Gabriel's Promise (Gabriel's Inferno)

by Sylvain Reynard

  Finally, I would like to thank my readers for continuing this journey with me. We form a diverse, supportive community that spans the globe. I am so grateful to be part of this community.

  —SR

  Keep reading for outtakes from Sylvain Reynard’s novels

  Gabriel’s Inferno

  and

  The Raven

  Available now from Berkley!

  Outtake from The Raven by Sylvain Reynard

  WILLIAM, PRINCE OF FLORENCE

  We’d missed St. Valentine’s Day.

  I first met Raven in May and soon after, she captured my heart. Our future was uncertain, threatened by enemies both inside and outside the city of Florence. For these reasons, I determined to live each moment with her to the fullest. I would not wait until February for a grand display of my affection.

  Raven entered our bedroom at the end of a long day working at the Uffizi Gallery. I noticed she was leaning heavily on her cane, which meant she was tired. No doubt her disabled leg was causing her pain.

  “Welcome.” I bowed, speaking in English because she’d taken a shine to my Oxonian accent.

  She smiled, like the rising of the sun. Then she stopped short, taking in the changes I’d made.

  I’d positioned a high-backed chair at the foot of our bed, like a throne. Before it, I’d placed a silver basin with steaming water, a pile of clean towels, and a few other accoutrements.

  She limped toward me, curious. “What’s this?”

  “A surprise.” I bent and kissed her firmly on the mouth—a greeting. I put her cane aside and escorted her to the throne. Once she was seated, I pulled out a low stool and sat at her feet.

  “I don’t understand.” She smoothed her black hair behind her ears and rested her green eyes on me.

  I’d already lost myself in their depths. Raven’s eyes mirrored her soul and were always full of feeling, courage, and compassion.

  “This is a gift.” I placed my hand on her knee, slipping a thumb under the hem of her dress. She shivered in reaction.

  “Relax,” I whispered.

  I draped a towel over my lap and lifted one of her feet, carefully unstrapping her shoe and removing it. I repeated the same procedure with her other foot, allowing myself the luxury of touching her skin, trailing up the back of her calf.

  She sighed, a hazy look on her face.

  I fought back a smile.

  I placed her feet in the silver bowl, which was filled with warm, soapy water. The scent of roses lifted.

  “Too warm?” My eyes sought hers.

  She shook her head. “It’s perfect.”

  She leaned forward and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Am I dirty?”

  I blinked. “Don’t you know the story of Mary Magdalene? Washing Jesus’s feet with her tears? Drying his feet with her hair?”

  She sat back. “Is that what this is?”

  “My hair isn’t long enough to dry your feet.” I winked at her and she laughed.

  I liked the sound of her laughter. I adored it.

  “You’re washing my feet,” she remarked, her voice filled with wonder. “I’m not a Christ figure, William.”

  “How do human beings express love?”

  “They write poems. They kiss. They have sex.” She smiled knowingly.

  “Love and lust can be confused.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Washing feet can’t be confused with lust.” I squeezed her ankle.

  Her right foot was part of her disability and it turned unfortunately to the side. I cupped water with my hand and poured it over her foot, using my fingers to smooth over the flesh.

  “You can see it.” She gestured to her leg.

  “Yes.” I withdrew her feet from the basin and rested them on my lap.

  Our eyes met and she looked away.

  I took my time, rubbing the cotton towels gently over her skin.

  “It doesn’t matter to you, does it?” Her green eyes darted to her injured leg.

  “It troubles me because it troubles you.” I leaned over and pressed my lips to the top of her foot. “But because it’s part of you, I embrace it. Fully.”

  Raven inhaled deeply. A small droplet escaped the corner of her eye, coursing down her cheek.

  I reached up to catch the tear with my sleeve.

  She took my hand and kissed it, closing her eyes and pressing my palm to the side of her face.

  I pulled her into my arms and she buried her face in my neck. I felt the wetness from her eyes and went still as she took her long, black hair and dried her tears from my skin.

  She’d given me many gifts in our time together, but the greatest gift was her love.

  “Thank you, Cassita,” I whispered, holding her to my heart.

  Outtake: “Richard and Grace” from Gabriel’s Inferno by Sylvain Reynard

  The scene takes place after Julia separates from her boyfriend, Simon, while studying at Saint Joseph’s University in Philadelphia.

  Grace Clark sat at her dressing table in her bathrobe, brushing her long hair and thinking. She was upset. She was worried. But she didn’t know what to do.

