“Ibarra,” she breathed, placing a hand to her throat.
“I’ve just saved your life, my lady. Is that all the praise I’m to be given?” He flashed a devilish smile.
With a cry, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him.
“Much better.” He bent to examine her side and her wrist. “You’ve been injured. Are you all right?”
“A flesh wound.” She lifted the fabric of her dress from her skin and poked her fingers through the tear. “It’s already closing.”
She made a similar move with her wrist, wiping the blood from her pale skin.
“I’m glad.” Ibarra moved to kiss her again but she pulled away, wrinkling her nose.
“You stink.”
“Thank you.” He bowed mockingly. “I’ve been using various bloods to mask my scent.”
“Must you bathe yourself in undesirables? I can barely stand the stench.”
He laughed. “Which is why I was able to surprise the killing party that targeted you.”
“I thought you were in the Basque Country.”
“I decided to stay close and see what I could discover.” Ibarra gazed at the bodies of the five soldiers. “It would seem the Prince has been deposed.”
“I can scarce believe it. Niccolò isn’t powerful enough to best him in a fair fight.”
“The army is. Who said anything about the fight being fair?”
Aoibhe shook her head. “The army is loyal to the Prince.”
“Niccolò’s forked tongue could easily sway them, especially with the rumors of an invasion by the Curia.” Ibarra surveyed the adjacent rooftops, looking for any sign of movement. “He must be killing off his rivals from the Consilium.”
“Stefan isn’t worth bothering with. Max is in good health. I saw him carrying the Prince’s pet a few minutes ago. He’s supposed to be on a mission to France. Clearly, he failed.”
“Then Max must be allied to Niccolò. A strange alliance, indeed. The Prince must be dead if Max was able to secure his pet. Why would he bother with it?”
“Because Max covets pretty things.”
Ibarra’s dark eyes met hers. “Unless it’s a trap.”
“The Prince is intelligent enough to value Florence over a pet.” Aoibhe reached up to kiss him once again. “I owe you my life.”
“A debt I am pleased to own.” He kissed her back, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Should we clean up this mess? It’s sure to attract attention.”
Aoibhe gazed at their fallen brethren scornfully. “I want Niccolò to know that he failed.”
“They’ll send more soldiers.”
“They’ll have to catch me first. I’ll be more adept at hiding now.” She released him and picked up her sword, sheathing it before disguising it behind her back.
“Don’t die until I have a chance to taste you again.” Ibarra smirked, cleaning his sword on the clothes of one of the fallen soldiers.
Aoibhe dropped into an exaggerated curtsy. “The same to you, Sir Ibarra.”
Chapter Forty-eight
The Prince felt a sense of relief as he ran through the secret metro of underground passages that led to the central chambers of the underworld.
He knew the kingdom of Italy and its vampyre inhabitants. Age and political connections had furnished him with that knowledge. There was only one vampyre still in existence who claimed to be related to the Medici, and he’d served the Prince of Florence for hundreds of years. For how many years had he planned to betray him?
Armed with a valise full of evidence, the Prince was eager to confront and execute the traitor, making him an example for others.
For the sake of security and surprise, the Prince led Gregor through a passage that only he knew about, passing through a hidden door that led into his study, which was situated near the council chamber.
They could see in the dark, but for convenience more than anything else the Prince lit a candelabra, illuminating the dark room that had been hewn out of stone. What he found disturbed him.
Papers were strewn over the desk and across the floor. Books had been pulled from their shelves and tossed haphazardly. Documents, scrolls, and manuscripts littered every surface.
“Fetch a detachment of ten soldiers and return here immediately,” the Prince barked. “Someone will pay for this outrage.”
“Yes, my lord.” Gregor bowed and exited into the main corridor.
The Prince moved to the bookshelf and was momentarily panicked when he failed to find the volume he wanted. A quick survey of the books on the floor yielded the prize.
He picked up the copy of Machiavelli’s writings and carefully removed a handwritten missive. He hid it in the pocket of his jacket, near another important document. Then he reshelved the book.
Within minutes, Gregor returned. He opened the door quickly, entered the study, and closed the door behind him. Without warning, he strode over to the desk and blew out the candles.
“What is the meaning of this? Where are the soldiers?” The Prince scowled at his assistant in the darkness.
“My lord,” he stammered, visibly shaken.
“What is it?”
“The army is assembled in the gymnasium.”
The Prince straightened. “On whose authority?”
“A new prince. Someone seized your throne and has already sent out smaller detachments to execute the Consilium members.”
“Aoibhe.” The Prince breathed, gripping the edge of his desk tightly.
“She may already be dead, my lord. General Valerian addressed the assembly, saying they’re awaiting further orders. He was extolling the virtues of the new leader.”
“If cowardice and pettiness are virtues.” The Prince’s eyes narrowed. “Where is the traitor?”
“The general didn’t say. I don’t know, my lord.”
“He’s probably situated himself on my throne already. Steer clear of the council chamber, but see if any of the Consilium members have survived. Tell them and all you come in contact with that the true prince is very much alive and preparing for war. Those that oppose me will be slain. Those that are loyal will be rewarded.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Gather the loyal at Palazzo Riccardi, but do so cautiously so as to avoid an ambush. There is a cache of weapons and Kevlar vests in a room beneath the palazzo. Theodore has the keys. Arm those loyal to me and await further instructions.” The Prince pointed to the concealed door. “Make haste. But do not lose your head.”
With a bow, the assistant disappeared through the secret passage, leaving the Prince to contemplate his more pressing concern.
Raven.
By now, Ambrogio should have ensured that she’d returned to the villa, where she would be safe. Since the Prince was not in possession of a cell phone, he had no way of confirming this. In any case, cell
phones did not receive signals in the underground passages.
He’d done his best to keep his relationship with Raven as private as possible, confident his brethren would view her as a temporary amusement. Given the traitor’s pettiness, however, even a toy was a potential target. Since he no doubt knew where her apartment was . . .
The Prince removed one of his swords from a weapons cabinet that stood at the far wall. He concealed the blade under his jacket and quickly exited the study, hoping his beloved Raven was already waiting safely in his bed.
Chapter Forty-nine
“Cara?” Raven stroked her sister’s face. “Can you hear me?”
When she’d seen Max holding the unconscious body of her sister, Raven hadn’t hesitated. She’d gotten out of the Mercedes and pleaded with him to leave Cara and take her instead.
The vampyre had grinned and taken her, too. Now they were in one of the private rooms at Teatro. It was the same room in which Raven had made love with William what seemed like an age ago; a room with dark purple walls and a large bed dressed in black satin. A mirror ran the length of one wall, reflecting the two sisters.
“Cara?”
She moaned in response. Raven interpreted this reaction as a positive sign.
The vampyre had carried them through one of the secret entrances, bringing them down the back hallway, which was empty.
Raven doubted anyone knew where they were. Despite the fact that her cell phone was still in her pocket, she hadn’t had a moment of privacy in which to use it. She comforted herself by thinking Ambrogio would use it to track her and that William would rescue her.
She hoped that Dan was all right. Tragically, she was fairly certain both Luka and Marco were dead.
She fingered the bracelet he’d given her. William would come for her. She was sure of it.
Cara moaned again.
“She needs a doctor.” Raven shifted her attention to their captor, careful to keep her body in between him and her sister.
“No doctor.” Max’s Germanic accent muddled his Italian, making him difficult to understand, but she understood his refusal.