Nor would he leave Raven now that he’d known the pleasure of her mouth.
Her mouth.
His plan to take her as a lover had gone awry. While it was true he hadn’t loved anyone in centuries, he felt something for her, and the feeling was beginning to deepen. He’d hoped they’d be able to explore their mutual attraction and that something between them would blossom and grow.
He’d been sorely mistaken.
Her horror at his proposal and her subsequent offering of herself in exchange for a favor had more than surprised him. He knew himself to be far from noble, but he prided himself in doing the noble thing, just this once.
He’d released her.
But he had no intention of abandoning his plan to seduce her. In fact, his desire for her had increased exponentially.
When he finally had her in his bed . . .
William restrained himself from fantasizing. He needed to clear his mind through meditation and rest while the sun shone. Or at least until it was almost sunset; then he could climb the Duomo and enjoy the view of his city.
It was true that he could walk in direct sunlight, but he found it uncomfortable. Like all vampyres, he needed to rest during the day and clear his mind.
There was a suspicion among his kind that madness descended on those who did not adequately and regularly clear their minds—something about the weight of immortality causing rationality to fail. If there was one thing William needed as prince, it was rationality.
Hunters plagued his city. They’d evaded the search party and murdered two younglings over by Santa Maria Novella Station, draining their blood and dumping their decapitated bodies on the train tracks.
As was their custom, the hunters had taken the heads. If a vampyre head was left in proximity to its body, the two pieces tended to go back together, reanimating the vampyre. Hunters knew that they could fetch a higher price for vampyre blood if it was sold with the head, proving authenticity.
William shuddered to think what the hunters would do to Raven, should they become aware of her. Which was why on a hunting party a few hours before, with Aoibhe and the others, he’d made sure to mention that Raven was safely ensconced in his villa, awaiting him in his bed.
He hoped he’d been believed.
Chapter Thirty-four
Raven stood in her bedroom early Monday morning, staring at her new cane.
It had made an innocuous appearance when she’d arrived home after Ambrogio’s visit. On this morning, she stared at it with utter hatred.
Most of the changes in her appearance had been reversed. Her disability had returned almost completely. Her weight had increased so she was, perhaps, a size smaller than she’d been. No one who saw her now would think she’d undergone a miraculous change.
She was angry with herself for enjoying her brief experience of beauty and for mourning its departure. She’d never thought of herself as shallow; she thought of herself as stoic. Clearly she didn’t know herself as well as she thought.
She was also angry with herself for hating her disability. No sooner had she limped out of bed that morning than she’d begun thinking of asking William to give her vampyre blood to heal her leg.
Her willingness to entertain the idea upset her greatly.
Her disability divided her from those who did not have visible disabilities. She knew this.
But in her view, all human beings were disabled in some sense—physically, socially, mentally, morally, etc. She thought that accepting the truth about oneself, and perhaps even coming to embrace it, was the correct way to deal with a disability, not denying it, hiding it, or, God forbid, trying to eradicate it from society.
So it was with scorn that she regarded herself in the bathroom mirror—her sad eyes and downcast expression. She was manifesting the same bigoted sadness she’d seen in others when they pitied her. She despised pity and its attendant low expectations.
Raven paused to note the fact that William had not pressed her to take blood.
He’d mentioned it, but seemed to leave it as her choice. He didn’t seem bothered by her disability. It was almost as if it escaped his attention most of the time. Maybe that was why she was strangely drawn to him, even more so after he’d released her and promised to help Bruno and Lidia.
She limped to the cane and gripped it as if it were a sword, swearing she would accept herself as she was and that she would no longer entertain any thought of healing. The cane itself, new and black, was far more functional than her old ones, especially the one that was still (artfully) sticking out of the wall.
She decided she liked it there and would not remove it.
While she wasn’t sure how she felt about William buying her a new wardrobe, she was grateful for the nice clothes. Lucia must have sorted the items and sent only the larger sizes, because most of them fit, including two pairs of designer jeans.