He looked back at the black-haired beauty who slept in his bed. They’d only been reunited a few hours before. He wasn’t prepared to lose her.
William had expected her to be pleased with his gift, which he’d taken great care in procuring. He thought she’d relish the opportunity to exact justice from the man who had damaged her leg and abused her sister. Instead, she’d been horrified and upset. Even now, the sound of her wounded cries rang in his ears.
And he was responsible.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head before placing the bracelet that marked her as his on her wrist. She’d returned the piece to him when they’d parted company. It was only right that she wear it again.
His lips fluttered over the pale skin that covered the veins in her wrist. He was hungry, it was true, but he couldn’t bear the thought of feeding now. He left her to her artificial slumber and moved quickly to the first floor. Lucia and Ambrogio were given detailed instructions about Raven and the prisoner in the dungeon. Then William sent a message to Stefan, the principality’s chief physician, summoning him to the private apartments at the Palazzo Riccardi.
Finally, William quit the villa, traveling to the palazzo via a series of secret passageways that lay below the city of Florence. He did not pray. God had damned him and his brethren. There was no point in cowering before him in order to ask for a favor, even for Raven.
He hoped sincerely whatever damage he’d done could be undone.
Chapter Five
Stefan of Montréal was the physician for the principality of Florence. He was much younger than the Prince and the other members of the Consilium, Florence’s ruling council. But he’d been trained in twentieth-century medicine, and so his expertise in contemporary health and science was valued. For this reason, his youth as a vampyre was overlooked.
Nevertheless, when the Prince summoned him to the Palazzo Riccardi, Stefan worried his tenure had come to an end. In the past few years, the Prince had executed two Consilium members for failing to do their duty. Stefan was greatly concerned he’d become the third.
He tried to comfort himself with the thought that if the Prince wished to execute him, he’d do so at a Consilium meeting and not at one of his residences. This was a cold comfort, indeed.
“Is the vintage to your liking?” The Prince gestured to the warmed human blood Stefan was nervously sipping.
“Young and sweet. Thank you, my lord.”
Stefan tried to wait patiently for the Prince to reveal the reason behind his summons, shifting his glass from hand to hand as the moments passed.
The older vampyre stood by a curtained window, seemingly lost in thought. His own glass of blood sat untasted on his desk.
Stefan found the fact curious.
“I think I broke my pet.” The Prince spoke at last, keeping his back to the doctor.
Stefan placed his glass on a side table. “Is it dead?”
“What? No.” The Prince turned and frowned.
“Forgive the intimate question, my lord. Has it fed from you?”
The Prince pressed his lips together. “No. And it isn’t her body that’s broken; it’s her mind.”
“Human minds, like human bodies, are easily broken.” Stefan tented his fingers sagely. “It’s their nature to be weak.”
The Prince regarded him coolly before lifting his cup and tasting it. “Can broken minds be repaired? I’ve only had this pet a short time. It seems a shame to dispose of her so soon.”
“The effect of vampyre blood on broken human bodies is well documented. The effect on human minds is lesser known. Who would waste their blood on a pet with a broken mind?” The physician chuckled.
He caught the Prince’s narrowed eyes and abruptly stopped laughing. “I’ve never seen a psychiatric patient ingest vampyre blood. I admit it would make for an interesting experiment. I can’t promise positive results, however.”
The Prince placed his glass back on the table, his pale fingers tracing the rim. “In your medical training you must have dealt with the mind.”
“Yes, when I was a student. But I’m a surgeon, not a psychiatrist. I served in the Canadian Army Medical Corps during the Great War, before I was changed. I saw men lose their minds in battle and I ordered their evacuation. Forgive me, but I was adept at removing shrapnel and amputating limbs, not treating shell shock.”
“So there are treatments?” The Prince’s tone was remarkably subdued.
“At that time, we used Freudian psychotherapy, convalescence, shock therapy . . .” Stefan’s voice trailed off. He sipped his fortifying beverage. “Contemporary psychiatry is much more advanced. Now most disorders are treated with drugs and therapy. It depends on the condition and the patient.”
The Prince nodded distractedly, sipping from his glass once again.
Stefan leaned forward in his chair. “Perhaps if your lordship were to tell me what precipitated the break in your pet, I might be of help.”
“She suffered trauma as a child. Recently, she had an unexpected encounter with the person who inflicted the trauma. Her reaction to that short encounter was—puzzling.”
“Puzzling in what way?”
“She vomited and screamed obscenities. She struck him and devolved into uncontrollable sobs.”
“Ah,” said Stefan. “Pardon, my lord, but those reactions are not puzzling to me. Clearly, the pet was upset about seeing the person and acted accordingly.”
“That wasn’t the puzzling part. Afterward, she lay unmoving, eyes wide and unseeing, with shallow breath. She didn’t respond to my voice, and when I tried to move her she was stiff.”
“How long did it remain like that?”
“Until I used mind control to put her to sleep.”
Stefan’s eyebrows lifted. “Isn’t it normally under your control?”
The Prince smiled slowly. “I prefer my food to have a little more life in it.”
The doctor lifted his glass in salute. “An old one such as yourself has no need of mind control. But I’m not surprised your pet required it in this case. What you’re describing sounds like a condition called catatonia. A human physician would have run tests on your pet and medicated it. Where is it now?”
“She’s still asleep.”
“Have you tried to wake it?”
“No.”
“You may have trouble. Catatonia, trauma, and mind control are a taxing combination. Even if you’re able to wake the pet, it may not be the same.”
The Prince’s expression grew uneasy but he quickly adjusted it. “Do you mean the damage may be irreparable?”
“It’s possible. The pet had a breakdown and you used mind control on it, which may exacerbate the mental problems. Think of it as using a hammer to repair a broken vase. All that you’re left with is shattered porcelain.”
“Sard,” he muttered. “What if you were to treat her?”
Stefan’s hand shook as he guided his glass to the side table.
“I am your servant and I will, of course, do as you command. But there’s little I could do that couldn’t be done more effectively by a human psychiatrist who specializes in treating these kinds of cases. You’d have to remove the mind control before hospitalizing your pet, that is, if the control can be lifted. If your pet’s mind is truly broken, the easiest solution would be to keep it under mind control until you tire of it. Of course . . .” He gestured vaguely.