The Shadow (Florentine #2)

by Sylvain Reynard

  For several minutes, he watched her sleep. His sudden relief gave way to uneasiness. She was now under his control and he’d never been a more unwilling master.

  A bird in a cage is never as beautiful as a bird that is free. His own words came back to him.

  It was necessary to use mind control in this case, he reasoned. She was in acute distress. Something terrible was happening to her. He had intervened before it grew worse. Or irreversible.

  He doubted she would view the situation the same way once he was in a position to explain himself. He wasn’t looking forward to that conversation.

  His gaze traveled to the version of Primavera that hung on his wall. The face of his former lover, Allegra, taunted him. He was seized with the recollection of her broken body on the ground beneath the bell tower after she’d jumped to her death.

  Allegra’s suicide was the result of revulsion and despair. Hundreds of years later, he was still troubled by the incident. And perhaps, although he would not admit it, he also felt responsible.

  He looked back at the black-haired beauty who slept in his bed. They’d only been reunited a few hours before. He wasn’t prepared to lose her.

  William had expected her to be pleased with his gift, which he’d taken great care in procuring. He thought she’d relish the opportunity to exact justice from the man who had damaged her leg and abused her sister. Instead, she’d been horrified and upset. Even now, the sound of her wounded cries rang in his ears.

  And he was responsible.

  He pressed a kiss to the top of her head before placing the bracelet that marked her as his on her wrist. She’d returned the piece to him when they’d parted company. It was only right that she wear it again.

  His lips fluttered over the pale skin that covered the veins in her wrist. He was hungry, it was true, but he couldn’t bear the thought of feeding now. He left her to her artificial slumber and moved quickly to the first floor. Lucia and Ambrogio were given detailed instructions about Raven and the prisoner in the dungeon. Then William sent a message to Stefan, the principality’s chief physician, summoning him to the private apartments at the Palazzo Riccardi.

  Finally, William quit the villa, traveling to the palazzo via a series of secret passageways that lay below the city of Florence. He did not pray. God had damned him and his brethren. There was no point in cowering before him in order to ask for a favor, even for Raven.

  He hoped sincerely whatever damage he’d done could be undone.

  Chapter Five

  Stefan of Montréal was the physician for the principality of Florence. He was much younger than the Prince and the other members of the Consilium, Florence’s ruling council. But he’d been trained in twentieth-century medicine, and so his expertise in contemporary health and science was valued. For this reason, his youth as a vampyre was overlooked.

  Nevertheless, when the Prince summoned him to the Palazzo Riccardi, Stefan worried his tenure had come to an end. In the past few years, the Prince had executed two Consilium members for failing to do their duty. Stefan was greatly concerned he’d become the third.

  He tried to comfort himself with the thought that if the Prince wished to execute him, he’d do so at a Consilium meeting and not at one of his residences. This was a cold comfort, indeed.

  “Is the vintage to your liking?” The Prince gestured to the warmed human blood Stefan was nervously sipping.

  “Young and sweet. Thank you, my lord.”

  Stefan tried to wait patiently for the Prince to reveal the reason behind his summons, shifting his glass from hand to hand as the moments passed.

  The older vampyre stood by a curtained window, seemingly lost in thought. His own glass of blood sat untasted on his desk.

  Stefan found the fact curious.

  “I think I broke my pet.” The Prince spoke at last, keeping his back to the doctor.

  Stefan placed his glass on a side table. “Is it dead?”

  “What? No.” The Prince turned and frowned.

  “Forgive the intimate question, my lord. Has it fed from you?”

  The Prince pressed his lips together. “No. And it isn’t her body that’s broken; it’s her mind.”

  “Human minds, like human bodies, are easily broken.” Stefan tented his fingers sagely. “It’s their nature to be weak.”

  The Prince regarded him coolly before lifting his cup and tasting it. “Can broken minds be repaired? I’ve only had this pet a short time. It seems a shame to dispose of her so soon.”

  “The effect of vampyre blood on broken human bodies is well documented. The effect on human minds is lesser known. Who would waste their blood on a pet with a broken mind?” The physician chuckled.

  He caught the Prince’s narrowed eyes and abruptly stopped laughing. “I’ve never seen a psychiatric patient ingest vampyre blood. I admit it would make for an interesting experiment. I can’t promise positive results, however.”

  The Prince placed his glass back on the table, his pale fingers tracing the rim. “In your medical training you must have dealt with the mind.”

  “Yes, when I was a student. But I’m a surgeon, not a psychiatrist. I served in the Canadian Army Medical Corps during the Great War, before I was changed. I saw men lose their minds in battle and I ordered their evacuation. Forgive me, but I was adept at removing shrapnel and amputating limbs, not treating shell shock.”

  “So there are treatments?” The Prince’s tone was remarkably subdued.

  “At that time, we used Freudian psychotherapy, convalescence, shock therapy . . .” Stefan’s voice trailed off. He sipped his fortifying beverage. “Contemporary psychiatry is much more advanced. Now most disorders are treated with drugs and therapy. It depends on the condition and the patient.”

  The Prince nodded distractedly, sipping from his glass once again.

