The Shadow (Florentine #2)

by Sylvain Reynard

  “Good. You have done well, Gregor. Your service shall be rewarded. I am elevating you to the Consilium.”

  Gregor’s nervous expression lightened into a smile. “Thank you, my lord.”

  “Last century, a shadow fell over my principality. Tonight that shadow shall be extinguished. Come, Sir Gregor. I shall have need of you at the Consilium meeting.”

  The assistant bowed low and the two vampyres vaulted the stone railing, running in the direction of the Arno.

  Chapter Forty-six

  Maximilian’s feet were still on the ground when something wet splashed over him and his prisoner. He howled in pain and released her, leaving her to hurtle to the ground.

  Raven landed hard on her backside, pain radiating from her tailbone up her spine. The impact of her fall was so great she just sat there, stunned.

  Max was on his knees, rubbing his face and cursing, while a man tried to encircle him with a ring of salt.

  Raven recognized the man as Marco. A pair of hands reached under her armpits to lift her. She struggled, rolling to the side and trying to escape.

  “It’s Luka,” a voice said.

  She peered up into a familiar face.

  Without another word, William’s chauffeur threw her over his shoulder and began running, heading out of the alley that ran behind the buildings and to a nearby street. William’s Mercedes was parked at the curb.

  Luka quickly opened the rear passenger door and placed her in the backseat, then climbed into the front seat, locked the doors, and fired up the ignition.

  “My sister,” Raven choked out. “She’s in my apartment building. We have to take her to the hospital.”

  “My orders are to take you to the villa.”

  She grabbed his shoulder. “We can’t leave her. Her boyfriend was attacked, too. They need an ambulance.”

  “My orders are to take you to the villa,” he repeated.

  Raven tamped down her incredulity at his intractability and hastily unlocked the door. Luka reached over the front seat and caught her arm.

  “It isn’t safe. We don’t know how many others are out there.”

  “I’m not leaving her.”

  Luka observed her expression for a moment. He swore and put the car in park. “Just wait.”

  He pressed a button. The sound of a ringing telephone filled the vehicle before the call connected. Luka announced to Ambrogio that he had Raven and was bringing her to the Prince. He asked that an ambulance be dispatched to her building for her sister and her friend.

  Ambrogio ordered him to bring Raven to the villa immediately, but she interrupted. “His lordship doesn’t want me to leave my sister. I’m following his orders and they are always obeyed.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line. Finally, Ambrogio spoke. “Luka, retrieve the sister and bring them both back to the villa. I’ll see that a medical doctor is summoned.”

  Luka ended the call, and with another loud curse he exited the vehicle, engaging the locks before he closed the door.

  She sat in the backseat, scanning the dark area around the car. Seconds became minutes and one minute became ten. She was just about to get out and return to the building, when something heavy landed on the roof of the car.

  The vehicle groaned, but held fast.

  Raven turned to look through the windshield and saw Maximilian standing in front of the car.

  His face and head were disfigured, as if he’d been doused with acid. His hair and skin had been stripped away, leaving open, gaping wounds that oozed black vampyre blood. One of his eyes was shut, as if he’d been blinded.

  But it was what he held in his arms that caused Raven’s heart to stop.

  Without hesitation, she unlocked the door and stepped out of the car.

  Chapter Forty-seven

  There was something unsettling in the air.

  Aoibhe stood high atop the Palazzo Vecchio, surveying the city with her face pointed south. She closed her eyes and inhaled, allowing her mind to sort through the myriad scents that swirled around her.

  In other respects, it was a perfectly normal evening in summer. Tourists and locals strolled in the piazza below and nearby at the Uffizi Gallery. Vampyres moved with stealth among them, sometimes watching from rooftops, sometimes melting into the shadows.

  But Aoibhe’s senses, which had been honed by various events over her long life, were piqued.

