The Shadow (The Florentine 2)

Gregor’s nervous expression lightened into a smile. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Last century, a shadow fell over my principality. Tonight that shadow shall be extinguished. Come, Sir Gregor. I shall have need of you at the Consilium meeting.”

The assistant bowed low and the two vampyres vaulted the stone railing, running in the direction of the Arno.

Chapter Forty-six

Maximilian’s feet were still on the ground when something wet splashed over him and his prisoner. He howled in pain and released her, leaving her to hurtle to the ground.

Raven landed hard on her backside, pain radiating from her tailbone up her spine. The impact of her fall was so great she just sat there, stunned.

Max was on his knees, rubbing his face and cursing, while a man tried to encircle him with a ring of salt.

Raven recognized the man as Marco. A pair of hands reached under her armpits to lift her. She struggled, rolling to the side and trying to escape.

“It’s Luka,” a voice said.

She peered up into a familiar face.

Without another word, William’s chauffeur threw her over his shoulder and began running, heading out of the alley that ran behind the buildings and to a nearby street. William’s Mercedes was parked at the curb.

Luka quickly opened the rear passenger door and placed her in the backseat, then climbed into the front seat, locked the doors, and fired up the ignition.

“My sister,” Raven choked out. “She’s in my apartment building. We have to take her to the hospital.”

“My orders are to take you to the villa.”

She grabbed his shoulder. “We can’t leave her. Her boyfriend was attacked, too. They need an ambulance.”

“My orders are to take you to the villa,” he repeated.

Raven tamped down her incredulity at his intractability and hastily unlocked the door. Luka reached over the front seat and caught her arm.

“It isn’t safe. We don’t know how many others are out there.”

“I’m not leaving her.”

Luka observed her expression for a moment. He swore and put the car in park. “Just wait.”

He pressed a button. The sound of a ringing telephone filled the vehicle before the call connected. Luka announced to Ambrogio that he had Raven and was bringing her to the Prince. He asked that an ambulance be dispatched to her building for her sister and her friend.

Ambrogio ordered him to bring Raven to the villa immediately, but she interrupted. “His lordship doesn’t want me to leave my sister. I’m following his orders and they are always obeyed.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Finally, Ambrogio spoke. “Luka, retrieve the sister and bring them both back to the villa. I’ll see that a medical doctor is summoned.”

Luka ended the call, and with another loud curse he exited the vehicle, engaging the locks before he closed the door.

She sat in the backseat, scanning the dark area around the car. Seconds became minutes and one minute became ten. She was just about to get out and return to the building, when something heavy landed on the roof of the car.

The vehicle groaned, but held fast.

Raven turned to look through the windshield and saw Maximilian standing in front of the car.

His face and head were disfigured, as if he’d been doused with acid. His hair and skin had been stripped away, leaving open, gaping wounds that oozed black vampyre blood. One of his eyes was shut, as if he’d been blinded.

But it was what he held in his arms that caused Raven’s heart to stop.

Without hesitation, she unlocked the door and stepped out of the car.

Chapter Forty-seven

There was something unsettling in the air.

Aoibhe stood high atop the Palazzo Vecchio, surveying the city with her face pointed south. She closed her eyes and inhaled, allowing her mind to sort through the myriad scents that swirled around her.

In other respects, it was a perfectly normal evening in summer. Tourists and locals strolled in the piazza below and nearby at the Uffizi Gallery. Vampyres moved with stealth among them, sometimes watching from rooftops, sometimes melting into the shadows.

But Aoibhe’s senses, which had been honed by various events over her long life, were piqued.

She opened her eyes and saw movement atop the buildings near the Arno—a great hulk of a vampyre running and carrying a body under each arm. The scent of one of them hit her nostrils with force. Her lips curled back in a snarl and she flew to the roof of a lower building, running as soon as her feet made contact with the tiles.

Several more leaps and she’d successfully cut him off, waiting with anticipation as he landed in front of her.

“Hunting, Max?” she greeted him, her smile calculated to disarm.

“Go fornicate yourself.” Max adjusted his grip on his charges, preparing to fly to the building adjacent.

He held a young woman under each arm. The first was a blond with an attractive but unremarkable scent. Her face was bloodied and she was barely conscious, her moans lifting and falling with every breath.

But the other woman was easily recognizable. She was the reason Aoibhe’s interest had been roused.

Aoibhe clucked her tongue. “I’d drop the black-haired one, if I were you. She’s the Prince’s pet.”

Max merely growled and held the woman more tightly. Aoibhe’s eyes met Raven’s and in them she read a silent plea. Aoibhe averted her gaze.

“He’ll kill you for touching her.”

“The Prince is dead, or will be shortly.” Max chuckled. “I’d see to your own head. You may not keep it long.”

He ran to the edge of the building and dropped to the next one. Aoibhe watched him run until he disappeared out of sight, near the Duomo. A stab of fear pricked her insides.

She wondered if he’d spoken the truth—if something had happened to the Prince. Surely, if there’d been a coup she would have seen or heard something.

She was about to follow him when she heard a loud noise behind her. She turned and was surprised to find five of her brethren standing near the edge of the roof. They were all armed with swords.

She straightened herself. “I am Lady Aoibhe of the Consilium. What is the meaning of this?”

“We know who you are,” one of the soldiers grunted, rattling his sword.

She sighed and rolled her eyes heavenward. This was not how she imagined meeting her demise.

She pushed up the sleeves to her dress and spread her feet. Then, with an arrogance born of many victories, she drew a curved, slim samurai sword from behind her back. She gripped the weapon with both hands.

Three soldiers advanced, one in the center and one on each side in an attempt to flank her. She disposed of the soldier on her right first, beheading him with a single stroke.

Aoibhe’s movements were quick and elegant, her red hair swirling in the air, as she faced the other two soldiers. She dueled with each, avoiding their blows until she was able to unsword one of them. She killed him swiftly before turning her weapon on his companion.

The largest solider approached her next. He had more skill than the others and knew better than to give her the slightest opening.

She tried to sweep his legs, but was thwarted. She tried to unsword him, but he was able to land a blow to her left side, stabbing through the crimson folds of her dress to make contact with her body.

The wound surprised her.

Instinctively, she placed her palm against it. But this was a mistake, since the sword she preferred required two hands.

The swordsman slashed at her wrist and she dropped her sword, black blood pouring from her veins.

“Lady Aoibhe.” As he spoke, he pointed the tip of his blade in the direction of her throat. “You are sentenced to death for treason.”

“Treason against whom?” She clutched her wrist with the opposite hand. “I’ve been loyal to the Prince.”

“Exactly. The Prince has been disloyal to

Florence, allowing his control to wane while the Curia lies in wait. For these crimes, you will be executed.”

“On whose authority?” she stalled, her dark eyes scanning the roof for any possibility of an escape.

“On the authority of the new prince.” The soldier lifted his arm, preparing to strike.

“Am I not to learn the name of the new lord?” She bent her knees.

“No,” the soldier replied. He lifted his arm still higher.

And then his arm and his sword flew through the air, landing with a wet and tinny thud on the roof.

The soldier cried out in surprise as blood gushed from the gaping wound. He turned to seek his attacker, but a sword whistled through the air, separating his head from his torso.

Aoibhe watched in silent fascination as a figure dressed in dark robes quickly dispatched the two remaining soldiers before moving to face her.

She took a step back. The figure’s scent was muddled and unfamiliar. She looked around wildly for her sword, but it was too far away.

“I will not go quietly,” she said, baring her teeth and moving into a crouch.

The figure threw off his hood.