  Stefan leaned forward in his chair. “Perhaps if your lordship were to tell me what precipitated the break in your pet, I might be of help.”

  “She suffered trauma as a child. Recently, she had an unexpected encounter with the person who inflicted the trauma. Her reaction to that short encounter was—puzzling.”

  “Puzzling in what way?”

  “She vomited and screamed obscenities. She struck him and devolved into uncontrollable sobs.”

  “Ah,” said Stefan. “Pardon, my lord, but those reactions are not puzzling to me. Clearly, the pet was upset about seeing the person and acted accordingly.”

  “That wasn’t the puzzling part. Afterward, she lay unmoving, eyes wide and unseeing, with shallow breath. She didn’t respond to my voice, and when I tried to move her she was stiff.”

  “How long did it remain like that?”

  “Until I used mind control to put her to sleep.”

  Stefan’s eyebrows lifted. “Isn’t it normally under your control?”

  The Prince smiled slowly. “I prefer my food to have a little more life in it.”

  The doctor lifted his glass in salute. “An old one such as yourself has no need of mind control. But I’m not surprised your pet required it in this case. What you’re describing sounds like a condition called catatonia. A human physician would have run tests on your pet and medicated it. Where is it now?”

  “She’s still asleep.”

  “Have you tried to wake it?”

  “No.”

  “You may have trouble. Catatonia, trauma, and mind control are a taxing combination. Even if you’re able to wake the pet, it may not be the same.”

  The Prince’s expression grew uneasy but he quickly adjusted it. “Do you mean the damage may be irreparable?”

  “It’s possible. The pet had a breakdown and you used mind control on it, which may exacerbate the mental problems. Think of it as using a hammer to repair a broken vase. All that you’re left with is shattered porcelain.”

  “Sard,” he muttered. “What if you were to treat her?”

  Stefan’s hand shook as he guided his glass to the side table.

  “I a
m your servant and I will, of course, do as you command. But there’s little I could do that couldn’t be done more effectively by a human psychiatrist who specializes in treating these kinds of cases. You’d have to remove the mind control before hospitalizing your pet, that is, if the control can be lifted. If your pet’s mind is truly broken, the easiest solution would be to keep it under mind control until you tire of it. Of course . . .” He gestured vaguely.

  “What?” The Prince’s tone was sharp.

  “Mind control works only because the conscious mind is being influenced. The pet’s memories would still be intact, just not available to the conscious mind. As a physician, I’d worry your pet would still have psychiatric problems that even mind control could not eliminate. For example, it may remain catatonic.”

  “What if I were to execute the man who troubled her? Invited her to watch?”

  Stefan restrained a smile. “With respect, my lord, you’re thinking like a vampyre. If your pet is traumatized by merely seeing the man, think of what would happen if it were forced to witness his execution.”

  He broke eye contact and rubbed the back of his neck. “May I speak freely?”

  “That is why I brought you here.” The Prince leaned against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “If you prefer your pets to have life in them, the level of mind control necessary to manage a broken mind would be too much. As I said, you’d be better off finding another, healthier pet. Even under mind control, the pet might be unpredictable, unstable.” He gripped the armrests of his chair. “A security risk.”

  The Prince drained his glass. “Thank you, Stefan. I will take your opinion under advisement.” His gray eyes fixed on the younger vampyre. “I assume you will keep this conversation confidential.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Good.” The Prince passed his thumb along the rim of his goblet, before placing it in his mouth. “Here’s a remarkable piece of principality history: I’ve yet to execute a Canadian.”

  “Let me not be the first, my lord.” Stefan bowed low and scurried out of the Prince’s chambers.

  Chapter Six

  Raven’s sleep was heavy and thick, like a wool blanket on a cold winter’s night. She drifted through color and feeling, without dreams. Her body seemed to float untethered. It was a most unusual experience.

  She heard William call her name, as if from a distance. She struggled to open her eyes and found him next to her, silently observing.

  He lifted her chin with a cool finger and stared deeply into her eyes.

  “Raven, I release you. Your mind is your own again.”

  She felt the dark haze lift and blinked confusedly against the lights in the room. Her focus moved to Botticelli’s original version of Primavera hanging on the wall. It had always hung there, so its presence didn’t surprise her.

  But she was shocked to discover William had hung the sketch she’d done of him from memory—the sketch she’d left behind when they’d gone their separate ways—beside it.

  Her heart rate quickened.

  She surveyed her surroundings, noting the wine-colored curtains that enveloped the large four-poster bed.

  “Cassita?” William’s face was creased with worry. “How do you feel?” He lifted his hand to cup her face.

  The joy she felt at the sight of him disintegrated when she remembered he’d broken her heart. He hadn’t returned her love and she hadn’t been willing to accept anything less.

  She turned her head and his hand fell away. “Why am I here?”

  “You’re here to be with me, of course.” His tone was unaccountably puzzled.

  Raven gave him a dark look before shifting from under the decadent bedclothes. “We’re over. We’ve been over for a while. This isn’t funny.”

  “We are over?”

  Raven heard something a good deal like panic in his voice. But that was impossible. William was stoic and unassailable. He would never panic.

