The Shadow (Florentine #2)

by Sylvain Reynard

  William cupped her face. He pressed his lips to each cheek, slowly, as if he were savoring the contact. “It’s been a long time since I felt fear.”

  “You left me.” She gripped his arms at the wrists, holding his hands to her face. “Why?”

  His gray eyes bored into hers. “If I’d stayed, it would have meant death.”

  “For you or for him?”

  William pulled away and stood, running his fingers through his hair. “He had a powerful relic in his possession. If I hadn’t fled, if I’d been drawn into battle with him, he would have realized my strength.” William clenched his jaw. “I would have had to kill him.”

  Raven turned her face away.

  “I have no compunction about killing him,” William continued quietly. “I’ve killed members of the Curia before. But to do so would be an act of war.”

  He sighed. “Also, I am not eager to kill the man who rescued you and your sister. I hate the Curia. Their aim is to destroy us; my aim is to defend myself and my people. To remain this evening would have meant the death of one of us—your priest or your lover. I made the choice to leave, saving us both. I doubt your priest would have done the same.”

  Raven looked over and found William watching her. He was standing some distance away, in front of his desk, his posture ramrod straight.

  She cleared her throat. “Father Kavanaugh left for Rome. I tried to reason with him. I asked him not to bring the Curia here, but he said he doesn’t make those decisions. He also said the Curia knows you’re conservative in your rule, but they don’t want the existence of vampyres exposed to the world.”

  “The Curia is always eager to preserve its power.” William spoke bitterly. “I must find the traitor. Quickly.”

  He maintained his distance, his posture growing increasingly defensive, as if he were preparing for a blow. “What else did you tell him?”

  Raven approached William slowly. She picked up one of his fists and cradled it in her hands. “I told him I love you. I told him you wouldn’t hurt me.”

  William’s upper lip curled in derision. “Love is a myth to them. They understand power and control, but little else.”

  “He was relieved I haven’t fed from you.”

  “Of course,” William scoffed. “We can’t have his pristine Raven sullied by the monster’s blood.” He sighed. “But he’s right to be worried. Once you’ve ingested a certain amount of blood, you begin to change.” William paused, his eyes appearing to darken. “And there’s the bond that exists when blood is exchanged.”

  “I have a difficult time believing we could be bonded more than we are already.”

  He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it, as if that were an answer.

  “At the moment, your soul is in peril because you’re fornicating with a vampyre. No doubt he believes I’m controlling you. But what he truly fears is that you’ll become a vampyre, because then he’d be obligated to kill you.”

  Raven shivered once again. “I don’t think he’d do that.”

  William’s hand moved to her shoulder. “Do not underestimate his loyalty to the Curia. They have one mission and one mission alone, and that is to destroy us. Any affection he has for you will be pushed aside if you oppose them.”

  Raven lifted her chin. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Try.” William crossed over to the large wall of windows on the far side of the library, turning his back on her.

  “Funny how you’re so sure you know him and what he’ll do,” Raven called to William. “He’s so sure he knows you and what you’ll do. I’m caught in the middle, convinced you’re both wrong.”

  A flexing of his shoulders was William’s only response.

  “Father Kavanaugh is wrong about you. I can’t help but believe you’re equally wrong about him.”

  “That’s a dangerous inference.” William spoke without turning around. “He gave you a powerful relic to ward me off.”

  “Which I removed from my apartment.” She leaned the hip of her injured leg against his desk, needing the support. “He said you chose this life.”

  “He knows nothing,” William spat out, turning around.

  “He said he wants to free you.”

  William strode toward her, his body almost a blur. “You’ve known him since you were a child. Did you know he was part of the Curia?”

  Raven scowled at his accusatory tone. “Of course not! I didn’t even believe in vampyres before I met you. You know that.”

  William continued to glare at her, his eyes blazing.

  “He asked me to go to Rome with him. I refused. And even though you aren’t asking the question, I’ll answer by telling you that I didn’t reveal any of your secrets or any of your troubles in the principality.” She cursed. “I’m your lover, William, not your enemy.”

  His posture relaxed somewhat and he lifted a hand to trace the arc of her cheek.

  “I know,” he whispered.

  “Father thinks you’re possessed.”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “Why does he think that?”

  William dropped his hand. “I tried to explain it to you once, while we were in this room.”

  “All I can remember is you talking about light and darkness.”

  Raven moved to sit on top of William’s desk in order to take the weight off her leg. She exhaled her relief.

  “Just so,” William mused. “You can see the possessive power of the darkness in ferals. They lack rationality. They behave like animals. Vampyres maintain their rationality, but there are times when the darkness clouds it. Or overtakes it.” His gaze dropped to one of the candles that sat on his desk, and he stared at the flickering flame.

  “The darkness is a demon?”

  “The Curia thinks so.”

  “What do you think?”

  William’s eyes met hers. “All I know is my own experience. I feel the presence of the darkness; I feel its power and its influence. But I am able to overcome it, at least, on occasion.”

  He cleared his throat. “When I came upon you in the alley, I was tempted to feed from you. I was tempted to share you with Aoibhe and the others.”

