With a cry, he leapt from the top of the palazzo to the stones below, breaking into a run upon impact. He’d done his duty assessing the security of the principality. Now he needed to make sure Raven was safe. If the priest had decided to take her with him . . .
William didn’t want to think about the consequences.
As he raced over the Ponte Santa Trinita and over to Santo Spirito, he didn’t pray. But he spoke to his friend the saint, long dead, and begged him to pray, not for himself but for her.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Raven felt as if she were underwater; all sounds seemed distant, all sights seemed blurry.
She sat at her kitchen table, staring at Father Kavanaugh’s cross, completely immobile. Her thoughts returned to the day William had revealed what he was. She recalled watching in horror as he stuck a dagger through his hand and began to bleed. She remembered trying to flee from him.
The revelation that Jack Kavanaugh, the man she’d thought of as a father, was a member of the Curia was just as shocking, if not more so. He was the best person she knew. The most saintlike. And he belonged to a group that killed sentient beings. Furthermore, he believed William to be evil.
How could someone so wise and so kind be so deceived?
Unless he isn’t deceived, she thought.
A sliver of doubt burrowed its way into her mind.
Had William really chosen this life? Was he culpable for that choice?
Raven covered her eyes with her hands, unable to trace that line of thought to its conclusion.
Mechanically, she moved to the window, noting with some concern that William’s motorcycle was still parked outside.
He’d left her. He’d promised to protect her but he’d left. Surely he was as afraid of the Curia as she, if not more so. And he’d abandoned her.
She wondered if he’d return.
She wondered if love could be killed.
With these worries weighing on her, Raven stood, preparing to switch off the lights and go to bed. She took a step forward, pausing when she saw the cross Father Kavanaugh had left behind.
It was small and primitive looking, a wooden crucifix with a crudely carved figure of Christ. He had been so sure it would protect her, which was no doubt why he’d left it behind despite her protests.
It must be a relic.
She examined the cross, wondering what kind of relic it was. Some crucifixes had the relic inside, visible through a tiny window on the back. This one had no such window. She was about to place it back on the table and go to bed, when a sudden realization seized her.
If this were a relic, William would avoid it. He didn’t want the others knowing about his resistance to relics. He’d removed the relic he’d initially given her from her apartment when they first came to know one another, so as not to arouse suspicion.
If she wanted William to return, she needed to remove the cross as soon as possible. She grabbed her keys, tucked her cell phone into the back pocket of her jeans, and exited her apartment, locking the door securely behind her.
As she descended the staircase, clutching the railing in the absence of her cane, her heart beat quickly. She moved through the back door and walked to a neighboring building, which also faced the piazza. She wasn’t sure what kind of radius a relic projected, but she decided that three buildings away should be far enough.
She placed the cross in a small alcove next to a shuttered window. At least it would offer her neighbors some kind of protection. She turned around and was just approaching her back door when she felt a sudden gust of wind.
She opened her mouth to scream, but a hand closed over it, muffling the sound.
Chapter Thirty
Raven struggled, but only until her eyes met William’s.
He motioned to her to be quiet before lifting her in his arms and sweeping around the side of the building to his motorcycle. He placed her on her feet, his arms wrapped like iron bands around her waist.
“I thought I’d lost you.” His normally neutral facade had cracked, revealing intense emotion.
“I thought I’d lost you.” Her voice was tremulous.
His kiss was fierce as he squeezed her body tightly. He placed the helmet on her head and mounted the bike, pulling her to sit behind him. Soon they were racing across the Arno and up the winding road that led to the Piazzale Michelangelo and beyond, to his villa.
Raven clutched his back like a drowning person, eyes screwed shut. This was not like the journey they’d gone on hours before. William drove like a madman, taking the curves at an inhuman rate of speed, the motorcycle screaming its acceleration.
Raven’s stomach lurched into her throat and she fought back the urge to vomit.
He pulled through the gates that protected his villa and shot down the driveway toward the freestanding garage. When he stopped, he had to pry Raven’s arms from around his waist.
“We’re safe,” he said, lifting her helmet.
“I wish I could believe that,” she managed, clutching her middle. Without ceremony, she leaned over the side of the bike and promptly emptied her stomach’s contents on the ground.
The library was dark despite the dim light that shone through the windows and the panes of glass that formed the high, domed ceiling. William had eschewed electric lights, as he was wont to do, opting instead to augment the starlight with a few candles.
“I forgot.” He crouched in front of Raven’s chair and wiped her mouth with his handkerchief.
“Forgot what?”
“I forgot to temper my speed. It’s my fault you were sick.” He tossed the handkerchief aside and pressed a glass of water into her hand.