Lair of the Lion

  Isabella sipped her tea, thankful she didn't have to reply. She wanted Nicolai with every fiber of her being. It didn't matter that things hadn't gone perfectly; her body still burned for his. She didn't dare tell Sarina what had transpired in her bedchamber.

  Isabella lay awake for a long while after Sarina left, hoping Francesca would come to visit her. She was restless and wanted company. Sarina's tongue-lashing had been far milder than Nicolai had led her to anticipate, and she was grateful Sarina had treated her as a daughter or a friend. But she couldn't talk to Sarina about Nicolai.

  She sighed and rolled over, the quilts tangling around her body. She should have dressed in her bedclothes, but once Sarina left, Isabella lay naked, her body burning, the memory of Nicolai's mouth pulling strongly at her breast and the feel of his silken hair sliding over her skin, uppermost in her mind. She ached, she burned, she was unsettled and edgy. She wanted all the things Sarina had hinted at. She wanted Nicolai's tongue stroking her skin, his fingers buried deep inside her.

  It was useless lying there, unable to sleep. She sat up, allowing the coverlet to fall to her waist so that the air cooled her hot skin. She pulled her long, thick braid around and loosened her hair, shaking her head so that it brushed her skin the way his had, cascading past her waist to pool on the bed. Her body clenched as the silky strands caressed her body. She groaned softly in sheer frustration.

  If she hadn't been so aroused, she would have asked Sarina why the servants treated their don so abominably, but she could only think of him. Nicolai DeMarco. Isabella threw back the covers determinedly and rose from the bed. Padding naked across the room, she stretched her hands out toward the fireplace, the only light left in the room. She had never stood naked in front of a fire and found it sensual.

  Had he changed her in some way? She had never felt like this, hot and heavy and so aware of her own body. She had been naturally curious about what went on between a man and a woman, but no man had ever affected her as Nicolai did. She liked touching him, liked how hard and solid his body was. Isabella sighed and patted the guardian on the hearth behind its shaggy mane.

  There was no noise, no sound, nothing to warn her, but she turned her head, and Nicolai was standing there, on the far side of the room, part of the wall open. His eyes glittered in the darkness, blazed with the leaping flames from the fireplace. Isabella's heart began to pound. He looked every inch a predator, as frightening as one of his lions. She felt vulnerable without her clothes and rather wanton. She ducked her head to bring her long hair swinging around her body like a cape.

  "You shouldn't be here," she managed to say.

  His hot gaze drifted possessively over her body. One breast peeked out at him through the fall of silken hair, but she didn't notice. "You're right. I shouldn't." His voice was husky, and his body hardened with a savage ache.

  "Sarina said we should not be together until we are wed," she blurted out, the only thing she could think of to say.

  "Don't look so afraid, cara. I intend to be propriety itself. It would help if I could wrap you in a robe. You're rather tempting standing there with the firelight touching you in intriguing places." He picked up the robe flung over a chair and crossed the room to stand close to her.

  Isabella could feel the heat radiating off his skin. Off her skin. Her body clenched and went liquid at the sight of him. He seemed to be the very air she breathed, his scent in her lungs, in her mind. "I didn't mean to tempt you." She didn't know if that was the truth. If she had any sense at all, she would run. At the very least she should cry out for Sarina. Instead, she stood very still, waiting. Hoping. Exhilarated.

  He bent his head slowly to her. She watched the long fall of his strangely colored hair, much like the mane of a lion. She wanted to bury her hands in it and feel it, but she stood, mesmerized, watching his head come closer to her. His tongue flicked the nipple peeking through the veil of her hair. His hand cupped her bare bottom, drew her closer to him, so that he could take her breast into his mouth. Hot and moist, his mouth closed around her, suckled strongly, greedily. His fingers kneaded her buttocks, a slow, sensual massage that left her weak and aching with need. Her hands came up and cradled his head, her fingers delving into the thick mass of his hair.

  "What are you doing to me?" she whispered, closing her eyes as his hands skimmed her body possessively and cupped her breasts.