  “But you didn’t.” Raven clasped her hands together.

  “No, I did not. I remembered how I felt when I found Alicia. I failed her, but I would not fail you.”

  Raven touched his sleeve. “Your humanity saved you.”

  “No.” William jerked away from her. “Humanity has its own darkness. You of all people know that. It was the memory of goodness and the resolve to preserve it that enabled me to save you. I’d do it again, and again, without regret. If I lived a thousand years, I would make the same choice.”

  His profile appeared resigned and vulnerable.

  Raven blinked back tears. “Did you choose to become a vampyre, William?”

  He pretended not to hear and approached the desk. He made his hand pass through the candle’s flame, over and over again, the movements rhythmic and hypnotic.

  “William?” she prompted.

  “Yes.”

  Raven felt a tightness in her chest. She pressed her hand over her heart, as if in an effort to release it. “I thought for sure Father Kavanaugh was wrong about that. I thought someone forced you into this life.”

  “Sadly, no. Once again, I can only speak from my experience, but I have the suspicion that transformations only occur when the humans are willing to give themselves over to the change.”

  “Was that how it was when you transformed someone?”

  “I don’t know,” he confessed, holding his hand in the flame. “I’ve never changed anyone.”

  “Stop.” Raven grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand from the fire.

  “It doesn’t hurt.” He held his palm in front of her face. “See? No harm done.”

  “You’ve harmed me by doing that in front of me. And you’ve self-harmed by treating your body with indifference.”

  William placed his hand palm up on her thigh. �
��I didn’t mean to harm you.” His voice was like a child’s.

  She lifted his palm to her lips and kissed it, surprised by the heat that radiated from his unmarked skin. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

  His gaze flickered to the surface of the desk. “I remember when I tried to prove to you I was a vampyre. I stuck a dagger in my hand.” William’s eyes lifted to hers. “You were so upset. You wanted to use your white sweater to stem the bleeding.”

  “I love you, William. Of course I don’t want to see you hurt.”

  “There’s very little on this earth that can hurt me,” he whispered, his expression solemn. “But I shall be more careful, my little lark with the large heart.”

  “Only when it comes to you.”

  “Ah, but that’s not true, Defensa. And we both know it.”

  “Why haven’t you transformed someone?”

  He pulled his hand back. “Transformations require a certain level of responsibility. The maker becomes responsible for the vampyre he creates. I didn’t want that kind of responsibility. I didn’t want to exploit a human’s momentary weakness and condemn him to a long life of this.” He gestured to himself.

  She reached for him, pulling him to stand in between her parted knees.

  “Tell me why you chose this life for yourself.”

  William buried his face in her neck before he began his story.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  “I’ve already told you I lived in York in the thirteenth century. I was the eldest son in a Norman family. I fell in love with an Anglo-Saxon’s daughter, Alicia. We made plans to elope but she was attacked on her way to meet me.”

  Raven tightened her embrace.

  “After Alicia died, my family arranged for me to marry a Norman girl from another aristocratic family. I fled the arrangement and traveled to Oxford. While I was there, the Dominicans took me in. I lived with them and continued my studies, later taking vows as a novice.

  “I moved to Paris to continue my education. It was there I became a student of a famous teacher of theology.”

  William cleared his throat.

  “He was a quiet man—contemplative and studious. But he was kind to me. I confessed to him about Alicia and how I’d left my family. He put his hand on my head and prayed for me, with a look of sorrow on his face. As if he was truly sorry I’d lost her. As if he felt my grief.”

  “I’m glad he was kind to you.”

  “He was very kind. And very wise.”

  “What year did you go to Paris?”

  “Twelve sixty-nine.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Just turning nineteen.”

  “So young,” she mused.

  He smiled. “I’ve kept my true age a secret, but I will tell you. I was born in 1250.”

  “And you became a vampyre in 1274?”

  “Yes.”

  Raven touched his face. “So young. So beautiful.”

  He closed his eyes as she tenderly traced his eyebrows and his jaw.

  “I’m so much older than you.” Her voice sounded regretful.

  He opened his eyes. They shone in amusement.

  “Have you been alive for eight centuries?”

  “You were only twenty-four when you were changed. I’m thirty.”

  “Actually, I was twenty-three. I was changed in March but my birthday is in November.” He pressed his lips to the side of her hand, as it rested against his cheek. “I didn’t realize I would have to wait seven hundred years to find my soul mate.”

  She smiled, withdrawing her hand. “I didn’t think my soul mate would be a younger man.”

  He laughed and the sound echoed about the dark library. “Age should mean nothing to us. What matters is that we’ve found one another. Finally.”

  “I agree. Your eyes look old sometimes, but your face always looks young.”

  “It’s part of the curse—trapped in a body that never ages while our mind slowly decays.”

  She shuddered. “That’s morbid.”

  He rubbed his thumb against his lower lip. “That is my reality. But I was telling you about my time in Paris. I lived, worked, and studied with my fellow Dominicans. My days and nights were structured around prayer, time at the university, and Mass. I was respected for my ability to reason and my facility with languages. I became an assistant to a friar called Reginald, who was the confessor and assistant of my teacher. When they were transferred to Naples, I went with them.”

