The Raven (The Florentine #1)(117)

“That was not a wise decision, Aoibhe.” William’s voice was deceptively quiet. “Leave before I lose my temper.”

“Pardon, my lord. But your little one deserves punishment for speaking to me like that.” Aoibhe stood, preening like a peacock.

“You insulted her and, by association, me. How is it that she deserves punishment?” William spoke sharply.

“Come now, my love. Let’s not quarrel.” Aoibhe flashed a smile. “Send your pet on her way and spend the night with me. Now that we’ve both fed we’ll be more vigorous. Although lack of vigor has never been our problem.”

Raven gave William a condemning look.

Aoibhe’s eyebrows lifted. She was watching the interactions between Raven and William with more than a little curiosity.

“It appears your pet is the jealous type. Hasn’t she learned her place?”

“That’s enough,” William snapped. He swung the cane through the air like a rapier, slashing in Aoibhe’s direction. “Do you value your head?”

“Excuse the disrespect.” She bowed very low. “I just find the situation . . . interesting.”

“How did you know I was here?” William was abrupt.

“I called for you at Palazzo Riccardi, hoping to see you. They dismissed me, on your orders. I caught your scent in the alley outside.” Aoibhe closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. A strange look flitted across her features.

William saw her reaction and moved toward her, his posture threatening.

“Cave, Aoibhe.”

“It’s her.” Aoibhe opened her eyes. “It’s the sweet-smelling one you found by the river. I didn’t recognize her at the Consilium because her blood was muddled.”

Raven felt her heart beat faster.

Aoibhe came a step closer. “I don’t suppose you’d share?”

The Prince growled.

“I don’t blame you. She’s”—Aoibhe licked her lips—“exceptional. I thought you drained her after you found her. How did you manage to keep her? She was minutes from death.”

Raven’s mind began to clear and her stomach churned.

She lifted her eyes to William’s as he walked toward her.

He handed her the cane, picked her up, and approached the door, careful to face away from the threat.

Aoibhe continued. “It wasn’t your blood in her veins. You must have given her to someone else. Who?”

When William didn’t respond, she cocked her head to the side.

“Why would the Prince of Florence save a delicious but crippled human? Is it because she fancies herself in love with you?”

Raven expelled a breath in shock, still in William’s arms.

Aoibhe clucked her tongue. “Poor little pet. I’d keep her away from bell towers if I were you.”

William lunged in Aoibhe’s direction, growling and snapping his teeth.

Raven clung to his neck, terrified he was going to drop her.

Aoibhe backed away from the angry vampyre slowly, holding her hands up. “A thousand pardons, my prince. I’ll take my leave.”

She kept her back to the wall, inching toward the exit. As soon as her hand felt the door, she flung it open, disappearing into the alley.

William snarled at the closing door, his body trembling with anger. It took more than a moment for him to regain his composure.

When he stepped outside, Raven realized Marco and the car had not yet arrived.

And they were surrounded.

Chapter Forty-eight

Five men stood at one end of the alley, five men at the other. William, Raven, and Aoibhe were trapped.

The men were all large, muscular, and armed. One of the men on the left side held the leash of a massive German shepherd. The dog barked and reared, his master barely able to restrain him.

Aoibhe was huddled against the wall opposite Teatro. She lunged with bared teeth at the intruders, like a cornered animal.

The hunters, who’d been focusing their attention on her, immediately turned to William. A few murmurs lifted from the crowd as they realized the prize that stood a few feet away.

While the hunters were distracted, Aoibhe took that opportunity to begin climbing the wall to the roof.

The men reacted, shouting and moving forward. Two of them raised crossbows, releasing arrows. Sharp, whizzing sounds filled the air.

One of the archers missed his mark but the other was successful, his arrow slicing into the vampyre’s back.

She screamed and began to fall, her red hair billowing like a cloud, her blue velvet dress like a sail.

“Aoibhe, no!” William cried.

He placed Raven on her feet and sprang into the air.

His body was a blur of black as he caught Aoibhe in his arms. The archers began to shoot at both of them, arrows flying from two directions.

William seemed to avoid the arrows easily, twisting and turning even as he landed, cradling Aoibhe to his chest. Her brown eyes were wide, her mouth open, and she was gasping, as if for oxygen.

“Stop,” Raven croaked, leaning heavily on her cane.

The attention of the hunters turned momentarily to her.

She limped from where she’d been leaning against the door to the center of the alley.

“A feeder,” one of the hunters pronounced. He sounded American. “Look at her neck.”

Raven ignored the scorn in the hunter’s voice. “Stop. She’s hurt.”