The Raven (The Florentine 1)

“Rarely. Vampyres in my position are expected to ask for permission before they travel across another prince’s territory. I find the process tiresome.”

He brushed a kiss against her hair. “What about your leg? Couldn’t they repair it?”

Raven turned on her side once again. “They tried but it didn’t heal properly. We were wards of the state at that point. I suppose if we’d had enough money for expensive surgeons and multiple surgeries they could have fixed it. But my stepfather was under a restraining order and he was the one with all the money. My mother was told she had to stay away from him.”

“And did she?”

“Long enough to get us back. When I was released from the hospital, Cara and I were placed with a foster family for several months. My stepfather was brought up on charges but he plea-bargained and received a suspended sentence.”

Raven exhaled loudly. “My mother lost the baby—probably because of the stress. I don’t know. Eventually she was settled in an apartment and started working. We went to live with her.

“We were there only a week when my stepfather showed up. They said that we were moving to California. She said we were going to be a family again.”

William growled, low, near her ear.

“That night, when we went to bed I grabbed my sister and we left. I stole my stepfather’s wallet and used the money to try to get back to our old foster home. But I wasn’t sure how to get there. We hopped a bus and ended up in a bad section of Orlando.

“We were at a bus stop trying to figure out how to get where we needed to go. My sister was crying and I was on crutches because my leg was still healing.

“A guy came up and started talking to us. He was creepy but we had nowhere else to go, we had to wait for the bus. He tried to persuade us to go with him, that he could help us. When I said no, he grabbed me. I fought him, hitting him with one of my crutches. He took my crutch and threw it away. I thought he was going to knock me out and kidnap us.

“Out of nowhere, a man and a woman appeared. They’d heard me yelling and came to see what was going on. The man who’d grabbed me ran off.

“The guy who came to our rescue was a priest. He asked me what had happened and I told him everything—about my stepfather, about my leg, about Cara . . .”

Raven cleared her throat. “He was the director of Covenant House, which is a shelter for teenagers. The woman was one of the shelter workers. They were making the rounds handing out food and trying to convince homeless kids to come to the shelter.

“They took us in and gave us a safe place to sleep. And they didn’t call my mother.”

William was puzzled. “Why would they?”

“Normally, you’d report missing children to their parents. But Father Kavanaugh kept us at Covenant House until he could figure out how to help us. In the morning, he called a friend of his who was a police officer and he came over.

“They called our social worker and we went back into foster care. It was over a year before we were returned to my mother. She gave up on my stepfather permanently and moved to St. Petersburg. Um, that’s a different city in Florida.”

“What happened to him?” William’s hand curled into a fist.

“I don’t know. He was in trouble with the police because he’d violated the terms of his sentence and the restraining order. He may have been sent to jail, I’m not sure. We didn’t talk about him after that.”

“And your mother?”

“I lived with her until I was old enough to go to college. I kept in touch with Father Kavanaugh. He paid for me to take art lessons when I was in high school. He helped me get a scholarship to Barry University. I left home and never went back.”

“What about your sister?”

Raven squirmed in his arms. “She stayed with my mom. When she was a teenager, she got mixed up with the wrong crowd. She was promiscuous. I worried it was because of what had happened to her.”

“And now?”

“She dropped out of high school for a while, but I persuaded her to go back. I was living in New York by then and going to graduate school. I think she realized that education was her ticket to a better kind of life.

“Father Kavanaugh helped her pay for college, and when she graduated she became a real estate agent. She’s successful now and has a nice boyfriend. They’re coming to visit me this summer.”

“Is she all right?”

“She doesn’t remember anything about that night and has basically accepted my mother’s version of events.” Raven shifted on the bed. “Maybe that’s better than being tormented by the past.”

“Are you tormented?”

“Every day.”

William was quiet for a very long time.

“A priest came to save you, yet you don’t believe in God?”

“What kind of God lets children be abused?” Raven’s voice was low and very fierce.

“You don’t need to tell me about the injustice of God. I agree. But his injustice doesn’t entail his nonexistence.”

“Maybe for you.”

William stroked her hair softly.

“You cried for your sister but not for yourself.”

Now he could smell the salt from fresh tears.

“She was a baby,” Raven managed to say. “It was my job to protect her.”

“It was your mother’s responsibility to protect you both. And she didn’t.” William tightened his arm across Raven’s middle. He sighed deeply, his tone tinged with regret. “I would not have asked you to talk about this if I’d known.”

“A lot of kids had it worse than me. That’s why I volunteer at the orphanage.”

William swore, the muscles of his body tensing.

“I blame my father,” she whispered. “I love him and I miss him, but if he’d been more careful, he wouldn’t have died. None of this would have happened.”

“Put the blame where it belongs, on your mother and stepfather.”

“I blame her, William, believe me. We don’t have a relationship because of this.”

“I have considerable power, Cassita, and more than a considerable fortune. I will use both to have your leg repaired medically, if that’s what you want. If you’d rather use alchemy, the best vintages of my cellar are yours.”

She curled into herself. “William, I don’t—I can’t—”

“Take time to consider it,” he interrupted. “You don’t need to decide tonight. But more than that, I will give you justice.”

“Justice?”

“You said no one defended you. I will.” His tone grew frightening.

“It’s too late.”

He rolled her to her back and leaned over her.

“It’s never too late for justice.”

Raven looked away.

“I will deal with everyone who ever harmed you. All you need to do is name them.”

“It won’t change the past.”

He placed his hand

on her cheek. “It will stop the torment.”

“Your justice involves death.”

“I don’t see why a death sentence for your mother and stepfather is problematic.”

“I don’t want you to kill my mother. Do you hear me?” She rolled away from him, exasperated. “Don’t you get tired of death?”

His gazed burned into her back. “I get tired of evil triumphing over goodness. I get tired of the injustice inherent in the universe and beings, human and otherwise, standing aside and doing nothing.”

Raven sighed.

“It must be sad to live forever,” she said after a while. “Everyone you cared about is dead.”

William shifted beside her. “I haven’t loved anyone since I was human.”

“Then I feel sorry for you. Love—even the love for family and friends—is a light that shines in the darkness. Without that light, I would have killed myself.”

William frowned. “This is a morbid conversation.”

Raven stifled a laugh. “Coming from a vampyre, that’s funny.”

She sobered and looked up at the canopy. “But it’s true, William. I feel sorry for you. I wouldn’t want to live forever—to carry this pain for eternity. I just want peace.

“No matter the justice you think you can get, I will always have this weight on my shoulders. I’m glad that someday I’ll go to sleep and never wake up.”

Raven curled her body into a ball, lying on her side, and tucked her hands under her pillow. Soon her breathing grew even and he knew she was asleep.

William was in desperate need of a few hours of meditation, simply to clear his mind and allow him to relax. But all he could think about was a twelve-year-old girl fighting a grown man to protect her sister and being thrown down a flight of stairs.

He could see her, the young girl with the black hair, lying at the foot of the staircase, her body battered and broken.

Cassita vulneratus.

Defensa.

He reached into his pocket and retrieved the gold bracelet that featured the symbol of Florence. He slipped it over her right wrist.

Everyone you cared about is dead.

“Not everyone,” he whispered, pulling her against his chest.