The Shadow (The Florentine 2)

With one quick, deep thrust he was inside her. She gasped at the exquisite fullness, clutching his shoulders.

His mouth moved to her neck as he moved eagerly in and out.

It was almost too much, the feeling of him rubbing against her sensitive flesh. Without warning, she felt her excitement crest and she bit down on his shoulder.

With a growl, William’s teeth sank into her neck and he began to suck, drinking the warm, flowing blood from her artery.

She seemed to float away from her body as another wave of pleasure overwhelmed her. He drank as she floated, swallowing her life down his throat as he thrust into her.

His hips stilled as he found his release. He withdrew his teeth from her neck and gently licked at the wound.

Raven’s breathing grew shallow and her heart rate began to slow. Then her body began to convulse.

William’s eyes snapped open.

“Cassita?”

Chapter Thirty-three

Strong hands surrounded her, pulling her into a tight embrace. Raven relaxed against cool, smooth skin, unable to translate the mysterious words being whispered in her hair.

She murmured, satisfaction thrumming through her, and felt William’s palm cover her heart.

He was feeling her heart beat.

When she opened her eyes she found herself cocooned by William’s naked body. His eyebrows were drawn together, his eyes dark and distressed.

“You’re all right.” His tone sounded like a question.

She smiled. “You could say that. You’re very generous with your attentions.”

William’s face was grim. “I thought I’d taken too much.”

“I feel light-headed, but I always feel that way when you make me come.”

He returned her smile, albeit hesitantly. “I’ll try to remember that. Nevertheless, I need to be more careful. It will be difficult because I love how you taste—every part of you.”

She nestled in his arms. “What would happen if you drank too much?”

William stiffened, the tendons in his arms rising below the surface of his skin.

“You’d die.”

Raven froze. She thought back to a nightmare she’d had not long before—a nightmare in which William had fed from her until he’d drained her.

She cringed.

“I’ll be more careful, I swear. It’s just that you—I feel—” He faltered, his grip on her tightening.

“I feel it, too,” she responded quietly. “If I could consume you, I would. I want you that much. Sometimes it feels like I’m drowning and you’re the only one who can save me.”

He nodded once, grinding his teeth together.

“I don’t want to be separated from you, William. When you left me with Father Kavanaugh, I was afraid you wouldn’t come back.”

“I shall always come back,” he whispered.

“Do you promise?” She gazed up at him in earnest.

“Insofar as I am able, I promise.”

“Good.” She kissed the space over his heart, relaxing in his arms once again.

“I need to take you to bed. You have to work in a few hours.”

Raven sighed. “Work. I forgot.”

He kissed her ear. “Come, my love. Come to my bed.”

Still naked, he carried her to the hall and up the grand staircase to the second floor.

“If this is what it is to be damned,” he murmured, “then may I never be forgiven.”

Chapter Thirty-four

Raven appeared for work at the Uffizi the following morning, having had only a few hours’ sleep.

Not that she minded.

She still had misgivings over the fact that William had left her when confronted with Father Kavanaugh. A niggling feeling in her stomach challenged her acceptance of his explanation. She didn’t want to see conflict between the two men she loved. But she felt abandoned, just the same, and was still feeling its aftershocks.

William had been vulnerable to her, laying bare his past grief and fears. It was an especially intimate experience, even before they’d made love. For the rest of her life she would remember his beautiful, young face and haunted eyes as he told her about standing on the top of a hill, overcome with grief. Indeed, her mind could focus on little else that Monday morning.

And that was why as she neared the employees’ entrance to the Uffizi, she dropped her guard, allowing someone to surprise her.

“Signorina Wood.”

Raven jumped.

She turned and found Ispettor Batelli standing nearby. He was not wearing a happy expression.

“It’s time for us to talk, Signorina Wood. You’ve avoided me long enough.”

Raven favored him with her back. “You aren’t supposed to talk to me. You were reprimanded for harassing me.”

“I’m still in charge of the investigation. Despite what the newspapers say, I know Agent Savola wasn’t murdered by the Russians.”

Raven forced herself to keep going, leaning heavily on her cane. Batelli followed, dropping his voice so only she could hear. “Savola worked exclusively on cases involving stolen art. He had no connection with organized crime.”

Raven ignored him, moving closer to the door.

“He was murdered near your apartment, after you were investigated by us in connection with the robbery here. He’d been following you for some time. Tell me, how long have you been sleeping with William York?”

Raven somehow lost her footing and pitched forward. Batelli caught her elbow, keeping her upright.

“Don’t touch me!” She yanked away from him, nearly toppling over.

“Interesting,” he said, his eyes calculating. “Interesting how you and Gabriel Emerson seem to be the only persons who recognize that name. Yet, neither of you wish to discuss him.”

The inspector moved to block her path. “Are you fond of Switzerland?”

“If you don’t get out of my way, I’ll make a scene. Leave me alone.” Raven gripped her cane tightly.

“William York made a large donation to the Uffizi two years ago. It was wired from a Swiss bank that, of course, refuses to disclose any information. The Mercedes that drives you around is registered to a Swiss diplomat. And Professor Emerson bought his illustrations from a family in Cologny, Switzerland.”

“I’m leaving.” Raven skirted the in

spector and placed her hand on the door.

He pressed his palm flat against the door, holding it shut.

“I know whatever I tell you will be conveyed to him. So give him this message. I learned from Savola’s mistake. If anything happens to me, William York will be exposed.”

Against every instinct to suppress a reaction, Raven looked up at him, eyes wide.

Batelli leaned closer. “Tell him to place the illustrations, undamaged, in a secure location. He can have someone send an anonymous tip and we will retrieve them.”

Raven tugged on the door and he stepped back, allowing her to open it.

“This is far from over.” His voice followed her into the gallery as she quickly shuffled away from the door.

Chapter Thirty-five

“And then there were four,” Niccolò remarked dryly, surveying the remaining Consilium members, excluding the Prince.

Niccolò, Lorenzo, Aoibhe, and Stefan of Montréal assembled in the council chamber underground, awaiting their ruler. He’d cut short their normal rest during daylight for urgent matters pertaining to security.

“Any news from Pierre and Max?” Aoibhe trained her dark eyes on Lorenzo, the second in command.

He reacted with visible annoyance, his hand tightening on the staff of Florence he always held during formal assemblies. “We received a message they’d reached Paris, but nothing since.”

Aoibhe’s gaze moved to Niccolò. “That’s a bit odd, don’t you think? How long would it take to kill a few humans and throw their bodies under the Eiffel Tower?”

“A bit of finesse is required in these matters.” Niccolò’s voice echoed in the large, almost empty chamber. “Not that you can appreciate such things.”

With a snarl, she flew at him, teeth bared. He stepped to the side and, with a flick of his foot, swept her legs out from under her. She crashed to the ground with a loud cry.

Niccolò looked down at her, making eye contact before he spoke. “Not all of us are blinded by your beauty, female. You’d best remember that.”

Aoibhe huffed and leapt to her feet, rearranging her skirts and her hair. She returned to her seat, wisely electing not to turn her back to him.