Текст книги "The Raven"

Автор книги: Sylvain Reynard

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“Why didn’t you call the police?”

“I have no use for police.”

“You didn’t have to kill them.” Her voice was unsteady.

William’s eyes glinted a cold, steel gray. “Would you have preferred I leave them to their next victim? Another woman? Another homeless man? Or a child?”

“No, but death is final.”

“In some cases.” He cast her a meaningful look.

Raven could see there was more, much more, that he wasn’t telling her. She felt her grasp on what she thought she knew begin to slip, like a lifeline being pulled out of her hands.

She gazed up at him, wide eyed. “How can death not be final?”

“Now is not the time for theological questions.”

William paced to her left and back again. “Faced as I was with a dying woman, I had to make a decision. I could let her die, I could hasten her death, or I could save her.

“I thought about ending her suffering.” He paused his pacing. “I couldn’t do it. She hadn’t done anything to deserve the attack. Her death would have been a tragedy.

“I brought her here, to my home. She nearly died in my arms. There wasn’t time to fetch a doctor, and in any case I doubted one could help her. So I did what I could.”

Raven shuddered. “And what was that?”

William turned to face the illustrations and she was treated to the sight of his back, his wide shoulders and narrow waist. He was quiet, as if he were reading the answer to her question in the drawings of Dante and Beatrice.

“I used—alchemy.”

Raven stared at his back. “Like turning metal into gold?”

“Not quite. It took time and care, but she recovered. She was now my guest. I’d taken care of her. I’d washed her, clothed her, fed her.” William turned toward Raven. “Do you understand guest friendship? The rules of hospitality?”

She looked down at her lap.

“Um, I think Homer describes it. Guest friendship is supposed to govern how a host treats the people in his house.” She clutched the sides of the chair, her knuckles whitening. “Since you’re my host, you’re supposed to protect me and keep me safe.”

William’s eyes seemed to glow in the darkness as they fixed on hers.

“Precisely.”

He ran his fingers through his blond hair, pushing the strands back from his forehead.

“What happened to your other guest?” Raven fidgeted in her chair.

William put his hands back in his pockets. “I returned her to her life. Because of her head injury, her memory was affected. I was confident she wouldn’t remember me or the attack and I thought that was for the best. Her body healed and her amnesia would allow her soul to heal.”

“There’s no such thing as souls.”

“Call it a mind, then,” he growled. “In any case, I hoped that, having been restored by my good deed, she’d live her life and that would be the end.”

“But it wasn’t,” Raven prompted, still gripping the armrests of the chair.

“No. The woman began to draw attention to herself—attention that would lead to me. I tried to put a stop to it, but she persisted.”

Raven blinked. “What kind of attention?”

“Going to the Palazzo Riccardi and asking for me by name.”

“But that was a coincidence! I learned your name from Professor Emerson. If I hadn’t been missing for a week, the police wouldn’t have questioned me. And I wouldn’t have gone looking for you, thinking you had something to do with the robbery.”

William’s eyes glinted angrily, but Raven ignored his look. “You robbed the Uffizi Gallery and stole priceless pieces of art. That’s what caused this mess. Not me.”

William lifted his gaze to the ceiling and proceeded to address it. “A perfect example of the young woman’s absolute intractability. She will not listen; she will not heed advice.”

He lifted his arms in frustration. “What shall I do? Tell me. Shall I kill her and violate the principle of guest friendship? Or shall I try to reason with her? Again.”

Raven’s breath caught in her chest.

He strode toward her, his face a mask of fury.

“I told you to leave the city. You refused.”

“You broke into my apartment. You wouldn’t tell me who you were. It would have been irrational for me to listen to you.”

He leaned over her, his gray eyes piercing hers.

“I gave you something to protect you, but you called it ‘shit.’ Tonight you came to the attention of two people who saw me with you after you were attacked. It’s only a matter of time before they realize I didn’t let you die. My good deed will be exposed, along with my weakness.”

“What weakness?” Raven whispered, unable to look away.

“You.” He lifted his hand and brought it to her cheek.

Raven ignored the feel of his touch and glanced in the direction of the door. She felt panicked, as if she stood on the edge of a precipice. At any moment, her host could push her over.

And she was unable to run.