  She opened her eyes and saw movement atop the buildings near the Arno—a great hulk of a vampyre running and carrying a body under each arm. The scent of one of them hit her nostrils with force. Her lips curled back in a snarl and she flew to the roof of a lower building, running as soon as her feet made contact with the tiles.

  Several more leaps and she’d successfully cut him off, waiting with anticipation as he landed in front of her.

  “Hunting, Max?” she greeted him, her smile calculated to disarm.

  “Go fornicate yourself.” Max adjusted his grip on his charges, preparing to fly to the building adjacent.

  He held a young woman under each arm. The first was a blond with an attractive but unremarkable scent. Her face was bloodied and she was barely conscious, her moans lifting and falling with every breath.

  But the other woman was easily recognizable. She was the reason Aoibhe’s interest had been roused.

  Aoibhe clucked her tongue. “I’d drop the black-haired one, if I were you. She’s the Prince’s pet.”

  Max merely growled and held the woman more tightly. Aoibhe’s eyes met Raven’s and in them she read a silent plea. Aoibhe averted her gaze.

  “He’ll kill you for touching her.”

  “The Prince is dead, or will be shortly.” Max chuckled. “I’d see to your own head. You may not keep it long.”

  He ran to the edge of the building and dropped to the next one. Aoibhe watched him run until he disappeared out of sight, near the Duomo. A stab of fear pricked her insides.

  She wondered if he’d spoken the truth—if something had happened to the Prince. Surely, if there’d been a coup she would have seen or heard something.

  She was about to follow him when she heard a loud noise behind her. She turned and was surprised to find five of her brethren standing near the edge of the roof. They were all armed with swords.

  She straightened herself. “I am Lady Aoibhe of the Consilium. What is the meaning of this?”

  “We know who you are,” one of the soldiers grunted, rattling his sword.

  She sighed and rolled her eyes heavenward. This was not how she imagined meeting her demise.

  She pushed up the sleeves to her dress and spread her feet. Then, with an arrogance born of many victories, she drew a curved, slim samurai sword from behind her back. She gripped the weapon with both hands.

  Three soldiers advanced, one in the center and one on each side in an attempt to flank her. She disposed of the soldier on her right first, beheading him with a single stroke.

  Aoibhe’s movements were quick and elegant, her red hair swirling in the air, as she faced the other two soldiers. She dueled with each, avoiding their blows until she was able to unsword one of them. She killed him swiftly before turning her weapon on his companion.

  The largest solider approached her next. He had more skill than the others and knew better than to give her the slightest opening.

  She tried to sweep his legs, but was thwarted. She tried to unsword him, but he was able to land a blow to her left side, stabbing through the crimson folds of her dress to make contact with her body.

  The wound surprised her.

  Instinctively, she placed her palm against it. But this was a mistake, since the sword she preferred required two hands.

  The swordsman slashed at her wrist and she dropped her sword, black blood pouring from her veins.

  “Lady Aoibhe.” As he spoke, he pointed the tip of his blade in the direction of her throat. “You are sentenced to death for treason.”

  “Treason against whom?” She clutched her wris
t with the opposite hand. “I’ve been loyal to the Prince.”

  “Exactly. The Prince has been disloyal to Florence, allowing his control to wane while the Curia lies in wait. For these crimes, you will be executed.”

  “On whose authority?” she stalled, her dark eyes scanning the roof for any possibility of an escape.

  “On the authority of the new prince.” The soldier lifted his arm, preparing to strike.

  “Am I not to learn the name of the new lord?” She bent her knees.

  “No,” the soldier replied. He lifted his arm still higher.

  And then his arm and his sword flew through the air, landing with a wet and tinny thud on the roof.

  The soldier cried out in surprise as blood gushed from the gaping wound. He turned to seek his attacker, but a sword whistled through the air, separating his head from his torso.

  Aoibhe watched in silent fascination as a figure dressed in dark robes quickly dispatched the two remaining soldiers before moving to face her.

