Blood Price

Lemmo." Her lips pursed as though she tasted something sour. "The convent seemed the better course."

    "But why choose at all?"

    She smiled and shook her head. "In your years out of the world you have forgotten a few things, my love. My father wishes me for Signore Lemmo, but he will graciously allow me to go to God if only to get his overly educated daughter out of his house." Her voice grew serious and she stroked a finger down the length of Henry's bare chest. "He fears the Inquisition, Enrico.
    Fears that I will bring the Papal Hounds down upon the family." Her lips twisted. "Or that he will be forced to denounce me."

    Henry stared at her in astonishment. "The Inquisition? But you've done nothing. . . ."

    Both her eyebrows rose. "I am lying with you and for some, even not knowing what you are, that would be enough. If they knew that I willingly give myself to an Angel of Darkness ..." She turned her wrist so that the small puncture wound became visible. ". . . burning would be too good for me." A finger laid against his lips stopped him when he tried to speak. "Yes, yes, no one knows but I am also a woman who dares to use her mind and that is enough for these times.
    If my husband had died and left me rich or if I had borne a son to carry on his name. . . ." Her shoulder's lifted and fell. "Unfortunately ..."

    He caught up her hand. "You have another choice."

    "No." She sighed. The breath quavered as she released it. "I have thought long and hard on this, Enrico, and I cannot take your path. It is my need to live as I am that places me in danger now, I simply could not exist behind the masks you must wear to survive."

    It was the truth and he knew it, but that made it no easier to bear. "When I was changed ..."

    "When you were changed," she interrupted, "from what you have told me, the passion was so great it left no room for rational thought, no room to consider what would happen after.
    Although I am fond of passion," her hand slid down between his legs, "I cannot lose myself ink."

    He pushed her back onto the pillow, trapping her beneath him. "This doesn't have to end."

    She laughed. "I know you, Enrico." Her eyes half closed and she thrust her hips up against him. "Could you do this with a nun?"

    After a moment of shock, he laughed as well and bent his mouth to hers. "If you are sure,"
    he murmured against her lips.

    "I am. If I must give up my freedom, better to God than to man."

    All he could do was respect her decision.

    It hurt to lose her, but in the months that followed the hurt eased and it was enough to know that the Sisters kept her safe. Although he thought of leaving, Henry lingered in Venice, not wanting to cut the final tie.

    Chance alone brought him news that the Sisters had not been able to keep her safe enough.
    Hushed whispers overheard in a dark cafe said the Hounds had come for Ginevra Treschi, taken her right from the "convent, said she had been consorting with the devil, said they were going to make an example of her. She had been with them three weeks.

    Three weeks with fire and iron and pain.

    He wanted to storm their citadel like Christ at the gates of hell, but he forced himself to contain his rage. He could not save her if he threw himself into the Inquisitor's embrace.

    If anything remained of her to be saved.

    They had taken over a wing of the Doge's palace-the Doge being more than willing to cooperate with Rome. The smell of death rolled through the halls like fog and the blood scent left a trail so thick a mortal could have followed it.

    He found her hanging as they'd left her. Her wrists had been tightly bound behind her back, a coarse rope threaded through the lashing and used to hoist her into the air. Heavy iron weights hung from her burned ankles. They had obviously begun with flogging and had added greater and more painful persuasions over time. She had been dead only a few hours.

    ". . . confessed to having relations with the devil, was forgiven, and gave her soul up to God." He rubbed his fingers in his beard. "Very satisfactory all around. Shall we return the body to the Sisters or to her family?"

    The older Dominican shrugged. "I cannot see that it makes any difference, she. . . . Who are you?"

    Henry smiled. "I am vengeance," he said, closing the door behind him and bolting it.

    * * *
    "Vengeance." Henry sighed and wiped damp palms on his jeans. The Papal Hounds had died in terror, begging for their lives, but it hadn't brought Ginevra back.