  His palm slipped around the nape of her neck. "Something I shouldn't. Put on the robe before I forget all my good intentions." He draped the robe around her, cinching it tightly. "I have a surprise for you. I knew you wouldn't be sleeping." He bunched her hair in his hand, pulled back her head, and fastened his mouth to hers. His kiss rocked her world, sending a firestorm rushing through her body. When he lifted his mouth from hers, they could only stare wordlessly into one another's eyes.

  Isabella touched his face, her fingertips caressing the deep scars. "Are we going somewhere?"

  He grinned at her, a little-boy, mischievous grin. "You'll need shoes. I knew you wouldn't even ask me questions--you'd just come with me. You love adventures, don't you?"

  Isabella laughed softly. "I can't help it. I should have been born a boy."

  His eyebrows shot up, and he reached out to slip a hand inside her robe, his palm cupping the weight of one breast, his thumb caressing the nipple. "I'm very glad you were born female." There was a catch in his voice, a small rasp betraying the urgent demands of his body.

  Isabella stood very still, trying not to melt at his touch, trying not to fling herself into his arms. "I suppose I'm very glad I was, too," she admitted while her blood heated and pooled into a throbbing ache.

  "Didn't Sarina tell you to stop me when I touched you like this?" He bent his head to brush a kiss across her trembling mouth as he reluctantly withdrew his hand from the warmth of her body. "Because if she didn't, she should have."

  "I can't remember right now," Isabella admitted, feeling dazed. She looked around for a distraction. "I knew there was a secret passageway. There was one in our palazzo. I used to play in it as a child."

  "I am not here to seduce you, Isabella, but to take you on a great adventure."

  "Good, because I do recall now that Sarina made it very clear that there is to be no seduction before we are wed." She was excited at the prospect of going with him and hastily pulled on her shoes. "Should I put on a gown?"

  His amber gaze gleamed at her, moved over her body, left her weak. "No, I like knowing you're wearing nothing beneath the robe. No one will see us." He took her hand. "You'll be safe with me." He carried her fingertips to his lips, his breath warm on her skin. "I don't know how safe I'll be with you."

  Her heart was pounding loudly, but she went without hesitation. "I'll look after you, Signor DeMarco, have no fear."

  "I had good and noble intentions," he told her as they moved into the narrow hidden corridor. "It isn't my fault that I found you without attire." His white teeth flashed at her, that boyish smile that stole her heart. "I thought that only happened in my dreams."

  "Do you often dream of women without clothes?" There was the smallest bite to her voice, despite her obvious amusement.

  Nicolai glanced down at her, his grin widening. "Only since I've met you. Hold tightly to my hand; otherwise, I won't be responsible for any exploring it might do."

  Isabella laughed, and the light, carefree sound traveled through the maze of hidden corridors, awakening things better left alone. "Your hand has no direction unless you give it leave," she pointed out.

  He wiggled his fingers so that they brushed enticingly against her hip. "No, they are entirely on their own in this matter. I plead innocence." He brought her hand to the warmth of his lips. "I love your skin." His teeth nibbled gently at her knuckles, his tongue swirling a caress over the pulse in her wrist.

  Her eyes were wide and dark as she looked at him, half in love, half afraid.

  Don DeMarco smiled at her. "You'll love this, Isabella."

  She blinked up at him
, shocked at the way her body seemed to belong to him. His every gesture, every movement, tempted and seduced her. "I'm certain I will."

  She followed him through the long tunnels of stairs and passageways, her hand tightly in his. She was acutely aware of the power he exuded, the supreme confidence, the width of his shoulders and the strength of his body. She was aware he made no sound when he walked. None. She heard only the soft padding of her own shoes on the floor.

  Nicolai pushed at a section of the wall, and it slowly swung outward. He stepped back so Isabella could see. The cold hit her first, an icy blast that pierced her robe and went straight to her skin, but then she was staring in awe at the countryside. It was a pristine, glistening white. Snow hung in the trees and covered the slopes. Icicles spiraled from the eaves of the palazzo. The full moon reflected off the snow, turning night into day. The mountains sparkled like jewels, a breathtaking scene she would never forget.

  "You're shivering," he said softly. "Let's get you under the furs." He scooped her up close so that his body heat could seep into her.

