The Raven (The Florentine #1)(33)
Author: Sylvain Reynard

She bowed her head. “Forgive me. Your presence is a great honor. I merely meant to show my respect.”

The Prince lifted a skeptical eyebrow.

“I’m sure some of the members of the Consilium would welcome your . . . generosity,” he said. “Not all of us are the same. If you wish to reach old age, you’ll remember that.”

With a nod, he dismissed her.

She bowed again and retreated, disappearing into the crowd.

The Prince scowled.

He hadn’t always behaved thusly. When he was newly turned, he’d indulged in the pleasures of the body. But the chains he’d worn in life were difficult to break. Even now, he wore them. He was, perhaps, the only one of his kind who still had sexual compunctions.

He took great care to hide them, which was why, among other reasons, he avoided Teatro as one might avoid plague.

Aoibhe spoke the truth. He could have his choice, as Prince. But what he desired was a human female, not a succubus.

He rubbed his face. Perhaps he should go home.

But home held memories of Cassita, of her broken body sliding perilously close to death. It was not a place to go in order to forget her.

Anger began to build in his chest. He finished his drink in one swallow, determined to have the satisfaction he craved.

He searched the crowd and eventually located the dark-haired woman he’d been admiring. Surely she was reason enough for him to court a little guilt.

He stood, adjusting the sleeves of his jacket. Eyes on the woman, he walked toward her.

Humans and supernatural beings alike parted in front of him. Soon he was at the center of the dance floor. Her back was toward him.

He leaned forward, his lips brushing her ear. “Good evening.”

She shuddered. “Hi.”

She turned her head and he was disappointed momentarily at how different her facial features were from Jane’s. This woman was more beautiful, but the fact that she was not who he really wanted diminished her appeal. Greatly.

He closed his eyes and inhaled. Her scent was enticing.

And she was willing. Her heartbeat quickened, as did her breathing, as soon as he made eye contact.

The Prince placed a hand on her hip, drawing her to his body. Ignoring the pounding music, he began to sway, moving with her to his own sensual rhythm.

She lifted her hands and slipped them between the lapels of his jacket, tracing the planes of his pectorals with pink-tipped fingers.

“You’re very strong. Are you an athlete?” She raised her voice so she could be heard, but she needn’t have bothered. His hearing was excellent.

“Of a sort. What brings you here?” He smiled, watching her reaction.

She returned his smile and moved nearer. “I came in search of pleasure.”

His grip on her hip tightened. “And have you found it?”

She shook her head.

He spanned her waist with his hands, bringing their lower bodies together. Her breasts brushed across his chest and he felt the stirrings of desire.

“You’re attractive.”

Her smile widened. “Thank you. So are you.”

He laughed and she joined him.

He moved her hair behind her shoulder and stroked her cheek with his thumb. Then he brought his lips to her neck.

Instantly, he could hear her heartbeat speed, the blood pumping through her veins. She slid her hands up his chest and brought them to his hair, gently scratching at his scalp.

He brushed his nose against her throat and kissed her intently, careful not to let his teeth puncture her skin. There would be time enough for that. Satisfaction was always sweeter when delayed. And he had always prided himself in being a master of satisfaction.

She sighed in his arms, pulling him closer.

He continued to kiss her, enjoying her enthusiastic moans. When the scent of her arousal became too much, he pulled back.

She opened her eyes. “Why did you stop?”

He stroked his thumb across her lower lip. “I want to be the only one to hear your cries when I taste you.”

She nipped at his thumb, her eyes sparkling. “Yes, please.”

He took her hand in his. “Come.”

He led her from the dance floor and toward one of the halls. A youngling, who acted as a guard, bowed to the Prince and stood aside so they could pass.

At that moment, someone moved to stand in front of them.

“Lorenzo.” The Prince nodded at his second in command, gripping the woman’s hand more tightly.

Lorenzo was Italian by birth and a distant cousin of the Medici family. Born in the sixteenth century, he had transformed when he was twenty years old. His dark hair was curly and hung to his shoulders, while his eyes were a light brown. In size, he matched the Prince, but he was younger and far less powerful.

“Forgive the intrusion, my prince.” Lorenzo’s eyes flickered to the woman’s and back again. “But there’s a situation that requires your attention.”

The Prince swore. “Can’t it wait?”

Lorenzo lifted his hand, revealing a cell phone. “I’m afraid not.”

The Prince scowled at the device. He despised them. They weren’t permitted in Teatro for security reasons.

If Lorenzo was using one, something must have happened.

He turned to the guard.

“Escort the woman to one of the rooms and see she is not disturbed.”

He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. “I’ll be with you momentarily. There are drinks in the room. Please enjoy yourself while you wait.”

She smiled up at him and nodded, following the guard down the hall.

The Prince watched the curve of her backside as it swayed in her tight blue dress.

“What is so important as to interrupt my entertainment?” The Prince turned angry eyes on his lieutenant.

“An incident at Santo Spirito.”

At the very mention of the name, the Prince stilled.

Cassita.

“What kind of incident?”

“Perhaps we should move this conversation somewhere private.”

Angrily, the Prince stormed toward the exit of the club, pushing beings and humans aside as he crossed the dance floor. He threw the door open and stepped into the alley. It was raining.

Lorenzo followed, closing the door carefully behind him.

“We need privacy,” he said to the security guard.

The guard nodded and moved to the far end of the alley.

“What happened?” The Prince placed his hands on his hips, his voice low.

“A feral appeared in Santo Spirito. It killed an Interpol agent.”

The Prince pressed his lips together. “Witnesses?”