The Raven (The Florentine #1)(8)

She caught it and admired its elegant simplicity in the lamplight before dropping it on the nightstand. “A pity you were the one to end him, since you’re so indifferent to human affairs. I would have made him suffer.”

“He suffered well enough.” The Prince’s gray eyes twinkled. “You would have enjoyed it. He begged for his life, confessing his most secret sins. He even soiled himself.” The Prince smiled, exposing white and perfect teeth. “He said his name was Professor Pacciani.”

“The Paccianis produced a professor? I can hardly believe it.”

(The name Pacciani was shared by a famous serial killer who had haunted Florence for decades. Of course, the humans didn’t know that a number of the killer’s alleged victims had been contributed by Aoibhe herself, and the others of her kind.)

“You killed a rapist. You ended three men last week in order to feed on that girl. This is strange behavior. Why the sudden interest in humans? You let the serial killer prey on the city for years.”

He busied himself with his socks. “I interfere when it’s in my interest.”

Aoibhe rolled onto her stomach, exposing her beautiful back and backside. She tossed her hair over her shoulder.

“It wasn’t in your interest to dismember the men in an alley and leave the pieces to rot.”

The Prince’s gaze flew to hers. “Gregor disposed of the corpses.”

“You could have frightened them away or used mind control.” She gazed at him curiously. “Max isn’t the only one who found your actions peculiar. There’s been talk among the Consilium members.”

He leveled cold eyes on her, his expression menacing. “If Maximilian wishes to talk, he knows where to find me. He won’t like how that conversation ends.”

She shivered and looked away. “I spoke in your favor, of course. I would have done whatever it took to secure the girl, even if it meant dispatching the men. She was exquisite. And they were going to waste it.”

The Prince said nothing but stood, removing his leather belt with a resounding snap.

Aoibhe toyed with the sheet, watching him. “How did it taste?”

He coiled the belt in his hand before placing it carefully on the wardrobe shelf. “My appetite is never quenched.”

Once again, Aoibhe laughed. “You need to take a lover—a human pet to fulfill your needs, day and night. There are beautiful women and men at Teatro. You’d have your choice.”

He hid his grimace by closing the wardrobe door.

The muscles of his naked chest and arms rippled with every movement, and Aoibhe admired them, wetting her lips with her tongue.

“In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never had a woman for an extended period of time. Why?”

He turned his head minutely, spearing her with his gaze. “Humans aren’t meant to be enjoyed for an extended period. They lack resilience. Besides, I had you.”

“Our coupling has not been frequent.”

The Prince pressed a fist to the wardrobe door and clenched his teeth. “You took a new human lover less than a month ago. Where is he this morning? Dusting your palace on his knees, naked?”

She rolled to her back, breasts exposed, staring up at the ornate canopy overhead. “Human lovers lack stamina. I nearly killed him within a week. And he has to sleep, on occasion.”

“Ah, yes. Humans have to sleep.” The Prince removed his black trousers and tossed them over the chair. “So you’ve enjoyed his body for the evening and now arrive to enjoy mine for the day. How flattering.”

She turned her face toward him. “Nothing compares to our kind. And you’ve always been . . . attentive.” Her dark eyes lingered on his muscled, lean frame before resting on the firmness of his backside. “I’m sure you were never in want of female company when you were human. There must have been a legion of sweet young virgins outside your home, begging to be seduced.”

The Prince turned so quickly the movement was a blur, his eyes darkening and almost pinning her to the bed. “Cave, Aoibhe,” he growled.

She lifted her hands in apology. “I beg pardon. I forgot you were a priest.”

“I was no priest,” he spat out. He crossed the room, planting his fists on the mattress and leaning over her. “I was a novice. Do you intend to talk all day or did you plant yourself in my bed for some other purpose?”

She reached out a hand and wrapped it around his wrist, her touch soft and sensuous. “You’ve been in Florence so much longer than the rest of us and you’ve guarded your past securely. Can you blame me for a lapse in memory? I know so little about you.”

He gave her a heated look. “You know enough, it would seem, in order to bed me. You’ve entered my home, you’ve taken off your clothes, and you’ve deposited yourself between my sheets. Shall we get on with it?”

“Just a moment, my prince.” She gave him a patient smile. “You served the Church. You lived in an age in which women were supposed to remain virgins until they married. Perhaps that’s all you can countenance. Tell me, is that why you haven’t chosen a consort?”

The Prince disentangled himself from her grasp.

“Precious few of our kind survive the change with virginity intact.”

“I was a virgin once.” Her tone was almost wistful. “Before my father insulted one of the English lords. My maker had a surprise when he took me. He favored virgins, too, but misread my scent.”