  “When was that?”

  “Twelve seventy-two.” He pulled away, running his fingers through his hair once again. “My teacher helped me regain my faith in God. I found comfort in the Mass. I began to believe that Alicia’s death, while unjust, served a holy purpose, because it enabled me to find my vocation. I prepared for the priesthood, surrounded by intellectual and spiritual titans, working in the service of a saint.”

  Raven watched William’s expression change. “What happened?”

  “What always happens—injustice and evil eat away at goodness. The teacher I was serving became ill. At the time, we weren’t sure what was wrong with him, but he grew feeble. A couple of months later, we were on our way to a church council and he hit his head. This seemed to worsen his condition. We brought him by donkey to a monastery in Fossanova, about a hundred kilometers from Rome. He rested for a few days and then, against all our prayers, against all our hopes, he died.”

  Raven took William’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Today his death would have been preventable. We would have taken him to the hospital and they’d have scanned his brain and found the injury.”

  “Or you could have helped him as you helped me.”

  William shook his head. “He was a saint. He would have chosen death rather than taken the alchemy I could have offered him.”

  “You loved him.”

  “Yes.” William’s gray eyes burned in the darkness. “When I needed wisdom, I went to him. When I struggled with doubt and guilt, I went to him. He was my brother, my friend, and my teacher.”

  “He was your Father Kavanaugh,” she whispered.

  “Hardly. He was a saint, not a killer.”

  William turned toward the window, facing away from her. “He died in the morning. We were all in shock. It happened so suddenly, we weren’t prepared. Two of us thought we saw an angel standing over the body, poised to take his soul to paradise.”

  “Was it an angel?”

  “It wasn’t a demon. Now that I am well acquainted with darkness, I can state with certainty the being was good. He certainly wasn’t the black angel Guido da Montefeltro speaks of in Dante’s Inferno. But it doesn’t matter. The angel wasn’t there for us; he was there for our teacher. And our teacher was already dead.

  “We cared for his body, preparing it for burial. We turned his papers and books over to Friar Reginald, who’d been cataloging them. We divided his possessions. There were several crosses, one of which had been a gift from his wealthy sister. That cross came to me, along with a couple of other smaller ones.

  “I didn’t tell the others, but I prayed for a miracle—a resurrection. I spent hours prostrate in front of the high altar in the church, begging God to raise my teacher from the dead. By nightfall, I was crazed with grief. I left the monastery in a daze, still clutching the belongings of my friend.

  “I climbed a nearby hill and stood at the top, in utter despair. How could God have let such goodness die? How could he take my teacher from me, when I had so much to learn? When I’d already lost so much?”

  William cursed in Latin, the blasphemy echoing inside the library.

  “He was too young to die. His writings were unfinished. His work wasn’t done. It was such a waste. So unjust.

  “I’d fled York when Alicia was murdered. Now that my teacher was dead, where could I go? The thought of staying with the Dominicans, of devoting my life to a God who wouldn’t even bother intervening to save a saint, was repugnant to me.

  “I co
nsidered suicide, but the only thing that stayed my hand was the thought that it would grieve my teacher. He’d written about it, of course, arguing it was a mortal sin. And in that moment, I was more averse to his sorrow than to the fate of hell.”

  “William,” Raven murmured, approaching him.

  He held out his hands, warding her off.

  “But I wanted to die. I begged God to kill me because I couldn’t do it myself.

  “It was then, at my lowest point, I heard something rustling in the copse of trees behind me. I turned and saw a man dressed in white, coming out of the darkness.”

  “An angel?”

  William’s upper lip curled. “My crisis of faith didn’t warrant the sending of an angel. But in his own way, God answered my prayer.

  “At first, I thought the man was one of my brothers, sent to bring me back to the monastery. I knew I would never return. My belief in God’s justice died with my teacher. I could no longer serve him.

  “The man stood at a distance, watching me for some time. At length, he addressed me in Latin. His Latin was archaic and spoken with a strange accent. It wasn’t the language of the Church, but he spoke slowly and simply so I could understand. He said he could scent my despair and he asked why I, a novice dressed in the robes of a Dominican, would have given up hope.

  “I explained that my teacher had died. That I was lost. That God had forsaken me. The figure smiled and said he could give me life. He could give me power and riches and purpose. He promised to be my teacher and my father.” William gritted his teeth. “He called me his son.

  “He said he’d been alone for many years, that he was wealthy and had a large estate. All he lacked was an heir. ‘Put away the playthings of the old religion and become my son,’ he said. ‘I can take away your pain.’

  “On impulse, I dropped the things I’d inherited from my teacher. I took off my Dominican robe and stood in my underclothes. He beckoned me. I walked toward him and he hugged me like a son.

  “I wept. He kissed my forehead and turned my head to the side, then he sank his teeth into my neck.”

  Raven shivered. “He was a vampyre?”

  “Yes. At the time, I had no idea there were such things. I’d heard rumors of strange beings in Paris, but we thought it was the work of the devil. We didn’t think there was a different race of beings hidden among us.