The Shadow (The Florentine 2)

“I want you.”

He took her mouth, his tongue alternately penetrating and retreating in a sensual rhythm. She tilted her head, welcoming him, as the water continued to rain down. Hands roamed over slick skin as their lower bodies came into alignment. She touched his neck, his shoulders, his biceps, holding them tightly in an effort to remain upright.

William was not a tame lover. In his arms, she sensed his control, his desire, and the war that waged between the two. But he’d never harmed her and had always focused his attention on giving pleasure before taking it. Usually more than once.

“You’re a dream.” She sighed. “A dream of love I never thought I’d have.”

His eyes burned into hers. Without warning, he lifted her, tugging her thighs around his hips. He lowered his mouth to her breasts, tasting and teasing before sucking droplets of water from her eager flesh.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling him eager between her legs. He lifted her higher, hands beneath her backside, making sure he was correctly aligned.

“Breathe,” he commanded, his eyes boring into hers.

Here was the vampyre, proud and powerful, teetering on the edge of control. He bared his teeth as if by instinct and his chest rumbled.

“Just don’t break me,” she whispered, pushing a lock of blond hair from his forehead.

William’s expression grew even more fierce.

“I won’t break you. Whatever harm I bring to you, I vow to heal.”

He swallowed her reply with his kiss. Then with a single thrust, he entered her.

His kisses were as fierce as his movements as he pushed inside and withdrew, over and over. His grip on her backside tightened as he lifted and moved her in concert with his own motion.

Raven clung to him, her hand trailing to his lower back so she could urge him deeper. Not that he needed the encouragement.

Her breasts brushed against his chest, the friction teasing and arousing. She ignored the warm spray of the water, the scents of soap and William, and the nagging discomfort in her leg and ankle. Her focus was on feeling as he brought her swiftly to the brink of orgasm.

Before she could signal how close she was, she climaxed, her hand clutching his neck as she threw her head back. William continued his pace until she’d finished, his mouth dropping to her breasts, drawing one of them into his mouth.

When she opened her eyes, she found him staring at her hungrily.

“I have only begun,” he rasped. “Breathe.”

Chapter Seven

William stood from the bed, not bothering to cover himself. He’d spent two intense hours with Raven, who was now cocooned in a sheet, looking relaxed and happy.

In William’s antiquated mind, none of their activities constituted making love. Love was something that either existed or not; it wasn’t made and certainly not by the (admittedly exquisite) experience of joining bodies.

But he desired the curvaceous woman who watched him over the rim of her wineglass. He hungered for her, body and blood, with a yearning that bordered on desperate.

He also loved her.

He couldn’t help but compare her current state with how she’d been the night before—the tears, the cries, and then the punishing silence. Stefan’s assessment rang in his ears. While he was relieved she’d awoken in her right mind, he worried about how she would react when he told her about her stepfather. He was also anxious over her reaction to his use of mind control, even though he felt justified in using it. These anxieties fouled his mood.

“What are you doing?” Raven placed her wineglass next to a plate of food she’d lazily consumed after their coupling.

“Dressing,” he clipped, pulling on a pair of black jeans (sans underwear). He kept his back to her as he buttoned a black dress shirt, tucking it meticulously into his jeans.

“You’re finished with me.”

At her tone, William whirled around. Raven looked as if she’d been smacked.

“I will never be finished with you.” He gentled his voice as his eyes roved her body. “But your breasts are tender and so is the flesh between your legs. I must wait.”

Raven’s hand dropped to her lower abdomen. “You noticed?”

“Is that a genuine question? Or are you assuming I’d simply use you until you expired?”

She turned away, wincing at his anger.

“Forgive me.” He ground his teeth. “I should have explained that I’m getting dressed because I must feed.”

“You get irritable when you’re hungry. So noted.” Raven gave him a wry look. He sat next to her on the bed and pressed a repentant kiss to her lips.

“You could feed from me,” she suggested.

“I feel the need for something stronger.” His eyes darted to where her hand lay, resting in her lap. “I will feed from you again. Soon.”

She pointed vaguely to where his gaze had alighted.

