Chapter Thirty-Six
William was angry.
He left Raven’s apartment after she’d ended things and immediately flew to Teatro.
He’d had her in his arms. She’d thanked him for coming to her rescue, again. This time, he felt the beginning of trust in her embrace.
They’d even talked about sex. Her ardor fanned the flames of his hope, cautious as it was.
Now she was willing to throw everything away, and for what? For a proud, arrogant thief.
He conceded the need to spare the lives of Emerson’s wife and child. He’d already made that determination when he left their hotel room.
That was not enough for Raven. She wouldn’t be satisfied until she’d saved the world.
He leapt into the air, landing lightly on the roof of the building next to Teatro.
The surrounding rooftops were empty. Vampyres young and old were either in the club or pursuing pleasure elsewhere.
He was glad of it. How could he explain to his brethren that he needed to feed at Teatro when he had a perfectly good pet at home? A pet with long, silken hair and soft, fragrant skin that smelled of roses.
A pet who guarded her body as if it were clad in a chastity belt.
He growled, rubbing his face.
Raven was not a pet and he wasn’t angry simply because she’d tried to save Emerson. He was angry because she’d sent him away, as if their connection were tenuous and easily broken.
He’d allowed himself to hope, knowing that hope was vain. Just as quickly, his hope had been extinguished. And there would be no Raven to reignite it.
He leapt to the ground, standing in the alley outside Teatro’s side entrance.
A burly security guard moved menacingly in his direction but stopped when he scented the Prince. The guard bowed.
“May I be of service, my lord?”
“Not at this time.” William dismissed him.
A taxi drove up, stopping at the entrance to the alley.
As if on cue, the door to the club opened, and a young woman exited. She was slight of height and build, her eyes large and almost black, her hair dark. Her skin was a coppery brown and she spoke to the security guard in Spanish.
She was thinner than William preferred but he inhaled her scent eagerly; the spicy tang of her blood almost a taste on his tongue.
“Good evening.” He addressed her in Italian.
She peered around the bodyguard with a frown. When she caught sight of William, she smiled.
“Good evening,” she replied, in Spanish.
She turned as if to go to her taxi.
Suddenly William stood in front of her. “May I see you home?”
“I have a taxi.”
“I’ll walk you.” He stared deeply into her eyes.
This was the test, of course. Would she look away or return his stare?
She returned his stare and smiled.
William allowed the hunger in his belly to grow. He instructed the security guard to dismiss the taxi.
Offering the young woman his elbow, he escorted her from the alley to a side street.
“Your name?” he asked.
“Ana.”
“Ana.” He repeated her name, as if trying its feel in his mouth.
She didn’t ask his name. Or perhaps she intended to but wasn’t given the opportunity.
He quickly pulled her into another alley and pressed her back against the wall.
He didn’t kiss her mouth, as he usually did in such moments. In fact, he closed his eyes and went for her neck, immediately.
She gasped as his tongue tasted her skin, her hands lifting to grip his biceps.
She rubbed herself against him, her breasts pert and high on her chest.
He placed his hand to her waist, leaning into her, before swiping his thumb across her nipple.
When she moaned and lifted her leg to place her thigh against his hip, he sank his teeth into her throat.
She cried out as he drank furiously, carefully counting the number of times he swallowed. Too much and she’d faint.
He drank quickly, but savored every mouthful. Her blood was light and sweet, like her body, with a delicate spice that hinted of recklessness.
When he reached the maximum volume he could drink from her, he carefully licked her wound. She gripped his arms tightly and orgasmed.
He waited until she stopped shaking, then carefully disentangled himself from her.
She murmured at him and tried to kiss him, but he kept her at arm’s length, escorting her back to the security guard.
He’d given the young woman pleasure and fed from her, but he felt no joy. In fact, he felt even hungrier—hungry for blood, hungry for sex, hungry for hope.
He rubbed his eyes, trying to blot Raven’s image out of his mind. His inability to take pleasure in the simple act of feeding did not bode well.
He instructed the guard to send the girl home in a taxi, then he melted into the shadows, feeling empty and conflicted.