Her mind raced, wondering what would happen if she reached over to grab the candle. Could she risk maiming him in order to make her escape? Would she have the nerve to throw the candlestick at one of the paintings, and destroy a priceless work of art?

William’s eyes took in her reaction and he dropped his hand.

“What shall I do with you, Jane?”

Her eyes met his again.

He was staring at her with a conflicted expression. “Shall I prove myself devoid of honor by killing a guest in my home?”

“You said I was your weakness.” Her voice broke on the last word, her body shaking.

“You are.”

She cleared her throat. “If you kill me, all your striving was for nothing.”

William’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

Raven lifted a finger and touched the scar on her forehead.

“You said you didn’t mean for this to happen.” She gave him a searching look. “You wiped away the blood with your handkerchief.”

His eyes moved to her scar.

“Please,” she begged, knowing that her life hung in the balance. “If your story is true, you saved me from being raped and killed. Would you kill me now, after all that?”

He closed his eyes for a moment.

“Cassita vulneratus,” he whispered.

At the sound of those words, images crowded Raven’s mind. She saw William’s face, and the faces of the man and woman who’d chased her to the Duomo.

She saw herself in a dark alley, her hands covered in blood.

She saw herself in William’s room, lying on his bed while he stood over her, a tortured expression on his face.

She heard his voice, murmuring in English and in Latin.

“‘Wounded lark,’” she translated, lifting her eyes to him in wonder.

William’s lips curved into a half smile. “The wounded lark with the great green eyes and the maddening, courageous soul.”

Raven broke eye contact as she tried to come to terms with the images she’d just seen. Unless he was a hypnotist and a master of the power of suggestion, she was beginning to remember what had happened to her. Shockingly, the memories were consistent with the story he’d told.

She wrapped her arms around her middle, trying to manage the fear and wonder that coursed through her.

“I went to a party that night,” she mused aloud. “I couldn’t remember what happened after.”

“You had a brain injury.”

She looked up at him. “Is that why I found my sneakers in the closet upstairs?”

He nodded. “The rest of your clothes were ruined—stained with blood.”

Her stomach twisted.

“The homeless man you mentioned, was that Angelo? The man who stayed by the Ponte Santa Trinita?”

“I don’t know his name, but that’s where we found his body.”

Raven’s eyes filled with tears. “He never hurt anyone. All he did was draw pictures of angels and ask people for charity.”

William watched Raven’s reaction, an unfamiliar emotion rising in his chest.

“From what I’ve inferred, you saw the homeless man being attacked and intervened. That’s why they turned on you. You’re noble, but lack prudence.”

“What should I have done? Stood by and watched?” Her green eyes flashed.

He gestured to her knapsack. “You own a cell phone. Why didn’t you use it?”

“I don’t remember. Probably I thought there wasn’t time to wait for the police.”

“Precisely.” He gave her a look that was heavy with meaning.

She swiped at her eyes. “Will my memory return?”

“I don’t know.” His tone was sincere. “Perhaps it’s a mercy you don’t remember.”

She nodded absently.

After a moment, something occurred to her.

“You said earlier you could tell I was good and that’s why you intervened. How can you tell someone is good just by looking at her?”

“It’s a skill acquired over time, of which I have had a great deal.”

“I can’t be much older than you. Is it part of your alchemy?” She watched him carefully.

His posture was casual, too casual. “A kind of alchemy, perhaps. Mostly, the judgment is made based on perceptions. Your character was evident to me even as you lay dying.”

Raven turned away, her stomach churning.

“What did you give me to save my life?”

William opened his mouth to answer but stopped. He noted her tense posture, her still wet eyes, and the ferocity with which she held on to his chair.

“I think you’ve had enough for one evening.” His voice was quiet. “Go to bed. We’ll continue this conversation tomorrow.”

“I want to know about the alchemy. I want to know why my wound healed quickly.” She gestured to her forehead.

He reached out to trace the scar, his touch featherlight.

“This is a tragedy.” William’s tone was heavy with meaning.

Raven heard much more than a description of her scar in his voice. From his eyes, his face, the way he caressed her, she started to believe he didn’t want to hurt her.

He withdrew his hand. “I gave you something to heal your injuries, but the change in your leg is temporary. It’s already beginning to wear off.”

A look of horror flashed across Raven’s features. “Temporary?”

“Unless the treatment is repeated,” he qualified, searching her eyes.

