The Raven (The Florentine #1)(113)

“I do.” She focused on her wineglass. “Very much.”

“There are other human beings who enjoy the company of vampyres. They come here to offer themselves.”

“In what way?”

“All ways.”

She lifted her head. “And the vampyres?”

“They come here to feed, to have sex, to see and be seen.”

Raven peered around the room.

“Do vampyres bring their pets here?”

“Sometimes. This is a place where one might find a pet, or borrow someone else’s.”

A sick feeling twisted in Raven’s stomach and she, too, put her glass down.

“Cassita.” He lifted her hand and pressed the back of it to his lips. “Look around you. Who’s here?”

“Just us.”

“Precisely. I wouldn’t bring you here under normal circumstances.”

“Why?”

“I think if you reflect for a moment, you’ll discern the answer. Would you care to dance?” He gestured at the dance floor.

She lifted her cane so he could see it. “I can’t.”

“Are you in pain?” He leaned closer.

“No.”

“Then you can dance.”

She withdrew her hand.

“I’m unsteady.”

“I’ll hold you up.”

“I can’t really move that well.”

“We’ll stand in one spot.”

She scowled. “You’re one bossy vampyre, did you know that?”

He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “Yes.”

Without ceremony, he lifted her into his arms as if she were as light as a feather and carried her to the center of the dance floor.

When she was on two feet, he pulled her into his arms.

The music continued; soft music that was conducive to slow movements. William held her close and they began to sway.

“I didn’t know vampyres danced.” She couldn’t keep the amusement out of her voice.

“I wanted an excuse to touch you.”

“You don’t need an excuse.”

“Don’t I?” He pulled back to search her eyes.

She shook her head.

He lifted his hand and caressed her cheek.

“If you’re uncomfortable, I can give you vampyre blood to help your leg.”

Raven resisted the urge to pull away from him and instead focused her attention on the top button of his shirt, which was undone.

“I’m sorry it bothers you.” Her tone hardened.

“Not in the slightest.” He stopped. “I’m worried about you.”

She shrugged. “The wine helps.”

“As long as you’re comfortable.”

They resumed dancing, gently moving in concert to the music.

“You dance well,” he observed.

“Not really.” Raven blushed. “I took dance lessons when I was a little girl. Ballet.”

“I detect it in your movements sometimes. Very elegant.”

She stifled a laugh. No one had ever called her elegant since her accident. She regarded him skeptically. “Don’t you want to fix me?”

William appeared puzzled.

“Why should I want to fix you? You aren’t broken.”

His answer pierced her.

Her eyes bore into his, searching for any sign of duplicity or mirth.

“Part of me wants to take the blood so I can run with you. I have a vision of the two of us, flying across the rooftops.”

“Perhaps it isn’t a vision. It could be a memory of the first time I brought you to the villa.” He smiled. “When you decide you want to run, I have an entire cellar of excellent vintages at your disposal.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I can run fast enough for both of us.” He pressed his lips to her hair.

She toyed with one of the buttons on his shirt, staring at it as if it were the soul of fascination.

“Part of me feels like I would be betraying other disabled persons if I took the blood. That I’d be saying I’m not good enough. That my disability separates me from you.”

William regarded her gravely—the set of her chin, her downcast eyes, the tension in her body.

He was quiet for a moment, struggling to find words that wouldn’t add to her pain.

“I don’t understand such things and I won’t pretend to understand them. All I can say is that I think no one—human or otherwise—is perfect. If perfection is the standard for normalcy, we all fail.”

“I like that.” She lifted her chin. “I’ve always thought that human beings are all disabled in some way. It’s just that my disability can be seen. It never occurred to me to think of other beings as disabled, too.”

“One might think that vampyrism is a disability. It’s certainly a curse.”

Raven saw the barest hint of despair in William’s eyes.

She knew better than to try to soothe him with pretty lies.

“I’m sorry.”

She reached up and kissed him, almost a brush of the lips.

He looked down at her gravely. “In many ways, we are the most perfect match. We see each other as we are, but neither of us views the other as broken.”