nearby and poured a deep purplish liquid into a goblet.

“You need a drink.” He lifted the glass.

“No, I don’t.” She shifted the atlas to her other hand. “I need to get out of here and away from you.”

“Finally you’re making sense.”

William approached the staircase. He was unhurried in his movements, almost relaxed. He placed a hand on the railing.

“If you’d come down from your perch, little bird, I’ll tell you more.”

“You’re a bunch of sick people.”

“Strictly speaking, we aren’t people. We’re vampyres.”

“Whatever.”

William smiled, revealing an array of straight white teeth.

“You’ve already met several vampyres, including me.”

Raven felt unsteady. “Who?”

“The feral. And Maximilian and Aoibhe.”

“Who’s Aoibhe?”

“The female who chased you to the Duomo.”

“So there are three of you?”

William pressed his lips together. “‘Our name is Legion, for we are many.’”

“How many?” Raven’s eyes widened.

“We exist worldwide, usually congregating in cities. Some of our kind live as ferals, alone and in rural locations.”

Raven gripped the railing. “I saw the feral kill the policeman. Is that what you do?”

“No. Ferals abandon reason and live like animals. The civilized ones among us feed on humans, but try not to kill them. Humans are a renewable resource.”

“Like trees,” she said weakly.

“What’s that?”

She closed her eyes. “The feral said I was a pedophile’s whore. He told me he’d fuck me until I died. Are you a pedophile?”

She opened her eyes and saw William’s expression change. A wave of fury passed over his features.

With a roar, he lifted the wine bottle and threw it against the heavy wooden doors. The bottle broke on impact, the top quarter of it embedding in the wood.

Raven clutched the atlas to her chest, clinging to the staircase rail with all her strength.

William rubbed his face with his hands. After a moment’s silence, he turned to her.

“I didn’t know that it spoke to you. I hope you never encounter one again, but if you do, you mustn’t listen to what it says. They’re devoid of reason and entirely dark.”

“Dark?”

He shifted his feet. “Something dark animates us. In a feral, the darkness overtakes it completely and the result is what you saw with the policeman.

“They aren’t without perception, however. It realized you had a relic and it must have divined where it came from, which is why it insulted the former owner and you.”

“You gave me a relic from a pedophile?”

“He was not a pedophile,” William snarled, baring his teeth. “He was a saint. Only a feral would suggest otherwise.”

Raven shrank from his anger. But after a minute her curiosity got the better of her.

“Which saint?”

William gestured to the chair she’d sat in previously. “You need to sit down before you fall down.”

When Raven made no movement, he told her, “I shall keep my distance and stand by the door.”

“Not until you tell me what you gave me.”

William did as he’d offered, stepping carefully between the shards of broken glass and pools of Chianti to the door. “In order to save your life, I fed you vampyre blood.”

“You what?” she shrieked.

He lifted his hands as if to calm her. “It has certain properties that can keep a human being alive.”

“This is impossible.” She swayed on the staircase, switching the atlas back to her other hand. “This must be a nightmare.”

Before she was aware of what was happening, William was at her side. He’d flown across the room and ascended the staircase.

He lifted the atlas from her shaking hand and reshelved it.

“Cassita.” He spoke firmly, looping an arm around her waist. “Stay with me.”

Her eyes focused on his. “I didn’t see you move. How did you do that?”

“Speed and agility are two of our talents. Now come down.”

She tried to push him away.

He was immovable.

“Look at me.” When their eyes met, he spoke in a low voice. “I won’t harm you. I—I swear by the relic.”

His voice and expression seemed sincere. Certainly he was superstitious about the relic, whatever its power or lack thereof. Would he swear by it and lie intentionally?

She wasn’t sure.

Raven considered her options and realized she couldn’t remain on the staircase forever. The only exit from the room was the door. At least if she descended the staircase, she’d be closer to the exit.

William took her hand and patiently led her to the chair.

“Drink this. It will settle your nerves.” He handed her the glass that held the remaining Chianti.

She eyed the contents.

“It isn’t blood, is it?”