“Will my head injury return? Will I die?” Raven’s heart thumped in her chest.

His hand slid underneath her hair to the back of her neck.

“Look at me,” he ordered, his gruff tone at odds with the lightness of his touch.

He brought his face close to hers.

“The mortal wounds were healed. But your appearance and the old injury of your leg will return to what they were before, perhaps with some small variations.”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth. “How is that possible?”

“How is it that a relic deters a feral, and holy ground repels Maximilian and Aoibhe?”

“You’re a murderer.” She changed the subject.

He did not blink. “Yes.”

“And a thief.”

William released her neck and straightened.

“With respect to the illustrations, I merely repossessed them.”

“But you came to see if I was frightened after I saw the policeman being killed.”

He nodded once.

“And you came to me tonight, when you thought I was in danger. Now I discover you fought three men to save my life, even though you didn’t know me.” She gazed up at him in wonder.

He moved to cup her face.

“I know you.

“I know you live alone and have few friends. I know you walk with a cane because of your leg and ankle.

“I know you weep over a homeless man and risked your life to save him.

“I know that, despite the quiet and simplicity of your life, you’ve been happier in Florence than anywhere else.”

He drew a circle on her cheek with his thumb before dropping it to her jaw.

“You are my greatest virtue and my deepest vice.”

He leaned forward and pressed their lips together.

Anguish and desire flared in his chest as his mouth touched hers, his kiss becoming firm and insistent. His thumb traced a tempting trail down her beautiful neck and he groaned, the sound throaty and carnal.

Raven had been taken by surprise. At first she was motionless, trying to get her bearings. At the sound of his groan, which she took to be an indication of genuine desire, she relaxed against him.

His mouth was sensuous, his lips softer than she expected. And he kissed with the intensity of a condemned man.

Suddenly he pulled away.

“Good night, Cassita.” His words were a command and not a suggestion.

He turned his back on her, walking to the far end of the room where the Botticelli illustrations were displayed.

Raven wanted to ask him questions. She wanted to ask why he’d kissed her. Why he’d changed his mind and stopped.

She wanted to ask about the medicine he’d used to save her.

His mood had shifted. He seemed irritated, if not angry, and she was wary of him.

Her wariness was enough to propel her to obey his command and delay her escape. She had too many unanswered questions to leave now.

Without a word, she lifted her knapsack and exited the room, touching her lips in wonder.

Chapter Twenty-three

William strode to his library and shut the doors, locking them from the inside. Bookshelves ascended from the floor to the domed ceiling. A sliding metal staircase ran on a track that curved around the room, enabling one to climb to the tallest shelf.

Not that he needed the staircase.

Through the immense glass panes that formed the ceiling, he could see the moon, and the stars winking above him. Year after year, century after century, he’d gazed at that same sky. Its response was always the same—beautiful, cold indifference.

Just like God.

He growled at the thought.

He hadn’t chosen this life; it had been forced on him.

So much for the justice that governs the universe. Dante was a fool to believe such myths. Some of us are damned by the actions of others and exiled to hell through no fault of our own.

It was rare that he indulged himself with such thoughts. They stoked his anger and tested his discipline. On this evening, they could not be put aside.

He’d served God, even after God had taken what he treasured most. And in such a sick and twisted way.

Then God had taken from him again.

Twice he had seen goodness disappear from the world, watching the very life ebb away. Twice he’d been powerless to stop it. On the third occasion, when he came upon Cassita, he had the power to do something.

So do something he did.

Interestingly enough, Cassita’s goodness wasn’t cold and indifferent, as her tardy response to his kiss indicated.

The thought seared him.

He sat behind his wooden desk and opened the center drawer, withdrawing a small, black velvet box.

He opened it.

A pretty face looked up at him from behind glass.

The face was of a woman, young and fair, with large blue eyes and anabundance of long, reddish blond curls.

William remembered his anger, long since buried, as he stroked the girl’s cheek. He remembered the centuries of despair and hopelessness he’d weathered until the night he’d found the girl with the green eyes, slumped in an alley.

With her face firmly fixed in his mind, he closed the box and put it back in its place, sliding the drawer shut.

The next morning, Raven awoke late. She’d tossed and turned most of the night, her mind active and worried.

