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Raven’s grip on him tightened as she drew comfort from his nearness. “This is what we have to hold on to.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“DANIEL WAS A GOOD MAN.”
Father Kavanaugh looked down into the blue eyes of Raven and Cara’s mother, Linda. He nodded but made no movement to shake her hand or embrace her.
“Why didn’t Raven come with you?”
Father started at her question. His hand went into his pocket and closed on the relic he carried. “Raven is recovering from the attack. She isn’t well enough to travel.”
Linda gave him a pained look. “Do you think she will come home?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“But you are close to her,” Linda pressed. “She trusts you. Maybe you could talk to her about coming home? She could stay with us. We have plenty of room.”
“Mrs. Shannon, I can’t repair your relationship with your daughter. Only you and Raven can do that.”
“But my family is in shambles.” Linda placed her hand on his arm. “We need your help.”
On instinct, Father pulled his arm away. “Your family was in shambles a long time ago, Mrs. Shannon.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Linda raised her voice.
Father noticed that the few remaining mourners, including Linda’s new husband, had turned their attention in his direction.
His hand went to his forehead, and he rubbed at the creases. “Forgive me. I’m sorry for your loss.”
He tried to walk away but she stepped in front of him. “I demand to know what you meant.”
His eyes moved to hers. “I’m talking about what happened to Raven and Cara when they were children.”
Linda reddened. “Raven is unbalanced. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
“Why would you dismiss her claims before I told you what she said?”
Linda mumbled a vague response.
The priest’s expression grew severe. “Your ex-husband’s recent arrest in California for child molestation corroborates Raven’s account of what happened to Cara.”
Mrs. Shannon began to protest vehemently, but he lifted his hand. “You can lie to yourself, and you can lie to everyone else, including your children. But you cannot lie to me. You knew.”
Something in her eyes shifted.
She adjusted her very expensive handbag. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He leaned closer. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You knew what was going on, and you did nothing. So Jane, your twelve-year-old daughter, took matters into her own hands. And she paid for it with her leg.”
“You don’t know what he was like!” she shouted. “You don’t understand.”
“Then tell me.” His voice grew quiet once again. “I’m listening.”
The woman hesitated, something working behind her eyes.
She glanced around and saw the remaining mourners watching the exchange.
“Thank you for performing the service, Father. Please tell Raven I hope she feels better soon.” Linda spun on her heel, and marched away.
Father Kavanaugh watched her departing form. He watched her take the arm of her husband and walk toward the long black limousine that waited nearby.
He lifted his eyes heavenward.
He’d tried to help Raven and her family for many years. Cracking Linda’s denial for the first time should have felt like a victory. But he felt far from victorious.
She needed healing and love as much as her daughters. And he’d been harsh with her.
“Forgive me,” he whispered.
His thoughts strayed to Raven, and he reflected on her character and intelligence, her bravery and compassion.
Standing in the cemetery, with the hot Miami sun streaming down on him, the Jesuit felt something move in his heart.
He knew what Raven encountered at the hands of the fiend who claimed to own her. He would not turn a blind eye. He wouldn’t abandon her to her fate as a vampyre’s pet, even if that meant the sin of disobedience and expulsion from the Curia.
The infinite worth of one soul far outweighed any responsibility he had to the Curia or to the Jesuits. He knew in his heart that God agreed.
“Help me,” he prayed. “Show me what to do.”
As if in a whisper, a germ of an idea took root in his mind.
Chapter Thirty-Three
LATE ONE EVENING the following week, William and Raven exited the Mercedes under the cover of darkness and entered the Accademia Gallery.
“How did you manage this?” Raven peered past the security guard into an empty hall.
William smiled, his gray eyes gleaming. “The Gallery is available for private tours after hours. At a price.”
He led her downstairs to a private garden that opened out from the Gallery’s book shop. The garden was lit with candles and small lamps. A table shrouded in linen stood with a champagne bucket atop it.
Raven covered her mouth in surprise. “This is so beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever been out here.”
William’s hand spanned her lower back as he whispered, “Your beauty puts the garden to shame.”
Raven lowered her head and fussed with her gown. It was black and overlaid with crimson roses, almost reaching her knees. The dress dipped low in the front, drawing attention to her generous cleavage, and bared most of her back, as well as her arms.
Her cheeks flushed under William’s unabashed appraisal.
For his part, William had shocked her by donning a white shirt, rather than his usual black, with a black suit. He’d shunned a tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, exposing his chest to great effect.
“This dress is short.” She pulled at the hem, vainly attempting to lengthen it.
William retreated a few feet in order to gaze at her. “I have observed you in much, much less.”
“In bed, yes.”
“Not just in bed.” He smiled. “In the shower, in my library, on the terrace, in my garden—”
“Point taken,” she interrupted, the flush heightening in her cheeks.
He stood in front of her and looped his arms around her waist. “I wanted to see you happy.”
“Thank you.”
He squeezed her backside. “My pleasure.”
He offered her his arm, and she took it. They explored the garden briefly before William led Raven to a low stone bench so she could rest her leg.
She patted the space next to her. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about the Renaissance?”
William joined her on the bench. “Not at all.”
“What was Beatrice like?”
William looked off into space. “She was beautiful. She was regal. She had many admirers, but Dante was probably the most obsessive.”
“You didn’t like him?”
William made what could politely be called a disgusted face. “He was proud, arrogant, and wily. He used many contrivances to get her attention. And he was already married.”
Raven looked at the garden, at the glass windows that divided the interior of the gallery from the outside space. “Dante made her immortal. Because of his love, people have been reading about her for centuries.”
“I could make you immortal.” William’s gray eyes lasered into hers.
“Art is the only thing that lasts.”
“I disagree. Let me change you.”
She looked away. “We’ve talked about this.”
William shuddered a sigh. “Yes, we have. I thought perhaps you’d change your mind.”
Raven hastily changed the subject. “It’s sad that more people can’t enjoy your Botticelli illustrations of Dante and Beatrice.”
William bristled. “They have copies. That must be enough.”
He rested his hand on h
er shoulder before moving to the table. He lifted a bottle from the ice bucket.
Raven recognized the label. Dom Pérignon.
She’d never tasted it before.
She watched in anticipation as William removed the cork.
“What are we celebrating?” Raven took the proffered glass, once it was filled.
“You. To your happiness.” He lifted his glass and tapped it against hers.
“To our happiness, William.”
She tasted the champagne—cool and dry, with the smallest bubbles. It was crisp and fresh and absolutely nothing like anything she’d tasted before.
They sipped in silence for a few moments. William watched her over the rim of his glass.
When she’d finished her champagne, he placed her glass along with his on the table.
He lifted her hand to his lips. “Unlike the rest of the humans who pine after vampyres, you don’t dream of being immortal. Tell me what you dream about.”
“I dream of living with you in peace. I’d like to travel with you, someday.”
“Where?”
“I’d like you to show me York. I’d like to visit my sister and make sure she’s all right.”
“Other dreams? Things you would like to accomplish?”