“Absolutely.” The edge of his mouth turned up. “I think your swollen flesh would benefit from the coolness of my tongue. When the moment is right, I’ll taste the blood that flows through your thigh.”

Raven gaped.

William enjoyed her curious surprise. He also enjoyed the sight of her wrapped in one of his sheets. It was an image that should be captured in a painting and hung on his wall. He wondered if he’d be able to trust an artist to paint Raven in such an intimate moment, even if her nakedness was covered.

Quickly, he realized he wouldn’t.

“Join me in the drawing room. Lucia will direct you.”

“What should I wear?”

He gestured to the sheet.

She frowned. “I can’t go downstairs like this.”

“This is my home. You can wear—or not wear—whatever you like.”

She pulled the fabric around herself more tightly. “Even if it was Halloween and you were hosting a toga party, I wouldn’t walk around wrapped in a bedsheet.”

William was puzzled by her remark but didn’t bother to query her. He moved to the closet and shuffled a few hangers. “I have been looking forward to seeing you in this.” He placed a long, black satin nightgown on the bed.

The gown was elegant but sensual, featuring a plunging back that would expose Raven’s beautiful skin all the way to the top of her bottom. The front was almost as daring, with a deep V that would highlight her generous breasts.

Raven looked up at him with raised eyebrows. “Really?”

“There’s also a robe, which in my view is unnecessary. Come to me when you’re ready and I’ll tell you what happened last night.” He tried to keep his tone light, but knew that he failed.

Raven stared intently at the provocative satin that was draped casually across the bed and nodded.

William withdrew to the wine cellar that lay below the villa, deaf to the cries and weeping that emanated from the dungeon. He felt no remorse for holding the pedophile prisoner. He’d always despised pedophiles and had forbidden the practice in his principality.

The beast who lay in the cage down the corridor had violated Raven’s young sister. William had read the reports. He’d also seen photographs of Raven’s injuries.

He knew darkness. He knew evil. But he also knew there were aspects of it that went beyond anything he could understand. He didn’t waste time trying to solve the riddles of evil. Evil had its own logic and it was not something he, given his own moral code, would ever understand.

And humans think we are monsters.

He’d seen a great many things since the thirteenth century. Very little in human history surprised

or shocked him, cloaked as he was in indifference. Yet he was not indifferent to Raven, or to her suffering.

He regretted not killing the pedophile when he had the chance. A death certificate would have made an excellent birthday gift. Why the devil had he hesitated?

William muttered a curse. He knew why.

As his hand hovered over the most valued vintages in his cellar, he paused. It would be easy, far too easy, to kill the pedophile and lie to her about it. But Raven had already demonstrated she could tell when he was being deceptive.

He needed old vampyre blood in order to strengthen his resolve, in order to find the words to tell Raven who he kept in his dungeon. Further, he’d have to confess to using mind control on her. He was not looking forward to that conversation or its inevitable aftermath.

His hands closed on a prized bottle, chosen for the strength its original owner had possessed. William needed the blood of an old liar, long dead, to give him the courage to tell the truth.

A short time later, he sat in a large chair in front of the fireplace, scowling. The summer evening was too warm for a fire, but William liked it. Something about the sight, sound, and scent comforted him.

Raven didn’t complain about the heat. She sat to his right in a matching chair, her uninjured leg curled beneath her, sipping a small glass of Vin Santo.

He’d almost finished. He tried to drink discreetly, so as not to disturb her. But he was determined not to hide his feeding from her.

“Is it good?” She gestured to the ornate gold goblet in his hand.

“Very.” He lifted the drink as if in salute. “It’s from the previous Prince of Florence. Would you like to taste?”

“No, thanks.”

“That’s probably wise. He had vice in abundance.”

William drank sparingly before placing the goblet back on the table. For vampyres, blood and sex went together. Now that he’d fed one appetite, he felt another rise. Lust was certainly one of the old prince’s vices and William felt it pulsing through his system.

He indulged himself in the luxury of admiring his lover’s appearance. Her long black hair was wavy, having air-dried. Her skin held the luminous glow of a woman well bedded and her green eyes were bright and clear.