The Raven(10)
When she had finished, she dragged him back to the bed and climbed atop him again, moving so quickly her body shimmered in the air.
With a cry, he thrust up his hips, emptying himself in her.
Aoibhe growled and bared her teeth, bending to sink them into his neck.
In an instant, he pushed her to her back, pinning her arms over her head. His body continued to shudder with his orgasm, his breathing almost labored.
“No,” he snarled, his gray eyes flashing with anger.
She had no choice but to nod as he continued moving within her. They were almost matched in height and in size, but he was older and far more powerful. He could end her handily and take her body out of the city to burn it beyond recognition. No one would ever be the wiser.
She stared up with wide, panicked eyes, holding her breath.
When he was spent, he hung his head, a few locks of his hair skimming her breasts.
“Let me be your consort,” she whispered, as her womb fluttered from the aftershocks, the pleasure continuing to flow through her. “We’ll rule Florence together. Drink from me and I’ll drink from you.”
She exposed her neck and what lay below the surface of her skin.
The Prince opened his eyes slowly, like a gray-eyed dragon, and growled.
“Please,” she begged.
He dislodged himself from her and walked naked toward the wardrobe.
She sat up, fanning a shaking hand over her throat.
“What are you afraid of, my love? The connection that comes from the exchange of blood?”
He glared. “Don’t use appellations you don’t mean. Your honesty is one of the few things I’ve always admired about you.”
She pressed her lips together, but said nothing.
The Prince retrieved a clean set of black clothes from the wardrobe and approached the bed. “The palace is at your disposal until sundown. I’ll instruct the servants. See to it you leave me with the full complement.”
She studied him, her hair a riot of red curls around her lovely oval face.
“I thought we’d progressed a little over the past centuries. I was mistaken.”
He clenched his jaw. “Don’t lie to me. Everything you do is calculated.”
“I don’t deny it, but in this case I’m doing you a favor. We won the war with the Venetians, but how long will the peace last? And what about the attempt on your life? We still haven’t discovered who helped the Venetians breach our borders. You must take a consort, if only to strengthen and protect your position. I’m one of your oldest friends. I’m the obvious choice.”
He regarded her, studying her face and expression with restrained hostility.
She threw back the bedclothes and stood before him.
“You have to be thinking of the future. How old are you? Who knows how long you have before the—”
“Enough,” he interrupted. “Our coupling has not been frequent, as you mentioned, but it has been fair. Until today.”
He took a moment to admire her body, the creamy cast of her skin, her gentle curves and long legs. He shook his head.
“Your performance was unnecessary. I would have given you the same answer had you approached me in the street. We’re allies, Aoibhe, not lovers. And from now on, that is all we shall be. Don’t come here again.”
And with that, he swept from the room.
Chapter Four
When Raven approached the Uffizi Gallery, she was stunned to find it cordoned off.
Several officers from the local police stood watch at the barricades, while carabinieri in their signature dark blue uniforms roamed the U-shaped courtyard.
A number of men in dark suits stood in a small group, talking to one another near the entrance to the gallery. Journalists from around the world gathered around the perimeter, shouting questions to the carabinieri in English and Italian. Their questions were ignored, but not by Raven.
Something terrible had happened.
The famed Botticelli illustrations—copies of Botticelli’s drawings of Dante’s Divine Comedy—were missing.
Raven covered her mouth, a sick feeling ascending from her stomach to her throat.
“Permesso.” A masculine voice sounded in Raven’s ear as someone tried to squeeze past her.
She turned and recognized Patrick Wong, one of her friends from the gallery.
“Patrick.” She touched his arm.
His dark, almond-shaped eyes examined her face. “Do I know you?”
She switched to English. “It’s me.”
He looked at her in puzzlement and she remembered that her appearance was greatly altered.
“It’s Raven.”
Patrick shook his arm from her grasp and glared. “What do you know about Raven?”
“It’s me, I swear.” She retrieved her Uffizi identification card from her knapsack and held it out to him.