  “Yes. We broke up, remember? I can’t believe you brought me here.”

  “Cassita.” William placed his hand on her arm, his thumb brushing across her wrist next to the bracelet.

  “Stop calling me that.” She shook off his hand and quickly removed the bracelet, holding it out to him. “I returned this for a reason. Stop acting as if nothing changed.”

  When he refused to take the bracelet she tossed it on top of the bed. She swung her legs over the side and stood. Just as her feet hit the carpet, she was overtaken by an odd sensation.

  Her right leg troubled her¸ as it usually did when she stood after lying down. But that wasn’t the feeling that caught her attention.

  No, she felt curiously bare beneath her dress. She smoothed her hands across her abdomen. Abruptly, she turned her back on him and discreetly slid her hand under the skirt. When she felt only skin, she froze.

  “Where’s my underwear?”

  William was on his feet in an instant. “Raven, listen to me. We—”

  “What happened to my underwear?” She turned on him in anger.

  He pressed his lips together, his gray eyes clouded. “That’s a pretty dress.”

  “I don’t care what I’m wearing,” she snapped. “I’m worried about what I’m not wearing. We’re over. I haven’t seen you in a month. Now I wake up in your bed with no memory of the night before and I’m not wearing any goddamned underwear!”

  “You don’t remember last night?” His voice was low, quiet, and tinged with disappointment.

  She raised her arms in frustration. “What should I remember? Tell me.”

  He began to say something but apparently thought better of it. He stared at her for some time. All the while she clenched and unclenched her fists.

  “The color of your dress suits you,” he said at last. “Was it for a special occasion?”

  Raven scowled. “Gina and Patrick threw a birthday party for me. What does it matter?”

  “I visited you afterward, at your apartment.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it was your birthday.” His voice grew gentle. “Because I care for you.”

  Raven closed her eyes and groaned. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I am trying to help, Raven. I swear it. The party was last night. You can accompany me downstairs and call your friends to confirm the date.” He gestured toward the bedroom door.

  Raven bent her head to examine the folds of her green dress. The palm of her hand floated over the fabric the way a bird floats over a field of grass. She found the movement soothing and distracting.

  “I remember the party. I gave Gina’s cousin a lift home afterward.”

  “And then?” William prompted.

  “I went home.” Raven closed her eyes, seeing her kitchen in her mind’s eye.

  And William’s beautiful figure, sitting at her kitchen table.

  “I was waiting for you,” he whispered.

  Images crowded her mind, thick and fast.

  “We flew together over the rooftops. You took me to the Duomo and showed me your city.” She swallowed hard. “You told me—”

  “Yes?” His tone was eager.

  She opened her eyes. An incredulous expression passed over her lovely features.

  “I told you I love you.” He approached her cautiously and traced the arc of her cheekbone with the back of his hand. “You know me, Cassita. I think—” He paused, his ancient eyes tortured. “I hope you know I would never take you against your will.”

  A long look passed between them and she nodded.

  He stroked her jaw. “You aren’t wearing underwear because we came together, but only after I confessed I love you. I pledged myself to you and you did the same. We sealed our vows on top of the loggia by the Uffizi.”

  Raven’s face flamed. “I remember.”

  “It was an act of love, Cassita, not deception.”

  Her mind clicked through images of the night before—his words at the Duomo, their passionate encounter on top of the loggi
a, and the story of Alicia, his murdered love.

  Emotion bubbled up and overwhelmed her. She threw herself into his arms, pressing her cheek against his chest. “You came back to me.”

  “I never left.”

  He lifted her chin and kissed her firmly—a branding, determined kiss to demonstrate his sincerity.

  His lips moved against hers as he spoke. “I never left you. I was the shadow on your wall. And even if you’d sent me away, I would have remained your shadow.”

  “I was so sad when we were apart. It was like I had a boulder weighing on my chest.”

  William’s grip on her tightened and for some time they stood in one another’s arms. He reveled in her softness, her warmth, her very being.

  “It’s almost sunset.” He brushed his lips over hers once again. “You’ve been asleep all day.”

  “I don’t understand why my brain was so foggy.” She winked. “You didn’t give me vampyre blood, did you?”

  He straightened.

  “William?”

  “No, no vampyre blood.” He forced a smile.

  Raven glanced at her right leg, which still bore a scar. She moved it experimentally, finding the same limited range of movement she’d had the day before. Clearly, she hadn’t experienced the healing properties of vampyre blood.

  “How are you feeling?” His eyes searched hers.

  She rubbed her forehead. “I’m all right. I remember our time together on the loggia. I remember you telling me you were bringing me here, but I don’t remember anything after.”

  William hesitated, before his lips spread into a smirk. “I must have worn you out.”

  “Did I fall asleep on our way here?”

  “I’m sure you’re hungry.” He kissed her forehead, then turned toward the door. “I’ll ask Lucia to prepare dinner.”

  Raven caught his hand, tugging at him. William allowed himself to be stopped, staring down at the joining of their hands. He was of medium size and build, but extremely powerful, even for a vampyre. He muted his strength when he was around her. Otherwise she’d never be able to restrain him.

  “You’re hiding something.” Raven’s green eyes narrowed.