The Raven (The Florentine #1)(21)

Aoibhe didn’t care what the others did with their human pets or what they did with one another. As one of the six members of the Consilium, she was obliged to follow the rules of Teatro and see that they were enforced.

No killing.

No transformations.

Feeding must be consensual but mind control and the use of alcohol and drugs are permitted.

The last rule was a puzzle to many, but it served to maintain the seductive atmosphere. Humans were unlikely to come and offer themselves night after night if they saw another human wrestled to the ground, raped, and drained of blood.

Mind control was ineffective on some humans. The strong-minded could not be swayed, nor could the particularly pious or those who wore certain talismans. But members of the latter two categories were not allowed entrance, even if they begged.

Aoibhe sighed. The rules must have been made by the Prince himself, despite his contempt for the club. They smacked of his temperance and control and the humanity that lurked just below the surface of his skin.

She smiled.

He’d let his body rule that morning. Those were the moments she enjoyed most; when the uptight, carefully controlled Prince gave and took pleasure. He was magnificent. He was powerful. He was dangerous.

She wanted him. He’d proved himself an excellent lover, despite his disdain for long-term affairs. Aoibhe felt not a small bit of longing for him and even some affection.

Even more, she wanted his city. As consort, they would share power, and when the eventual fate of their kind seized him, she would have control of the city.

Aoibhe drained her drink and signaled to one of the waitresses to bring her another.

She actively avoided André, the bartender and club manager, because he had a blood disease. His illness made him the ideal middleman between her kind and the humans. No one would touch him unless they were feral because his scent was sickening. She could only imagine how revolting his taste would be.

At that moment, a girl stumbled at Aoibhe’s feet.

“Mercy,” the girl begged, raising terrified blue eyes to Aoibhe’s face.

She put down her drink.

She lifted the girl’s chin, noting blood at the corner of her mouth and flowing from a wound on her neck. The girl was shaking in terror and began clutching Aoibhe’s stilettos.

“Mercy,” she repeated. “I don’t want to die.”

Aoibhe closed her eyes and inhaled.

Humans didn’t realize their actions and emotions affected their scent. Just as a dog could sense anger or fear in a human being, or smell disease, so, too, could the members of Aoibhe’s kind. They’d evolved to the point where they could scent a person’s character. Certain vices, such as rape and murder, made their doers most repulsive, while those who were decent and good smelled—and, more important, tasted—delicious.

This girl smelled sweet enough. Not exceptional, like the one the Prince had found, but certainly tempting. She was clean and, by all signs, good. Aoibhe wondered what had possessed such goodness to come to Teatro.

A large hand reached out to grab the girl’s curly blond hair, jerking her head back.

“For that, you’ll pay.”

“Mercy,” the girl cried, wrapping her arms around Aoibhe’s lower legs. “Please.”

Aoibhe gave Maximilian an impatient look. “If you’re going to flout the rules, do it elsewhere. Or I’ll be forced to report you.”

“Go fornicate yourself, Aoibhe. I’m a member of the Consilium, too. This is none of your concern.”

He pulled the girl to her feet and she began screaming hysterically, thrashing about and trying to crawl into Aoibhe’s lap.

Aoibhe scowled, noting that a group of humans and their nonhuman counterparts had begun to stare in their direction. “You’re making a scene. Get her under control or let her go.”

“No, no!” The girl screamed louder.

Maximilian appeared to be enjoying the spectacle. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against his body, grinding his groin against her backside. He placed his mouth to the wound on her neck and snaked out his tongue, lapping at the blood like a dog.

Aoibhe huffed before reaching out a single finger, forcing the girl to look into her eyes.

“Silence,” she commanded.

The girl stopped moving, despite the man assaulting her neck. Her eyes widened as they fixed on Aoibhe, who spoke in soothing tones.

“You are not afraid. Not anymore. Look into my eyes and focus on the sound of my voice. I am your mistress now.”

The girl nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Inhale deeply and feel your heart slow. That’s a good girl.”

“Aoibhe, stop it.” Max lifted his head, tightening his grip on his prey.

Without breaking eye contact, Aoibhe spoke. “Too late. I told you to get her under control.”

She lifted her hand, signaling to the bouncers, who stood by the door.

Max bellowed in anger and tried to wrench the girl backward. But he was stopped by the arrival of two large men. They functioned as a kind of security for the club and were of the same kind as he and Aoibhe.

She blinked, and the girl closed her eyes and sagged against Max.

“Tomas, Francesco. Be so kind as to escort Sir Maximilian to the exit. He has broken the rules.” Aoibhe glanced at him in distaste.

“You can’t do this! You can’t evict me.” Max leaned forward but Aoibhe held out her hand.