The Raven (The Florentine 1)

The hunters would come out in search of their prey.

She hoped William would be safe.

Raven returned to the painting and opened her knapsack, withdrawing some clean paper and her set of charcoals, which she spread across the hardwood floor.

Moving to lie on her stomach, because it was more comfortable than

hunching over the paper, she began to sketch the second Grace.

Soon she was lost in the interplay of light and shadow, black and gray, her fingers ever moving over the page. She drew, she shaded, she blended with her fingers until her skin grew black. And finally, a few hours later, she had a large sketch she was proud of.

She signed her name at the bottom, as was her custom, and walked to the bathroom to wash her hands.

When she checked her watch, it was after midnight. William had not returned.

Maybe he’ll return soon.

She could wait one more hour, especially to help the Emersons.

Raven sat on the bed, stretching her back and neck.

The bed was comfortable and her body was beginning to complain about having lain on the floor.

A few minutes later, she reclined, clutching a pillow.

Then she fell asleep.

Raven felt a breeze on her face.

She opened her eyes and was momentarily confused. She was in William’s bed, his room swathed in darkness.

A light breeze wafted in through the balcony doors, causing the curtains on either side to lift and sway.

Raven turned on her side to face them and saw a figure standing in the doorway.

A light from somewhere in the gardens shone behind him. He was leaning against the doorpost, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at her.

“She awakes,” he murmured.

Raven sat up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“What are you doing here, besides sketching my paintings?” His tone was abrupt.

“I came to see you. Where were you?”

He smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile.

“‘I have gone round about the earth, and walked through it.’”

Raven rubbed her eyes. “I’ll never understand how it is that a vampyre can quote scripture.”

“Perhaps because he was taught scripture before he became a vampyre.”

William pushed off the doorpost and approached the bed, his steps quick and purposeful.

“What are you doing in my bed? You made it quite clear whatever was starting between us ended.”

“I was worried about the Emersons.”

“Of course,” he scoffed. “Raven is savior to the world. I believe someone else lays claim to that accomplishment.

“Go back to sleep. You can leave after breakfast.”

He moved toward the door and Raven’s heart sank.

“Aren’t you tired?” she called.

He paused but didn’t turn around. “We aren’t capable of sleep.”

“It must be exhausting not to have an escape from the worries of the day.”

“It’s necessary to rest the mind, if one doesn’t want to go mad. We have various ways of doing that.” He turned to face her, his tone somewhat ominous.

“And you?”

“I meditate.”

Raven looked around the room. “Where do you do that?”

His chin jerked toward where she was lying. “There.”

“Oh.”

Raven pulled back the duvet and sheets to her right, where there was a pillow and an empty space. “Come here, then.”

He eyed the bed with narrowed eyes. “Are you tempting me?”

“No, I’m apologizing for putting you out. We can share.”

William walked to the empty side of the bed, his eyes fixed on hers.

He placed a hand on the mattress, giving her a challenging look.

When she didn’t retreat, he sat on the edge of the bed. He removed his shoes and reclined, lying on his back next to her.

She reached down to remove her shoes as well, before lying on her side facing him.

“Lucia presented me with your gift.” He sounded unfriendly.

“William,” she murmured. “Don’t be angry.”

“You’re the most frustrating being—human or vampyre—that I’ve dealt with in centuries. And that’s saying something, since I know Aoibhe.”

Raven bristled at the female vampyre’s name, but she tried to hide it.

“You said you felt shame when I offered myself in exchange for Bruno’s life. Please don’t be angry with me for trying to save a family and give a home to a little girl who needs one.”

William sniffed but didn’t respond.

She shifted closer to him on the bed.

“Did you capture the hunters?”

“No. They took down one of my brethren last night. The hunters have

new weapons we weren’t aware of.”

“I’m sorry. Was the vampyre a friend of yours?”

“I don’t have friends. It isn’t in my nature.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. She reached out a hesitant hand across the mattress and placed it on his shoulder.

He didn’t flinch but he didn’t move into her touch, either.

“William, what happened to Angelo’s body?”

“Angelo?” He turned his head toward her.

“The homeless man who died the night I was attacked.”

William returned to looking at the canopy above the bed.

“His body was taken outside of the city and burned. That’s what we do with corpses.”

Raven’s heart twisted. “Is there a grave? A place I could bring flowers?”

“You don’t want to visit that place. It reeks of death.”

“I suppose I could put flowers by the bridge, where he used to sit.”

William exhaled loudly, as if her remark displeased him.

Raven touched his shoulder again. “Where did you find me? The night I was attacked?”

“There’s an alley near the Ponte Santa Trinita. The animals dragged you into it. Why do you ask?”

“I still can’t remember that evening. It’s hazy.”

“Be thankful for small mercies.

“Until the hunters are removed, I will do nothing about Emerson. But I make no promise for the future.” He shifted to face her. “You have a day or so to manipulate one out of me.”

“I’m not manipulating you. I’m appealing to your better nature.”

“My better nature.” He sounded bitter. “There is no better nature. Don’t you understand?”

“You had compassion on me when those men would have raped and killed me. Who has the better nature between you and them?”