“You have a boyfriend? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because he’s a vampyre. He’s the only reason we’re still alive. We were attacked, and William saved us.”

Cara turned on her heel and marched into the bathroom. She examined herself in the mirror. “I look okay.”

“That’s because he gave you…” Raven cleared her throat. “Never mind.”

“Gave me what?” Cara emerged from the bathroom.

“They brought us food.” Raven gestured to the lavish table set up on the far side of the room. “Why don’t you have a shower and get cleaned up? Then we can have something to eat.”

“These people call themselves vampyres, and you’re sleeping with one of them.” Cara scrubbed at her face. “Is this some weird fetish thing?”

“Cara, come here.” Raven held out her hand.

Her sister took it reluctantly, allowing herself to be pulled to a seated position.

“You don’t have to believe everything I say, but you need to hear me. These people, all of them, are dangerous. They view us as food, and they have no problem killing.”

Cara grimaced. “Including William?”

“He’s different.”

“How different?”

Raven made eye contact with her sister. “He’s the one who captured David and threatened to kill him.”

“What?”

“I told him what happened to us when we were children. William was disgusted that David got away with it. He wanted him to pay.”

“Did he kill him?” Cara squeaked.

“No. He wanted to, but I wouldn’t let him. William turned him over to the police in California.”

Cara stared at her sister, her expression blank. “We need to get to Florence. Dan is hurt, and he needs our help.”

She strode into the adjacent bedroom, dismayed to discover it too was absent windows or any other visible egress.

“You aren’t listening,” Raven called. She waited for her sister to emerge from the bedroom. “When William comes back, we can ask him about Dan. But we aren’t going anywhere.”

Cara’s blue eyes narrowed. “Yeah, your new boyfriend is a real prince. He drinks blood, hangs around with re-enactors, and kidnaps your stepfather.”

Raven leaned forward. “If you don’t believe me, ask Father Kavanaugh. He knows exactly who and what these people are. That’s why he wanted me to come to Rome, to get me away from William.”

Cara lifted her arms in frustration. “Then for God’s sake, Raven, why didn’t you come?”

“Because Father is hiding his own secrets.”

“That’s obvious. He was acting weird when Dan and I went to see him, and he wasn’t going to let us leave. We had to sneak out of the Vatican in order to see you.”

“Exactly. He doesn’t want me near vampyres, and he doesn’t want you near them, either.”

Cara walked over to the table and retrieved an apple, taking a large bite. She gave her sister a hard look. “Tell me everything. And start at the beginning.”

Chapter Fourteen

SIMONETTA VESPUCCI’S BEAUTY was the stuff of legends.

The Prince of Florence was well aware of this. He’d known her in life, and he’d known Sandro Botticelli, the artist who immortalized her in such paintings as The Birth of Venus.

The beauty she’d worn in life had been compounded a hundred fold when she became a vampyre. Now she owned the face and form of a goddess.

During his tenure as prince, William had enjoyed her on more than one occasion. Simonetta was passionate but particular when it came to her lovers. The Prince was one of her favorites, which was why he followed her to her bedchamber on this occasion with more than a soupçon of concern.

The princess inhabited a stately villa in Perugia, which was so lavish it rivaled the Palace of Versailles. Her bedroom, in particular, boasted large floor-to-ceiling mirrors on every wall, a gilded ceiling, and heavy, ornate furniture upholstered in crimson velvet.

Although one might have expected Simonetta to spend most of her time gazing at herself, she rarely did. The mirrors were installed primarily for her lovers, so that they could admire themselves as they consorted and fornicated with a goddess for hours on end.

There had been a time when the Prince was untroubled by the decadent furnishings, when he’d enjoyed the mirrors that reflected the large and stately bed, and the female striding toward it.

Now the sight repelled him.

“Given your trouble with Machiavelli and the Curia, I’m surprised you left Florence.” Simonetta ushered the Prince to a large sitting area at the far end of the chamber, mere steps from her imposing bed.

“Machiavelli sent the detachment without my authority, and he neglected to send couriers first. I came to rectify the error and to apologize for the insult,” the Prince lied smoothly.

She smiled. “I can always count on you to respect propriety. Shall I arrange for a feeding? You must be hungry.”

“Your hospitality is appreciated, but a feeding is unnecessary. I am eager for the detachment to reach Rome before sunrise.”

“I’d offer transportation, but since the Curia is involved, I prefer to remain neutral.” She pulled a length of cord that fell from the ceiling. A knock sounded from behind one of the mirrors.

“Enter,” she commanded.

The mirror moved, revealing a hidden door. A servant stood in the opening, bowing low.