She found a card on her nightstand that indicated she should ring Lucia for breakfast. The card itself was unremarkable. What was remarkable was the fact that Raven found herself squinting in order to read Lucia’s elegant script.

Her heart sank as she realized that her eyesight, like all the other changes to her body, was reverting back to what it had been before William rescued her.

If, in fact, he had rescued her.

In the bright light of day, she wondered about his story. He claimed she’d had a head injury, but apart from a headache or two and her memory loss, there wasn’t any physical evidence.

Of course, there was the strange matter of her changed appearance. She wondered how William had been able to bring that about.

William.

The name, like the man, was deceptive. His attractive exterior and elegant name belied the criminal who was prone to violence.

The man who’d kissed her the evening before.

She had limited experience when it came to kisses, but she recognized his expertise. The recognition was accompanied by the cooling tide of guilt.

William was handsome and he could be charming. Certainly he’d helped her more than once. But he was an art thief, a member of almost the lowest form of humanity.

And I let him kiss me.

Raven told herself she hadn’t pushed him away because she’d been emotional. She’d been frightened. She couldn’t be attracted to a criminal.

More precisely, she wouldn’t allow herself to be attracted to a criminal. No matter what.

She pulled on a robe to greet Lucia and was delighted when the woman set her brunch out on the balcony that opened from the bedroom.

Raven was grateful that two aspirin had been left on the tray, since her leg and ankle were aching. If the pain worsened, she’d have to start taking her prescription pain medication again.

She sighed at the thought.

As she enjoyed the noon sunshine her mind naturally drifted to the evening before.

William York was behind the theft of the illustrations from the Uffizi Gallery. Whether they’d belonged to him in the past or not, Raven didn’t know. Certainly his story was at odds with the account the Emersons had given.

In addition, William seemed almost too young to be a serious art collector. The collection he’d amassed downstairs rivaled that of many museums in quality, if not quantity, leading Raven to believe it had been acquired over decades, if not centuries, by his family.

Since Professor Emerson had already mentioned William as a potential suspect, it was more than likely he’d been investigated. Knowing he was guilty, she wondered why he hadn’t fled the city and returned to England.

Raven looked down at her half-eaten sweet roll. She’d suddenly lost her appetite.

William claimed to have saved her life, and killed in order to do it. While it was possible he’d lied about that, too, she couldn’t explain the strange images that continued to flood her consciousness—images of a dark alley and blood and the faces of the man and woman she’d seen the night before.

And there was the fact that she’d sketched William’s face before seeing it. She must have met him before.

If he’d killed to protect her, she certainly didn’t condone it. But she knew her story would be too fantastic for the police to believe. She’d had enough trouble with them already.

She could try to persuade William to give the illustrations back, so they could be enjoyed by everyone and not relegated to a private room in his villa. Given his attitude and the way he’d spoken about the illustrations, this task would not be easy.

A shadow fell across the table.

“Good morning,” William greeted her. “Did you rest well?”

“I found it difficult to sleep.” She pulled the edges of her bathrobe closed. “Would you like to join me?”

“I’ve eaten already.” He stepped out of the sun and back into the master bedroom, hovering in the doorway.

She found the movement strange.

“Don’t you want to sit in the sun?”

“Not particularly.” He sounded prim.

She gestured to his fair skin. “Do you burn easily?”

“I find the sun uncomfortable and tend to avoid it. Is breakfast to your liking?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Raven felt conspicuous eating in front of him, especially since her waist had noticeably thickened overnight. She pushed the tray aside and sipped her coffee, looking out over the extensive gardens and trees at the back of his villa.

“You have a beautiful home.”

“Thank you.”

Raven shifted in her chair in order to appraise him. His clothes were impeccable and clean, although he appeared to be wearing the same black shirt and jeans he’d worn the night before.

Raven inferred he was wearing new clothes that resembled the others.

“Do you always wear black?”

He seemed taken aback by her question. “Ah, yes.”

“It’s a warm, sunny day. Aren’t you hot?”

“Not really.” His body tensed.

His nearness reminded her of the kiss they’d shared the evening before. It also reminded her that he’d had to convince himself not to kill her. It was time to disentangle herself from this situation.

“Thank you for your hospitality and coming to my rescue last night. I really should be going. I’d like to visit Bruno in the hospital.” She placed her coffee cup on the tray and gave him a smile calculated to disarm him.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you go.”

