“Is that possible?” Raven whispered.
“Possible, yes. Likely, no.” William bowed his head toward hers.
Chapter Fifty
“MY ORDERS ARE CLEAR, and they come from the Superior General himself: destroy the Prince of Florence.” General Vale addressed a group of Curia agents who had gathered in the Jesuit safe house.
“For some reason, the Prince is resistant to relics and perhaps able to walk on holy ground. We don’t know if he has other anomalous abilities.”
Murmurs lifted from the group.
“Our primary objective is to destroy the Prince before he is able to create an army of anomalies like him. To that end, my second in command is transporting troops here as we speak.” The General walked over to an aerial view of Florence that he’d projected onto a screen.
A priest in black stood. “The Prince is an old one. How do we know he hasn’t created an army already?”
“We have multiple agents inside the city, some of whom are in this room. None of them have observed Florentine soldiers with any special powers. In the conflict between Venice and Florence, the Florentines demonstrated no exceptional abilities.”
“What about the Roman?” The priest persisted. “I heard the Roman is the Prince’s maker, and that he has vowed to protect him.”#p#分页标题#e#
“The Roman’s threat has been neutralized.”
Loud murmurs and whispers filled the room until the General called the group to attention.
Father Kavanaugh surveyed the room from his vantage point near the door. Some of the agents were male, some female. Some were dressed in the robes of an order, some wore plainclothes. And then there was the special forces unit, which lined the back wall like tall, silent trees.
Father stood apart from the others, his hand in his pocket. What had begun as a simple rescue mission had evolved into a war, something he’d hoped they could have avoided.
Despite the Curia’s powers, some of the agents in the room would die. There would be destruction and mayhem. Those vampyres that escaped the Curia would flee to other cities, possibly disturbing the current balance in Europe. As always when the supernatural world went into upheaval, human lives would be lost.
Raven’s life could be lost.
Father felt the weight of his actions. Although he was sure his cause was just, he questioned the methods of his superiors.
There had to be another way.
Chapter Fifty-One
AOIBHE WASN’T STUPID.
She couldn’t remember much about her life before she became a vampyre. But she remembered being poor and beautiful. She remembered her beauty catching the eye of a rich English lord, who’d raped her and sent her back to her family in shame.
She remembered the boy she’d loved—who she’d known since childhood—telling her he couldn’t love her anymore.
As a vampyre, she’d always been ambitious. She knew the Prince of Florence was too powerful to challenge, so she’d seduced him. She’d hoped, over time, she’d be able to convince him to raise her to consort so they could rule Florence together, until he met an untimely death at her hand (should she catch him at a weak moment) or until he approached his thousand years and madness ensued.
Then he’d met the pet.
Aoibhe had been present the night he killed three men because they’d touched it. She’d seen the way he looked at the pet—as if he cared about it, and for more than just sex and blood.
Now the pet sat next to the throne playing the role of consort, and she was on her way to the Curia.
Aoibhe had survived by relying on her wits both before and after her transformation. She wasn’t about to abandon them now. She wasn’t about to be handed over to the black robes like a lamb to the slaughter.
As she marched toward the principality’s dungeon, she tried to make eye contact with Ibarra.
It was no use. He was too far behind her, and several soldiers stood in between.
No matter.
Aoibhe eyed the dagger still embedded in her hand as an idea formed in her mind.
When they approached the point at which the tunnel split into several different passages, one of which led down to the dungeons, she pitched forward.
“Ah!” she cried, feigning pain as she fell.
The soldiers around her stopped, while the soldiers guarding Ibarra continued marching.
One of the soldiers extended his hand to her.
She manufactured a moan, waiting until Ibarra drew closer.
She pulled the dagger out of her hand and rose to her knees, sticking the weapon into the soldier’s belly. She wrenched it from left to right, almost ripping him in half.
The soldier fell to his knees, grasping his innards with both hands as they spilled from the wound.