  She took a step back. The figure’s scent was muddled and unfamiliar. She looked around wildly for her sword, but it was too far away.

  “I will not go quietly,” she said, baring her teeth and moving into a crouch.

  The figure threw off his hood.

  “Ibarra,” she breathed, placing a hand to her throat.

  “I’ve just saved your life, my lady. Is that all the praise I’m to be given?” He flashed a devilish smile.

  With a cry, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him.

  “Much better.” He bent to examine her side and her wrist. “You’ve been injured. Are you all right?”

  “A flesh wound.” She lifted the fabric of her dress from her skin and poked her fingers through the tear. “It’s already closing.”

  She made a similar move with her wrist, wiping the blood from her pale skin.

  “I’m glad.” Ibarra moved to kiss her again but she pulled away, wrinkling her nose.

  “You stink.”

  “Thank you.” He bowed mockingly. “I’ve been using various bloods to mask my scent.”

  “Must you bathe yourself in undesirables? I can barely stand the stench.”

  He laughed. “Which is why I was able to surprise the killing party that targeted you.”

  “I thought you were in the Basque Country.”

  “I decided to stay close and see what I could discover.” Ibarra gazed at the bodies of the five soldiers. “It would seem the Prince has been deposed.”

  “I can scarce believe it. Niccolò isn’t powerful enough to best him in a fair fight.”

  “The army is. Who said anything about the fight being fair?”

  Aoibhe shook her head. “The army is loyal to the Prince.”

  “Niccolò’s forked tongue could easily sway them, especially with the rumors of an invasion by the Curia.” Ibarra surveyed the adjacent rooftops, looking for any sign of movement. “He must be killing off his rivals from the Consilium.”

  “Stefan isn’t worth bothering with. Max is in good health. I saw him carrying the Prince’s pet a few minutes ago. He’s supposed to be on a mission to France. Clearly, he failed.”

  “Then Max must be allied to Niccolò. A strange alliance, indeed. The Prince must be dead if Max was able to secure his pet. Why would he bother with it?”

  “Because Max covets pretty things.”

  Ibarra’s dark eyes met hers. “Unless it’s a trap.”

  “The Prince is intelligent enough to value Florence over a pet.” Aoibhe reached up to kiss him once again. “I owe you my life.”

  “A debt I am pleased to own.” He kissed her back, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Should we clean up this mess? It’s sure to attract attention.”

  Aoibhe gazed at their fallen brethren scornfully. “I want Niccolò to know that he failed.”

  “They’ll send more soldiers.”

  “They’ll have to catch me first. I’ll be more adept at hiding now.” She released him and picked up her sword, sheathing it before disguising it behind her back.

  “Don’t die until I have a chance to taste you again.” Ibarra smirked, cleaning his sword on the clothes of one of the fallen soldiers.

  Aoibhe dropped into an exaggerated curtsy. “The same to you, Sir Ibarra.”

  Chapter Forty-eight

  The Prince felt a sense of relief as he ran through the secret metro of underground passages that led to the central chambers of the underworld.

  He knew the kingdom of Italy and its vampyre inhabitants. Age and political connections had furnished him with that knowledge. There was only one vampyre still in existence who claimed to be related to the Medici, and he’d served the Prince of Florence for hundreds of years. For how many years had he planned to betray him?

  Armed with a valise full of evidence, the Prince was eager to confront and execute the traitor, making him an example for others.

  For the sake of security and surprise, the Prince led Gregor through a passage that only he knew about, passing through a hidden door that led into his study, which was situated near the council chamber.

  They could see in the dark, but for convenience more than anything else the Prince lit a candelabra, illuminating the dark room that had been hewn out of stone. What he found disturbed him.

  Papers were strewn over the desk and across the floor. Books had been pulled from their shelves and tossed haphazardly. Documents, scrolls, and manuscripts littered every surface.

  “Fetch a detachment of ten soldiers and return here immediately,” the Prince barked. “Someone will pay for this outrage.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Gregor bowed and exited into the main corridor.