  Isabella relaxed in his arms as if she belonged there. He carried her to where two horses were waiting, harnessed to what looked like a carriage on runners. He placed Isabella on the padded seat, settled next to her, and tucked thick furs around her. "What is this?" She had never seen such a thing before.

  "Betto made me one when I was very small. He carved the wooden runners and secured them to an old conveyance my parents didn't use anymore. It was smaller than this one, but it went over the snow fast. I had this one made recently and thought we should try it out."

  Isabella snuggled deeper beneath the furs, curling her fingers together in an effort to stay warm. Nicolai tugged a pair of fur gloves from the pocket of his jacket and put them on her hands. They were far too large but very warm, and the simple, thoughtful gesture sent butterfly wings fluttering in her stomach.

  "Are you warm enough?" he asked. "I can get another fur if we need it."

  Isabella shook her head. "I'm very warm, grazie. What exactly are we doing?"

  "It feels like flying might feel." He shook the reins, and the horses began a slow walk, dragging the carriage behind them.

  As the animals picked up speed, the conveyance began to skim over the snow, gliding smoothly through the white crystals. Isabella clutched at Nicolai's arm and lifted her face to the wind. It was beautiful. Perfect. The two of them were locked in a world of white, skimming over the snow fast enough to make her heart soar.

  The countryside was beautiful, the air crisp and fresh. Isabella found herself laughing as they raced along, the moonlight casting a silvery sheen on the branches overhead. Nicolai stopped the carriage atop a slope, his arm pulling her close to him. Below them was a small pond, already frozen so that the ice gleamed.

  "It's truly beautiful," Isabella said, looking up at him. "Grazie, Nicolai, for sharing this with me."

  His hand bunched in her hair. "Whom else would I share it with?" He looked away from her, out over the sparkling ice. His features were still and harsh. "No other would dare to come with me."

  "Why?" Isabella pressed one gloved hand to his scars and stroked his skin to warm him. "Why are they all so silly? You are so good to them. Why do they fear you, Nicolai?"

  "They have great reason to fear me, just as we all feared mio padre." He turned his head to look down at her, his amber eyes brooding. "If you had any sense, you would fear me, too."

  She gave him a soft, trusting smile. Her furred fingertips traced his frown. "Do you want me to fear you, Nicolai? If you want such a thing, you must give me a reason."

  He stared into the guileless innocence of her dark eyes for a long moment. "Isabella." Her name was a soft whisper in the night. Gentle. Tender. He bent to find her mouth with his, taking possession, his tongue probing, insistent.

  Beneath the thick furs Nicolai slipped his hand inside her robe to find her breasts. "I dreamed of taking you out here in the snow, in the moonlight." He kissed the corner of her mouth, her chin. "If I asked you, Isabella, would you give me your body?" His mouth wandered lower, down the line of her throat, nudging her robe aside so that it gaped open for him. His hands fit her rib cage, his thumbs resting on her taut nipples.

  "Why, Nicolai?" There was something sad, something desperate, driving him. "What are you afraid of? Tell me."

  He rested his head against her bare breasts. "I hurt day and night. I can think of nothing but you. Nothing else, cara. But I don't know if relieving the ache in my body is going to do much for saving my soul." He slipped his arms around her and clung tightly, as if she were his safe anchor. "I didn't want to love you, Isabella. There is more danger in that than you can possibly imagine." He closed his eyes. "I want to give you the world, but in truth, I am taking your life."

  She held him to her, stroking his hair. "I can't help you, Nicolai, if you don't tell me what's wrong." She kissed the top of his head and held him tighter. "Out here, where we're alone and the world is made of ice and gems, can't you tell me? Don't you know me well enough yet to know I fight for the ones who belong to me? I risked everything to save Lucca. Why would I do less for you?"

  "You would run screaming from this place, from me, if you knew the truth." There was bitterness in his voice, in his heart. "The lions wouldn't allow it, and I would have to hold you prisoner. In the end I would destroy you as mio padre destroyed mia madre." He lifted his head and stared into her eyes. "As he nearly did me."

  She saw torment in his amber gaze. Anger. Fear. Determination. Emotions swirled up from his soul to burn in his eyes like a flame.