  “Come to bed, love.”

  She took her husband’s outstretched hand and followed him to the bed, divesting herself of her robe in the semidarkness and joining him naked between the sheets. She positioned herself on her side, running her fingers through the light dusting of chest hair that decorated his upper body.

  “My love.” Richard grabbed her hand and kissed it softly. “Tell me what’s bothering you before I make you forget your troubles. You’re driving me crazy.”

  Grace laughed. He knew her so well. She would absentmindedly glide gentle hands over his still muscular body in order to help her think better, but it had the opposite effect on him.

  “Sorry, dear. I was thinking about Julia.”

  Richard sighed and waited for her to elaborate, but he knew what was coming.

  “She won’t return my calls. She won’t return Rachel’s calls. Tom says she’s holed up in a tiny apartment near campus and she’ll barely speak to him. I was thinking about driving up there to see her tomorrow and taking a care package.”

  Richard was a thoughtful man, a quiet man. He gave his wife’s words his full consideration as she waited to hear his opinion. They were that attuned to one another. They were that much in love.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. If she’s retreating, it’s because she’s afraid. If you go to her home, you’ll be upsetting her in the one place in which she feels safe.”

  Grace rested her hand on his heart. “You aren’t a psychiatrist.”

  “That’s right. But we both know Julia is withdrawn and timid. If you threaten her security, you will be threatening her coping strategy. And then she’s going to have to find something else.”

  “So what should I do?”

  “Why don’t you write her a letter, expressing your concern? Give her some time to process things and respond. And then wait and see what happens.”

  Grace rested her head on her husband’s shoulder. “I can do that, but I wish she’d talk to me—let me know what happened that made her want to hide from all of us. And then I could help her.”

  “Rachel mentioned something about her boyfriend.”

  Grace flinched. “I never liked the way he looked at her. He was proud of how she looked on his arm, but there was something in his eyes.” She reached over and planted a light kiss on her husband’s lips. “He never looked at her the way you look at me.”

  Richard smiled at her and caressed the naked curve of her hip with his fingers. “No one looks at anyone the way I look at you because no one loves anyone the way I love you.”

  Grace’s worries were momentarily interrupted by a passionate kiss and a pair of strong hands stroking
her lower back.

  “Julia would have been vulnerable when she started seeing him. Her mother had died, she was away from Selinsgrove. She likely tolerated whatever he was willing to give to her. And gladly.” Richard sighed deeply. “She’s a dreamy romantic, I think, not unlike her mother.”

  “Don’t mention that woman to me. She nearly ruined that little girl. When I think of what she exposed her to and—”

  He leaned over and kissed her again. “I know, my love. But there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

  “I feel helpless,” Grace whispered. “She’s suffering and she won’t let me comfort her. I promised Julia I would be her mother. But she won’t let me.”

  “She’ll come back to you when she’s ready.”

  “You said that about Gabriel. He never comes home.”

  Richard shifted uncomfortably. “He has come back to us. He’s clean, he has a good job, and if we’re lucky, he’ll meet a nice girl and she’ll straighten him out. You lit a candle for him. Why don’t you light a candle for Julia?”

  Grace kissed her husband, but her sadness over her eldest son radiated through her touch.

  “Things will work out, my love. I promise. We’ll find a way.” Richard softly kissed her.

  And when their contact grew more heated, he looked down at her and traced the soft line of her earlobe, pausing to touch the sparkling diamond in her ear, a gift from long ago.

  “You’re upset. You’re sad tonight. I don’t think that we should—”

  “Making love with you comforts me, darling. Please.”

  He had never denied her any good thing. He could not deny her this. He hovered over her, staring deeply into her eyes. There was no need for words; their gazes said it all.

  It was a slow, easy rhythm, the effortless, intimate coupling of a man and a woman who knew each other. The kind of lovemaking that could last for hours or even a lifetime.

  “I worship you,” he whispered against her neck, as she arched her back, her hands urging him deeper.

  “I love you,” she whispered. “Always.”

  The wave crashed over both of them, leaving them breathless and contented.

  Grace’s last thought was a silent prayer that one day Julia and Gabriel would each find love.

  And then she fell asleep wrapped up in the arms of her beloved husband. . . .

  Sylvain Reynard is a Canadian writer and a New York Times bestselling author of nine books, including the Gabriel’s Inferno series and the Florentine series. Passionflix has optioned the rights to the Gabriel’s Inferno series and will be bringing the books to screen.

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