William stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist for safety. She fancied she felt him nuzzle her hair with his nose.

“It’s so beautiful,” she mused, not knowing where to look first.

From their vantage point, she could see the stars winking above them, the antlike creatures below, and the great vista of the magical city that spread around them in all directions.

She could look across the river to the Piazzale Michelangelo and see the lighted copy of David. Beyond that, she could see the small hill on which William’s villa was situated.

“We’re up so high.”

“The best view of the city is from here. This is where I spend every sunset. But I’ve never shared it with anyone.”

She glanced down at the ground and quickly lifted her head, closing her eyes.

William noticed her reaction—the speeding of her heart and quickening of her breathing, the way anxiety began to roll off her body. He drew her against him more closely, her back to his chest.

His lips found her ear. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

“My father fell from a roof.”

William’s body tensed.

“I’d forgotten about that. This wasn’t the best idea.” He sounded apologetic, but also disappointed.

“Wait.” Raven wanted to take one more moment to absorb the view, knowing she would never see it again.

William paused, his gaze alighting on Giotto’s bell tower. His grip on Raven tightened. He could sustain a great many things, but not the loss of her.

The realization continued to haunt him.

“We should go.”

Raven turned her head toward him. “What happens if one of the others sees you up here?”

He shifted his weight. “They’d realize holy ground isn’t a deterrent. The more powerful I appear to my people, the more likely they are to want to kill me.”

“Then why risk it?”

He was quiet for a moment, as if he were choosing his words carefully.

“You brought beauty to my world. I wanted to do the same for you, if only for one night.”

An anguished sound escaped Raven’s lips. Their distance from the ground was the only reason she didn’t struggle to free herself from him.

“Don’t torture me.”

“It’s the truth. For years, I thought my days and nights were filled with beauty. Beautiful things, a beautiful city, and beautiful women from time to time. Then you appeared and I realized I’d been deceived.”

Raven closed her eyes. “We need to go. It’s painful for me to be here and I don’t want you to be in danger.”

“I’m sorry for causing you pain. We’ll go at once.” His hand brushed against hers. “But don’t spare a thought for my danger. What can they do to me? I’ve already lost the only thing I value.”

“What’s that?”

“You.”

She shook her head. “I gave you my heart and you handed it back to me as if it were nothing.”

“It isn’t nothing.” He spoke in her ear. “I value it and I value you. I think you know this.”

“It doesn’t matter. I won’t relegate myself to a life of misery, loving someone who doesn’t love me.”

“You’re the only one I want.”

Now Raven struggled against his arms, albeit carefully. “Take me home.”

“Just a moment, that’s all I ask. Please.” He appeared to force a smile. “I’ve learned a verse for you. Do you know it?

“‘Cupid being now healed of his wound and Maladie,

not able to endure the absence of Psyches, got him

secretly out at a window of the chamber where hee

was enclosed, and (receiving his wings), tooke his flight.’”

“Apuleius.”

“Yes.”

“You speak in riddles.”

“Only because language fails me.”

Are you saying you’re healed of your malady?” she asked, fearing his answer.

“There’s no cure for vampyrism except death. But for coldheartedness, I think there is a cure.” He turned her in his arms and looked at her gravely. “The warmth of a pure heart, for example. And the stunning pain of loss.”

He stopped, his arms wrapped around her waist.

“My human memories are indistinct for the most part. We all have the same complaint. Memories are stored in the brain. When our biology changed, our brains changed as well. It affected our ability to access those memories.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I’m trying to share a secret.”

Raven stilled. She felt his worry, his uncertainty.

She placed her hand over his.

Tentatively, he laced his fingers with her own.

“Everyone, including Aoibhe, thinks I’m English, but that isn’t true. I’m not Anglo-Saxon; I’m Norman. My name is William Malet. I was named after an ancestor of mine who was one of William the Conqueror’s companions in the Battle of Hastings. My family lived in York in the thirteenth century and that’s where I was born. My first language was Anglo-Norman French. I was the oldest son of a noble family and destined for a certain life, but I fell in love with a merchant’s daughter. Alicia.”

He gazed out over the city, a haunted look in his eyes.

Raven squeezed their connection, prompting him.

He looked down at their fingers.

“Because of the difference in our stations, and the fact that she was Anglo-Saxon, my family opposed the match. But we were young and in love. We thought the differences between us were meaningless.

“We decided to flout my father and elope. Alicia was supposed to meet me in York one night so we could run away together. She never appeared. I went looking for her, and after searching for hours I found her, lying by the wall.” He cursed. “She was alive, but barely. A group of men had happened upon her while she was on her way to meet me. They took their pleasure and broke her body. She died in my arms.”

“I’m so sorry.” She held his hand firmly.

William’s expression was tortured.

“She’d been a virgin, secretly betrothed to me. The way she suffered and died . . .” William’s voice trailed off into a curse. “I should have met her at her father’s house and not compelled her to wander the streets alone. Or I should have let her go and she could have married someone else.”