  The Prince moved to the bookshelf and was momentarily panicked when he failed to find the volume he wanted. A quick survey of the books on the floor yielded the prize.

  He picked up the copy of Machiavelli’s writings and carefully removed a handwritten missive. He hid it in the pocket of his jacket, near another important document. Then he reshelved the book.

  Within minutes, Gregor returned. He opened the door quickly, entered the study, and closed the door behind him. Without warning, he strode over to the desk and blew out the candles.

  “What is the meaning of this? Where are the soldiers?” The Prince scowled at his assistant in the darkness.

  “My lord,” he stammered, visibly shaken.

  “What is it?”

  “The army is assembled in the gymnasium.”

  The Prince straightened. “On whose authority?”

  “A new prince. Someone seized your throne and has already sent out smaller detachments to execute the Consilium members.”

  “Aoibhe.” The Prince breathed, gripping the edge of his desk tightly.

  “She may already be dead, my lord. General Valerian addressed the assembly, saying they’re awaiting further orders. He was extolling the virtues of the new leader.”

  “If cowardice and pettiness are virtues.” The Prince’s eyes narrowed. “Where is the traitor?”

  “The general didn’t say. I don’t know, my lord.”

  “He’s probably situated himself on my throne already. Steer clear of the council chamber, but see if any of the Consilium members have survived. Tell them and all you come in contact with that the true prince is very much alive and preparing for war. Those that oppose me will be slain. Those that are loyal will be rewarded.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Gather the loyal at Palazzo Riccardi, but do so cautiously so as to avoid an ambush. There is a cache of weapons and Kevlar vests in a room beneath the palazzo. Theodore has the keys. Arm those loyal to me and await further instructions.” The Prince pointed to the concealed door. “Make haste. But do not lose your head.”

  With a bow, the assistant disappeared through the secret passage, leaving the Prince to contemplate his more pressing concern.

  Raven.

  By now, Ambrogio should have ensured that she’d returned to the villa, where
she would be safe. Since the Prince was not in possession of a cell phone, he had no way of confirming this. In any case, cell phones did not receive signals in the underground passages.

  He’d done his best to keep his relationship with Raven as private as possible, confident his brethren would view her as a temporary amusement. Given the traitor’s pettiness, however, even a toy was a potential target. Since he no doubt knew where her apartment was . . .

  The Prince removed one of his swords from a weapons cabinet that stood at the far wall. He concealed the blade under his jacket and quickly exited the study, hoping his beloved Raven was already waiting safely in his bed.

  Chapter Forty-nine

  “Cara?” Raven stroked her sister’s face. “Can you hear me?”

  When she’d seen Max holding the unconscious body of her sister, Raven hadn’t hesitated. She’d gotten out of the Mercedes and pleaded with him to leave Cara and take her instead.

  The vampyre had grinned and taken her, too. Now they were in one of the private rooms at Teatro. It was the same room in which Raven had made love with William what seemed like an age ago; a room with dark purple walls and a large bed dressed in black satin. A mirror ran the length of one wall, reflecting the two sisters.

  “Cara?”

  She moaned in response. Raven interpreted this reaction as a positive sign.

  The vampyre had carried them through one of the secret entrances, bringing them down the back hallway, which was empty.

  Raven doubted anyone knew where they were. Despite the fact that her cell phone was still in her pocket, she hadn’t had a moment of privacy in which to use it. She comforted herself by thinking Ambrogio would use it to track her and that William would rescue her.

  She hoped that Dan was all right. Tragically, she was fairly certain both Luka and Marco were dead.

  She fingered the bracelet he’d given her. William would come for her. She was sure of it.

  Cara moaned again.

  “She needs a doctor.” Raven shifted her attention to their captor, careful to keep her body in between him and her sister.

  “No doctor.” Max’s Germanic accent muddled his Italian, making him difficult to understand, but she understood his refusal.