  The chill Isabella felt had nothing to do with the cold. She tugged at his hair. "Tell me, then, Nicolai, and we will see if I am a frightened bambina to run screaming from the man to whom I am bound."

  His hands caught her slender shoulders, fingers digging into her flesh. He gave her a little shake, as if the intensity of his feelings was more than he could bear. As he did so, she felt the sharp stab of needles puncturing her shoulders. Her breath caught in her throat, but she choked back the soft cry of distress before it could escape. She looked down at her left shoulder, at his hand.

  Clearly she saw a huge lion's paw, retractable claws. The claws were curved and thick and sharp, the tips digging into her skin. It was no illusion but a reality she couldn't ignore. A part of her mind was so shocked, so horrified and frightened, all it could do was scream. Silently. Locked in her head, deep in her mind where only Isabella lived, she screamed silently. And she wept. For herself, for Nicolai DeMarco. With pity for them both. Outwardly she was a Vernaducci, and, male or female, a Vernaducci did not give in to hysteria. She struggled for control and sat very still.

  Nicolai had not uttered a falsehood. There was danger here, mortal danger. It vibrated in the air around them. The horses began to grow restless, tossing their heads and sidestepping. Isabella could see their eyes rolling wildly as they scented a predator.

  She took a deep breath and let it out. "Nicolai." She said his name softly and lifted her gaze to meet his eyes.

  They blazed at her. Wild. Turbulent. Deadly. Flaming with passion, with fire. She refused to look away from him, to see him as the others saw him. "What did your madre do when your padre told her the truth?" The cold had been numbing her pain, but at her question, the paws flexed, and the claws dug deeper. Thin ribbons of blood trickled down her shoulder.

  "What do you think she did? She ran from him. She tried to escape. She couldn't even look at me once she knew what I would become." His voice was a raspy growl, as if his throat itself was altered and it was difficult for him to speak.

  "I look at you and see a wonderful man, Nicolai. I don't know what is happening here, but you are no beast without thought or conscience. You have tremendous control and the ability to think, to reason. I have no intention of running from you." She felt the claws retract. She felt the wildness in him subside.

  The horses felt it, too. They settled down and stood quietly, blowing softly, w
hite vapor streaming from their nostrils.

  Nicolai looked down at her soft skin, and a growl escaped him. He swore viciously, brutally, clapping the fur to the wounds. "Isabella. Dio. I can't risk you, not for myself, not for the others. I thought if I didn't love you, if I didn't feel anything, you would be safe, but I've never felt so deeply about anything." He looked stricken, pale beneath his dark skin. "What have I done to you?"

  "You aren't risking me, Nicolai. Don't you realize that yet?" She pressed close to him, her lips finding his. He was stiff with his fear for her. "It is my risk to take. Mine alone. You can't force another to you. Love has to be freely given." She kissed him again, small kisses along the line of his jaw, the corners of his mouth, teasing, coaxing until he gave in because he couldn't stop himself.

  Nicolai gathered her close and welded them together, his mouth dominating hers, kissing her until fire raced between them, burning out of control, a storm every bit as intense as his turbulent emotions. His hands framed her face, and he stared down into her eyes. "I'm so afraid to believe in you, Isabella. If something goes wrong and I can't control it..."

  "What choice do you have?" Isabella tried to prevent her tiny shiver, but he missed nothing, not the slightest detail about her, and he pulled the furs close, tucking them around her. "You have to control it. Do you know how it happens? Why? Are you aware of it happening?"

  He raked a hand through his hair in agitation. "I have always accepted what I was born with. A gift, a curse--I don't know. The people believe the old legends, and they hope for a miracle. They think you're that miracle. I only know I have always been able to talk to the lions. They are part of me. I wasn't afraid of it or ashamed of it. I knew it made me different, and I knew mia madre didn't want anything to do with me, but I can't remember when she did, so it wasn't that bad a thing. Sarina and Betto were always there. And I played like any boy with my friends Sergio and Rolando."

  She leaned into him, because he seemed to need more comfort than she did. Her shoulders stung, the only reminder of what had happened. He was so charismatic that, without those small wounds, she would never believe it had. Somehow he managed to steal his way into her heart until she ached for him, ached for the pain reflected in his eyes. "Your padre?" she prompted.