The Raven (The Florentine #1)(38)

“Police!” a man called. “Put your hands on your head.”

Raven saw someone dressed in black run toward them, pointing a gun at the madman. It was dark and still raining, so she couldn’t make out the policeman’s features.

In an instant, the madman leapt, knocking the gun out of the other man’s hand. He pulled the policeman’s head back by his hair, baring his neck, and bent over him.

Raven heard a ripping sound and saw blood spurt.

She looked away in horror as the madman bent his mouth to the wound in the policeman’s neck.

Without a backward glance, she skidded to the door of her building, her hands shaking as she fumbled with her keys. She slammed the door behind her, climbing the stairs as fast as she could.

It was only when she was in her apartment, with the door locked and every light on, that she sank to the floor, clutching the gold she wore around her neck.

Aoibhe closed her eyes and inhaled.

“Blood.” She drew her lips back, exposing her fangs. “Let’s go, Ibarra. It smells delicious.”

Together, they leapt from roof to roof, racing from where they’d been conversing, under the loggia near the Uffizi, to Santo Spirito. As they dropped to street level and crossed the bridge, Aoibhe stopped.

“Do you smell that?” She grabbed Ibarra’s hand, rain pouring down on them.

He inhaled and his expression shifted. “A feral.”

“Hurry,” she cried.

The two beings climbed a nearby building, continuing their course across the roofs. When they arrived at the piazza, they stopped, their eyes scanning the space below.

They located the feral easily. It was feeding from a human in full view of the buildings. Based on the strength of the scent, they inferred the human had almost been drained.

“How did it get past the patrols?” Aoibhe cast a furious gaze on her companion.

“This must be the one Pierre spoke of.”

She surveyed the apartment windows that lined the piazza on both sides. Many of them were illuminated.

“No doubt it’s been seen.”

“It’s too late to worry about that. There are too many witnesses.” Ibarra glanced in her direction. “Can you tell how old it is?”

Aoibhe wrinkled her nose. “It isn’t old enough to be a challenge. We can take it, if there’s only one. How much faith do you have in your patrols?”

“I have absolute faith in them.” He met her gaze.

“Good. I’ll approach from the front and you, from behind. We’ll attack and drag it into one of the alleys.”

They nodded to one another and Ibarra raced across the roofs to get behind the feral, while Aoibhe landed on the wet cobblestones.

She approached him slowly.

Ferals were unpredictable, as well as strong. They were outcasts, eschewing covens and living and hunting in the countryside. Many were mad and behaved like animals, although some of them maintained vestiges of rationality.

Aoibhe begun running toward the feral as soon as her feet hit the ground. Whether it saw her or merely scented her, it dropped its prey immediately.

Its blood-smeared mouth snarled and it bared its teeth, lowering into a crouch.

Aoibhe changed direction, but it was too fast. The feral came at her with speed, its fingers stretched like claws toward her head.

She vaulted over its shoulder, surprising it. She placed a knee to its back and grasped its head with both hands. With a twist and a crunching sound, she wrenched the head from the body and dropped back to the ground.

The feral continued moving, its arms and legs shaking, black blood oozing from its neck.

Aoibhe held the head out to her side, taking care not to be bitten by its snapping mouth. She scowled in disgust as the stench filled the air.

“I was going to do that.” Ibarra appeared at her side.

She laughed. “Next time. But you’ll have to be faster.”

She shook the head by its hair, the way a cat shakes a mouse, until the eyes closed and it stopped moving.

“What a nasty piece of filth.” She tossed the head aside and picked up her skirts, wiping her hands carefully on the white slip she wore underneath. “And the smell. Good hell.”

Ibarra coughed, as if in agreement.

“What now?”

“You take the human; I’ll take the feral and its head. We’ll meet in the alley.” She nodded across the piazza.

Ibarra did as he was told, grabbing the human, and his gun, and lifting him over his shoulder. He ran between the raindrops to the alley, then dumped his burden on the ground. Something fell from one of the human’s pockets.

It was a black leather wallet.

Ibarra almost threw it away. Money in small amounts was uninteresting to him. But when he picked it up, he caught sight of something that gave him pause.

“What’s that?” Aoibhe looked over his shoulder curiously.

He pointed at the identification in the wallet. “Interpol.”

“Damnation!” Aoibhe kicked at the feral’s beheaded corpse. “Not only does it trespass on our city, but it feeds in public on a damn policeman!”

Ibarra tossed the wallet to the ground. “What now?”

Aoibhe turned furious brown eyes in his direction. “What now? I’ll tell you what now. You and your border patrols are appearing before the Consilium. If you don’t have an explanation as to why our borders were breached, I’ll kill the lot of you.”