Raven resisted the urge to pull away from him and instead focused her attention on the top button of his shirt, which was undone.
“I’m sorry it bothers you.” Her tone hardened.
“Not in the slightest.” He stopped. “I’m worried about you.”
She shrugged. “The wine helps.”
“As long as you’re comfortable.”
They resumed dancing, gently moving in concert to the music.
“You dance well,” he observed.
“Not really.” Raven blushed. “I took dance lessons when I was a little girl. Ballet.”
“I detect it in your movements sometimes. Very elegant.”
She stifled a laugh. No one had ever called her elegant since her accident. She regarded him skeptically. “Don’t you want to fix me?”
William appeared puzzled.
“Why should I want to fix you? You aren’t broken.”
His answer pierced her.
Her eyes bore into his, searching for any sign of duplicity or mirth.
“Part of me wants to take the blood so I can run with you. I have a vision of the two of us, flying across the rooftops.”
“Perhaps it isn’t a vision. It could be a memory of the first time I brought you to the villa.” He smiled. “When you decide you want to run, I have an entire cellar of excellent vintages at your disposal.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I can run fast enough for both of us.” He pressed his lips to her hair.
She toyed with one of the buttons on his shirt, staring at it as if it were the soul of fascination.
“Part of me feels like I would be betraying other disabled persons if I took the blood. That I’d be saying I’m not good enough. That my disability separates me from you.”
William regarded her gravely—the set of her chin, her downcast eyes, the tension in her body.
He was quiet for a moment, struggling to find words that wouldn’t add to her pain.
“I don’t understand such things and I won’t pretend to understand them. All I can say is that I think no one—human or otherwise—is perfect. If perfection is the standard for normalcy, we all fail.”
“I like that.” She lifted her chin. “I’ve always thought that human beings are all disabled in some way. It’s just that my disability can be seen. It never occurred to me to think of other beings as disabled, too.”
“One might think that vampyrism is a disability. It’s certainly a curse.”
Raven saw the barest hint of despair in William’s eyes.
She knew better than to try to soothe him with pretty lies.
“I’m sorry.”
She reached up and kissed him, almost a brush of the lips.
He looked down at her gravely. “In many ways, we are the most perfect match. We see each other as we are, but neither of us views the other as broken.”
William’s words seemed to Raven to be more of a description of what he hoped was the case, rather than a statement of fact.
She squeezed his shoulders encouragingly.
“I think you’re right, William. As long as I can lean on you, I don’t need my cane.”
“Then lean on me forever.”
“Forever is a long time.”
“Not long enough when you have hope dancing in your arms.”
Raven saw desire and passion on William’s face, his gaze startling in its intensity.
“Kiss me, William. Kiss me and pretend you mean it.”
“I don’t have to pretend.”
His lips descended to hers.
Something had changed. Raven felt it the moment their mouths met.
He’d lowered his defenses and was kissing her with more than just his body. She felt his affection and want, his focus and attention.
Raven wrapped her arms around him. He took her weight, lifting her slightly.
When his kiss lessened, she pulled away and smiled. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For that kiss. I felt it in my heart.”
He brushed his lips against her forehead.
“Take me to bed,” she whispered.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?” He ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek.
She nodded.
He swept her into his arms and strode quickly to one of the corridors that led from the large central room. They passed several closed doors until they came to the end of the hall.
William opened the last door and stepped inside.
The room was dark, but within minutes he’d lit candles and placed them around the space. Music could still be heard from down the hall but now it featured the rise of angelic voices singing without accompaniment.
“Who’s singing?”
William approached one of the candles, staring into the flame. He reached out to toy with it, passing his hand through the fire. “They’re called Stile Antico. They sing music that is more to my taste.”