The Raven (The Florentine 1)

“You’re comparing monster to monster—comparisons don’t imply positives.”

She shook her head. “Monsters aren’t heroic.”

William gave her a searching look, as if her remark truly surprised him. He soon recovered, however.

“Why are you so adamant about saving a man you don’t even know? Emerson is arrogant and proud. I’ve seen him in public, parading his illustrations as if he were Dante himself, resurrected from the dead.”

Raven frowned. “You don’t like Dante?”

“The man was a mercurial egoist who panted after a married woman, neglecting his wife and family.”

Raven’s mouth dropped open. “Did you know him or is this merely your opinion?”

“I knew him. I knew Beatrice, too. She was lovely. And far too intelligent to leave her husband for such a fiend.”

“I didn’t think he was trying to persuade her to leave her husband. In La Vita Nuova, he talks about her as a kind of Muse.”

“If she’d returned his attentions, he’d have committed adultery with her in the middle of the Ponte Santa Trinita. Don’t fool yourself.” He shifted on the bed so he could see her better. “My question remains. Why are you so intent on helping Emerson?”

Raven avoided his eyes. “I gave you the reason. It’s unjust to kill him when he bought the illustrations in good faith not knowing they were stolen. And I’m worried about what will happen to his wife and child if you murder him.”

William’s gaze traveled the length of her body to where her legs rested under the covers.

“You said something happened to you after your father died. What was it?”

Raven rolled away from him, facing the balcony doors. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

William reflected on her answer and realized he truly wanted to know Raven’s history.

(He didn’t take time to ask himself why he was interested in her past. No doubt he would have been surprised by the answer.)

“That is my price. You tell me about your family, and I’ll spare Emerson.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I give you my word. I’ll spare the Emersons entirely if you answer my question.”

“Just like that?” Raven was incredulous.

“Not just like that. A confrontation between Emerson and me is coming. I will have my satisfaction. But I won’t kill him.

“I may predate psychology, but I can divine that whatever happened to you marked you. I’d like to understand why you’re so hell-bent on protecting anyone and everyone.”

“I’m not.”

“Cassita.” He approached her cautiously, moving his body to spoon behind hers. “You’re a protector. The question I’m asking is, why?”

She didn’t answer, but she didn’t pull away, either. He placed his arm over hers across her stomach.

“Tell me what happened to your leg, then.” His voice softened.

“It’s the same story. And it’s ugly.” She tapped her fingers on top of the mattress. “If I tell you, I want your word you won’t harm the Emersons, ever.”

“I said I’ll spare their lives, that’s all I’ll promise.”

“William, I—”

“This is already a concession, Raven. I hate the man.”

William’s tone indicated his intractability.

“Fine.” She sighed.

Raven closed her eyes, paused, and began her tale.

Chapter Thirty-nine

William was conscious of the tension in Raven’s body, but she accepted his touch. He tried not to be distracted by the warmth and softness of her form, or the delight he had in wrapping himself around her.

He’d never held a woman this way before. He’d never asked a woman to tell him her secrets or share her hidden pain.

Raven was different.

He tried very hard to focus on her words and not be distracted by her scent, which had almost cleared of the vampyre blood he’d given her.

“I am not a victim.” Her voice was low but steely. “I’m not telling you this story to inspire pity. I don’t want that.”

“Agreed.” He spoke near her ear.

She mumbled a curse and he almost regretted demanding her history from her. Almost, but not quite.

“Everything began when my father died. I was eleven and we were living in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. My father was a construction worker. One day, he had an accident and fell off a roof.”

Raven shuddered. “It was sudden, obviously. My mother went to pieces. We didn’t have extended family so it was just my mother, me, and my sister, Carolyn. We called her Cara. She was four.

“My mother didn’t function well without my father. He’d kept the house repaired and paid the bills and looked after the car. She didn’t know how to do any of those things. Or if she did, she was too depressed to do them.

“We were going to lose our house. We didn’t have money for food. So my mother got a job as a hostess in a local restaurant. That’s where she met him.” Raven shivered and William moved closer, wrapping himself around her like a shield.

“He was a real estate developer from Florida. He took a shine to my mother and asked her out. He didn’t mind that she had kids. In fact, he told us he loved kids.” Raven spat out the words.

“They started dating. Soon she was pregnant and they decided to get married and move us to Orlando, Florida, to live with him.

“Things were fine at the beginning. Mom was happy and pregnant. Cara was happy to have a new daddy.”

“And you, Cassita”—William’s voice was low—“were you happy?”

“I was relieved. When Dad died, I was left having to do things—buy food, try to cook, and remind my mother to pay the bills.

“After the first month or two in Orlando, I started noticing things about our stepfather. He barely spoke to me and when I tried to talk to him, he brushed me off.

“But he talked to Cara. And he stared at her, a lot. I didn’t like the way he looked at her.

“One night I came out of my room to go to the bathroom and I saw him going into her room. I followed.

“He gave me some bullshit excuse of checking on her and tried to send me back to bed. I wouldn’t go. I said I was scared of the dark and was going to sleep in her room.

“He argued with me but I wouldn’t move. He was angry with me but eventually he left. That’s when I realized something was very, very wrong.