A feeling of alarm coursed through her. “Why not?”

“A longer conversation is in order. I’ll leave you to dress and meet you downstairs. You have one hour.”

Raven watched as he strode through the bedroom toward the door, his spine ramrod straight.

“I don’t want to wait,” she called. “Let’s talk now.”

William paused before turning around. He did not look pleased.

“We can’t talk here.”

“Because?”

William walked back to her so quickly he was almost a blur.

“Because your proximity to my bed reminds me of all the things I’d rather be doing with you.”

Raven’s mouth dropped open.

William took a moment to regain his control, willing his body to obey his mind.

“Get dressed and come downstairs.”

He returned to the door, closing it loudly behind him.

Raven sat in her chair, dumbfounded.

She was not accustomed to receiving attention from men. Mostly she’d been treated a little like wallpaper or a piece of furniture.

At college, she’d had two boyfriends. The first one was affectionate, but not especially passionate. The second was duplicitous. Neither of them ever looked at her as William had just done, even in their most intimate, secret moments.

William had seen her and wanted her. He knew she wasn’t a size zero, with a dainty figure. Still he wanted her in his bed.

She tried to reconcile his expression of wanton desire with the tenderness with which he’d kissed her the night before. And the way he called her Cassita.

He doesn’t even know my true name.

Raven’s realization was enough to stop her speculation about William’s desire and his probable talent in bed. She was not lonely and desperate enough to trade her respect for herself (and her name) for an afternoon of pleasure.

Plus, he’s a criminal.

She needed to remind herself of the fact.

There was also the small matter of William’s anger. He seemed cross with himself for wanting her.

She wondered if his anger was because she was troubling his well-ordered criminal life or for other reasons. Probably he resented his attraction, knowing there were exceptional Florentine women ripe for the taking.

Raven decided not to dwell on the subject. She’d long since discarded the belief that all puzzles in the universe could be solved. Some puzzles didn’t have solutions, and she suspected William was exactly that sort of puzzle.

The internal struggles of a criminal were not her concern.

With a labored gait, she walked to the closet. As she sorted through the hangers and shelves of clothing, she realized it held an assortment of sizes, ranging from the size she’d been a few days past to the size she was before she lost her memory.

Either he’d provided clothes for her while he was saving her life or he’d anticipated her return to a larger size. She didn’t know what to think about either possibility.

She chose a raspberry-colored sundress, calculated to contrast with the green of her eyes; a white cardigan; and a pair of simple, low-heeled sandals. Then she locked herself in the large bathroom to get ready.

When Raven reached the first floor, Lucia was waiting. She escorted her to a room down the hall, which she said was the library; she opened the door, then left Raven to William’s company.

Raven found the term library a gross understatement. The room was larger than the central archives at the Uffizi Gallery. She stared at the books openmouthed, turning in circles as she tried to take in the enormous and varied collection.

She was amazed someone so young could have amassed such an extensive library. What she would not give to be able to spend hours perusing the shelves.

William stood at the far end of the room, in front of a massive window that ran from the floor almost to the domed ceiling, facing the gardens. He did not turn around.

The air was filled with one of Rachmaninoff ’s piano concertos. Raven recognized the music, which seemed to emanate from nowhere and everywhere all at once. She looked around the room for the source but couldn’t find it.

She resisted the urge to limp and walked to a chair in front of his desk, sitting down with a barely repressed whimper.

“Are you in pain?” he asked, still facing the window.

“A little. The aspirin is helping.”

He turned. “I can make the pain stop.”

“How?”

“Alchemy.”

She wrinkled her nose. “What does alchemy entail?”

“Prepare to have your universe expanded, Jane.”

She stiffened at the sound of her former name.

William rested his hip against the front of the large desk, crossing his arms in front of him. “You said last night there was no such thing as souls. Your disbelief doesn’t negate reality.”

“Your beliefs, however fantastic, don’t create reality.”

William’s expression hardened.

“Your ignorance will get you killed.”

“Then enlighten me.” She mirrored his posture. “You’ve been speaking in riddles and esoteric circles. It’s time for the truth. Who are you and what are you involved in? Why does it put me in danger?”

William’s eyes flared gray fire.

“You saw the feral for yourself. Last night you encountered Maximilian. Either of them could have drained the life out of you in minutes.”

