The Roman (The Florentine 3)
“Executed? By whom?”
“The Prince. It seems he survived the coup, executed his enemies, and is now in full control of the city, including the army.”
“Raven,” Jack whispered, his hand seeking the relic he carried in his pocket.
“The battleground on which we wage our war against evil is constantly changing.” The Director turned his attention to the files on his desk. “Remember this when you are tempted to act without consulting your superiors.”
Shaken, Father Kavanaugh bowed and left the office.
Chapter Eight
THE HUNTER RELEASED RAVEN and pushed her to the ground. He withdrew something from his pocket, holding it in front of him.
He laughed.
“Oh yes, laugh.” The Prince’s gray eyes narrowed. “Trust in a trinket you aren’t worthy to wield.”
He approached the hunter, who extended the relic in front of his body as far as he could.
As William neared, the hunter’s expression faltered. He lifted the relic higher, as if that could stop the angry Prince.
William’s eyes grew strangely alight. He reached past the relic to fasten onto the hunter’s wrist, pushing the man’s hand back so quick and so hard that his wrist snapped.
The hunter screamed and dropped the relic.
“You touched what is mine.” William grasped the much taller hunter by the back of his neck. “You made her bleed. Now you will pay for every mark on her perfect skin.”
With a sickening sound, he wrenched the hunter’s neck, breaking it. He shoved the body aside and wiped his hands on his black pants.
“Who laughs now?” he asked, kicking the corpse.
He turned, the firelight illuminating his handsome profile. His expression softened when he saw Raven sprawled on the grass. “Cassita.”
A shuddering sob escaped her chest. She covered her mouth with her hand.
William lifted her into his arms. “I’m sorry he hurt you.”
“I thought you were dead.” Raven burrowed her face into his neck, hugging him with all her might.
He pressed his lips to her temple. “Once you and your sister were safely outside the city, I was able to regain control of the army. Machiavelli is dead, and I am prince once again.”
He nuzzled her face with his nose. “You’re bleeding.”
Raven wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, leaving a trail of blood across her skin. “Never mind about that. I thought I’d lost you.”
“Little lark.” He kissed her forehead. “I was only delayed. And for that, I’m sorry. Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Raven dug her fingers into his shoulders. “But I’m so angry with you for sending me away. How could you do that?”
“I couldn’t protect you and your sister and fight for the city at the same time,” William said quietly.
“I don’t care about the city!” She slammed her hand down on top of his shoulder. “I care about you. You promised!”
“Raven.” His tone was a warning.
She struck him again in frustration. This time he growled.
“You promised, William. You promised we would stay togeth—” Raven’s words were cut off by his mouth.
He covered her, consumed her, swallowing her anger.
She wrapped her fingers in his hair, pressing herself against him.
He invaded her mouth, all sweetness and softness, a contrast to his branding kiss. He stroked his velvet tongue against hers, touching and tasting.
“May I?” He pulled back, his gray eyes darting hungrily toward her hand.
Raven was confused. But when William’s tongue dipped to the injured portion of her lip, she understood.
She lifted the back of her hand and pressed it to his mouth.
His eyes locked on hers as he gave her a long, sensual lick. Then he was kissing her again, his tongue tracing the wound on her lip.
“The shedding of your blood is my fault,” he whispered. “Forgive me.”
“I’d shed more than this to keep you with me.”
William’s eyes blazed, and he kissed her again, all restraint giving way.
Raven responded, moving her tongue in concert with his.
Suddenly, she was on the ground, and he stood over her, sword in hand.
An arrow whizzed toward him, and he caught it in mid-air, flipping it around and throwing it like a javelin.
The arrow struck the archer in the abdomen. He fell down dead.
“An old one! Quick!” the leader of the hunters shouted in English.
The others closed ranks, abandoning their skirmishes to focus on the new prize. The surviving vampyres, with the exception of Borek, fled into the trees.
The commander gave the hunters a wide berth before approaching Raven from the side.
The Prince glanced at Borek and snarled. “Touch her and I shall kill you.”
The commander bowed. “I swore to the new prince to protect her and deliver her to Rome.”
The Prince’s gaze returned to the hunters. “There is only one prince. She stays with me.”
Borek stood still, sword drawn.
“Lay down your weapons, and I’ll spare you.” The Prince addressed the hunters, his voice echoing across the clearing.
The leader of the hunters laughed. “You may be an old one. But we are twenty. And we are all armed.”
“Are you certain of your numbers?” William remained focused on the leader. “I count less. Perhaps your mathematical abilities are as lacking as your judgment.”
“There is only way this will end—with your head on a stick and your blood in a bag.” The hunter held out a relic, smiling.
Borek flinched and began to shake. He took two steps back.
“This is your final warning.” William lifted his sword, and the blade shone in the firelight, as the building behind the hunters continued to blaze.
“Shoot him.” The hunter lifted his hand, and the archers took aim.
Before a single arrow could be released, William closed the distance between him and his attackers and beheaded the leader. His body was a black blur as he raced from hunter to hunter, plunging his sword in their abdomens, withdrawing, and moving to the next victim.
Holy water and salt fell like rain over him, but he barely reacted, too busy knocking relics and garrotes out of the hunter’s hands before ending them.
In less than five minutes, the hunters were destroyed, their bodies scattered.
It was a massacre.
Borek swore an oath. “Impossible.”
Raven looked up at the commander. For the first time, she saw fear etched on his face.
William wiped his sword on the coat of one of the fallen men and tossed the garment aside. He strode toward Borek with purpose.
The commander retreated.
The Prince stopped once Raven was behind him, but he didn’t lower his sword. “Machiavelli is dead. Florence is mine once again, as is the woman.”
The soldier dropped to one knee, placing his sword in front of him. “Commander Borek, my lord, at your service.”
“Commander Borek,” the Prince repeated. “Your soldiers have deserted you, while you risked death to stay with your charge.”
The Prince extended his hand to Raven, lifting her to her feet. “Has this one touched you?”
“No.”
“How has he treated you?”
“He forced Stefan to examine Cara when he refused. He gave me a dagger for protection and told me to conceal it from the others. I used it on the hunter. It bought me time.”
“Shall I kill him?”
Borek’s dark eyes sought Raven’s.
She shook her head. “No. The others would have thrown us to the hunters, but he protected us.” She scanned the clearing, her heart racing. “Where’s Cara?”
“She can’t have gone far. I scented her on my approach.” The Prince returned his attention to the commander. “Where is the other human?”
“With one of my detachment. He was told to flee south. We should be able to overtake them.”
William gazed at Borek appraisingly. “Your bravery and attention to my pet has earned you your life. If you serve me well, you’ll earn the right to return to Florence. If you don’t, I’ll kill you.”
Borek bowed. “Yes, my lord.”
“You may stand.”
Borek stood, still gazing uneasily at the Prince.
“Where is Stefan of Montréal?”
“I don’t know, my lord.” Borek’s sharp eyes took stock of the bodies scattered nearby. “I don’t see his corpse.”
“How unfortunate for him. The hunters would have been merciful.” William lifted Raven into his arms. “You have seen some of my power, Borek; a glimpse I am sure you will keep to yourself.”
The commander shifted his weight uneasily. “Yes, my lord.”
“You’re from Prague, as I recall. I am sure you wouldn’t want the Curia aware of your true heritage.”