The Raven (The Florentine #1)(76)
Author: Sylvain Reynard

He’d allowed himself to hope, knowing that hope was vain. Just as quickly, his hope had been extinguished. And there would be no Raven to reignite it.

He leapt to the ground, standing in the alley outside Teatro’s side entrance.

A burly security guard moved menacingly in his direction but stopped when he scented the Prince. The guard bowed.

“May I be of service, my lord?”

“Not at this time.” William dismissed him.

A taxi drove up, stopping at the entrance to the alley.

As if on cue, the door to the club opened, and a young woman exited. She was slight of height and build, her eyes large and almost black, her hair dark. Her skin was a coppery brown and she spoke to the security guard in Spanish.

She was thinner than William preferred but he inhaled her scent eagerly; the spicy tang of her blood almost a taste on his tongue.

“Good evening.” He addressed her in Italian.

She peered around the bodyguard with a frown. When she caught sight of William, she smiled.

“Good evening,” she replied, in Spanish.

She turned as if to go to her taxi.

Suddenly William stood in front of her. “May I see you home?”

“I have a taxi.”

“I’ll walk you.” He stared deeply into her eyes.

This was the test, of course. Would she look away or return his stare?

She returned his stare and smiled.

William allowed the hunger in his belly to grow. He instructed the security guard to dismiss the taxi.

Offering the young woman his elbow, he escorted her from the alley to a side street.

“Your name?” he asked.

“Ana.”

“Ana.” He repeated her name, as if trying its feel in his mouth.

She didn’t ask his name. Or perhaps she intended to but wasn’t given the opportunity.

He quickly pulled her into another alley and pressed her back against the wall.

He didn’t kiss her mouth, as he usually did in such moments. In fact, he closed his eyes and went for her neck, immediately.

She gasped as his tongue tasted her skin, her hands lifting to grip his biceps.

She rubbed herself against him, her breasts pert and high on her chest.

He placed his hand to her waist, leaning into her, before swiping his thumb across her nipple.

When she moaned and lifted her leg to place her thigh against his hip, he sank his teeth into her throat.

She cried out as he drank furiously, carefully counting the number of times he swallowed. Too much and she’d faint.

He drank quickly, but savored every mouthful. Her blood was light and sweet, like her body, with a delicate spice that hinted of recklessness.

When he reached the maximum volume he could drink from her, he carefully licked her wound. She gripped his arms tightly and orgasmed.

He waited until she stopped shaking, then carefully disentangled himself from her.

She murmured at him and tried to kiss him, but he kept her at arm’s length, escorting her back to the security guard.

He’d given the young woman pleasure and fed from her, but he felt no joy. In fact, he felt even hungrier—hungry for blood, hungry for sex, hungry for hope.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to blot Raven’s image out of his mind. His inability to take pleasure in the simple act of feeding did not bode well.

He instructed the guard to send the girl home in a taxi, then he melted into the shadows, feeling empty and conflicted.

Chapter Thirty-seven

Raven’s head arched back, exposing her neck, as William’s lips closed on her breast. His body, including his mouth, was cooler than hers. The feel of his tongue in intimate places was particularly arousing.

They were naked.

He was sitting up, his back against the wall at the head of her bed. She was straddling him, his arm encircling her waist as he thrust inside her.

At the sight of her neck, he growled, his mouth moving from her breast to her throat.

She moved up and down, riding him. She was close, a familiar tightening beginning below her stomach.

He kissed her throat, nipping and sucking the skin. His lips and tongue stroked across her flesh, her breasts brushing across his smooth chest.

“Cassita.” He tugged her earlobe with his teeth. “I won’t let such beauty die.”

One more swivel of her hips and she climaxed, the words that tumbled from her lips incoherent.

With a snarl, he sank his teeth into her neck, piercing skin and artery until the blood flowed into his mouth. He sucked and sucked as her orgasm peaked, thrusting between her legs faster and faster.

With the blood flow to her brain diminished by half, she grew light-headed. But the sensation only compounded her climax, causing it to continue, like a wave that would not crash.

She was suspended in time, in the throes of absolute ecstasy as he drank, the blood flowing warm and liquid down his throat.

She grew more and more light-headed, the pleasure in her body still present, but she began to disconnect with it, as if she were losing the ability to feel.

She raised a weak hand to his shoulder, trying to push him away.

He shoved her arm aside.

Her eyes shot open and she began to cry out, begging him to stop, her limbs immobile.

Pain shot through her body, overtaking the pleasure. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she felt weightless, the pain as well as the pleasure gone.

When she collapsed in his arms, he laid her on the bed, lifting his bloodied mouth to kiss her.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I couldn’t help myself.”

Raven lacked the strength to respond. She felt the darkness close in around her as her heart stuttered and finally stopped.

Chapter Thirty-eight

To say that Raven was unsettled by the nightmare would be an understatement. She slept fitfully the rest of the night, finally giving up on sleep at around four o’clock in the morning.

She wrote short e-mails to Cara and to Father Kavanaugh, telling them she’d be glad to see them in the summer. She lied to her sister, saying that Bruno had canceled their date. She hoped Cara wouldn’t pursue the matter further.

At six o’clock, it was still too early to get ready for work, so Raven spread her drawing paper and charcoals across the kitchen table and began sketching the lost Michelangelo painting that hung in William’s villa.

It was difficult to draw from memory, even though Raven’s memory (when not recovering from a life-threatening head injury) was very good. Still, it was worth a try, since it seemed unlikely she’d ever see it again.

An hour and a half later, she’d outlined the naked bodies of Adam and Eve. They were a fair approximation of the figures painted by Michelangelo.