“I thought Florence was relatively safe at night. I’ll be more careful.”

“You need to stop being so damned dogmatic and open your eyes,” William snapped. “You wore a relic, and a feral kept his distance. You ran to holy ground, and Maximilian didn’t follow you. Isn’t that enough empirical evidence for the supernatural?”

Raven opened her mouth to argue, but found herself unable to formulate an intelligent response.

William shook his head.

“Use your reasoning, Use your powers of observation. They weren’t choosing to stay away from you; they were forced to stay away. What more proof do you need?”

“I agree, they avoided me. The question is why. Maybe there’s something to your belief in relics and the power of Sanctuary. But maybe it’s just the placebo effect.”

William lifted his hip from the desk and growled.

Raven leaned back in her chair.

The sound coming from his chest was unmistakable—he was growling like an animal. She didn’t know what to do with that realization.

William moved closer.

“Your leg was healed, temporarily, and you changed in physical appearance. What are your scientific explanations for that?”

“I don’t have one. Listen, Mr. York. I think I deserve the truth. Something strange happened to me. My memory is confused. Just tell me what you gave me so I can go and see a doctor.”

“A doctor wouldn’t know what to do with you. He’d draw your blood, test it, and discover that it contains substances absolutely foreign to human biology.”

Raven started, visibly shaken by what he’d said. She remembered her doctor’s remarks about her blood work and the incompetence of the lab. She’d said the lab contaminated the blood sample.

“What did you give me?” she whispered.

“You’re asking the wrong question. You should be asking who I am.”

Raven pressed her lips together.

“I know who you are. You’re the thief who stole the illustrations from the Uffizi.”

“As I said, I didn’t steal them. They were stolen from me, originally.”

“Dottor Vitali said they belonged to a Swiss family since the nine-teenth century.”

William tilted his head to one side.

“From whom did they acquire them?”

She lifted her shoulders. “I don’t know.”

“Precisely. They appeared in Switzerland after they were stolen from me.”

“Before the turn of the nineteenth century?” Raven laughed. “But that would make you—”

“Yes.”

She rolled her eyes in disbelief. “What’s your connection with Palazzo Riccardi?”

“None of your business.”

“The painting in your room upstairs, who’s the artist?”

William stopped, pinning her to the chair with a look so sharp, she felt it. “You know who the artist is.”

“I’ve never seen that painting before.”

“You have, actually, when I brought you here to save your life. The artist, of course, is Botticelli.”

“Impossible.”

“Why?”

“Because of Mercury and Zephyr. Their faces…” She stopped, confused.

“It isn’t impossible. Use your powers of inference.”

“I am. I’m familiar with all of Botticelli’s works. I’ve never seen that painting before.”

He smiled. “Because I’ve owned it for years and I’ve never let anyone see it.”

“How long have you owned it?”

William clenched his jaw. “Since it was painted.”

Raven erupted in a scoffing laugh. “Nice try, ancient one. Botticelli died in 1510.”

“He nearly died earlier. When I discovered he’d painted my likeness in a work, I decided to kill him. He offered me a few things and I changed my mind.”

Raven stood and began walking toward the door. “I don’t find your delusions funny. I find them pitiable. You need to get help and I need to go home.”

William blurred past her and stood at the door, barring her way.

Raven’s eyes widened in shock. “How did you do that?”

“I’m quick.” He moved away from the door and stalked toward her.

She retreated, holding her hand up as if to keep him away.

“You’re disturbed. Let me go.”

He approached her determinedly.

“If I let you go, all my striving will be for naught. Someone like Max will come upon you and kill you. Or worse.”

She froze. “Like what?”

William stopped when their feet were almost touching.

“Like keeping you as a pet until he tires of you.”

William stood so close she could feel his breath on her face.

She focused on the door, willing herself not to be distracted by his nearness.

Realization suddenly dawned on her.

“You traffic in humans.” Her gaze moved to his face. “You sell them as sex slaves.”

William’s expression quickly morphed from anger to surprise to amusement.

“Not quite.”

“Who else keeps human beings as pets?” she demanded.

“Those who feed on them.”

“Feed?” Raven began backing away, keeping her gaze fixed on William. “You’re a cannibal.”

William drew himself up to his full height.

“Hardly.

“I am a vampyre.”