Isabella was feeling out of sorts when Sarina announced that Violante had arrived and was waiting for her in the library. She had spent the morning, as usual, attempting to familiarize herself with the palazzo. It seemed a huge task, more rooms at every turn, some of which had not been used in years, and an abundance of sculptures and artwork, treasures she could only gape at in awe. Don DeMarco was wealthy beyond her imagining. She knew if Don Rivellio had an inkling of the worth of the lands and property, he would be pushing to find a way to get his greedy hands on it.
She couldn’t stop thinking of the despicable man who had condemned her brother to death. She knew he would always be a mortal enemy, one who would relentlessly seek her brother’s demise. Lucca would have to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, wondering when Rivellio would send out an assassin. Mostly she feared that the men traveling with her brother would be instructed to kill him the moment he was on DeMarco land, perhaps with a poisonous herb.
Isabella had hoped Francesca would visit, but she had waited in vain, finally drifting off to sleep. She had awakened several times, thinking Nicolai had entered the room, but if he had been there, he had only watched her from the shadows.
“If you are not up to visitors,” Sarina said gently, compassion in her eyes, “I will send Signora Drannacia away.”
Isabella hastily shook her head. “No, a visit is just the thing to cheer me up. She sent word earlier that she would escort me through the city and, if we had time, one of the many villaggi. I think the fresh air will do me good. It’s stopped snowing, and the sun is out. It will be wonderful to be outdoors.”
Violante stood and spoke as Isabella entered the room. “It’s a wonderful day out. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting. Sergio needed his lunch, and I prefer to bring it to him myself.” She blushed a bit and patted her hair, as though it must be disheveled from a recent romp.
“Not at all, Violante,” Isabella said. “I appreciate that you would want to take care of your husband. He’s a very nice man, and he’s lucky to have such an attentive wife.” She blinked back tears that seemed to rise unexpectedly out of nowhere. Why hadn’t Nicolai come to her in the night? Held her? She was badly in need of his reassurance.
“You look sad, Isabella.” Violante laid a gloved hand on Isabella’s arm. “I know we haven’t become friends yet, but you may talk to me of what concerns you.”
Isabella forced a smile. “Grazie. I can use a friend, Violante.” She traced a finger along a smooth, polished table. “It’s mio fratello, Lucca. He was traveling here, and I thought he’d arrive soon, but it seems he’s much more ill than I knew. I can’t go to him, and I don’t even have a way of sending him a missive.” Sorrow clawed at her, loneliness, and it was sharp and deep. Isabella turned away from the other woman to stare sightlessly at a painting on the wall.
“You know how to read?” Violante’s voice held awe, admiration, even envy. “You can write? Mia madre believed a woman had no need to know such things.” She sighed. “Sergio often reads, and sometimes he reads aloud to me, but once, when he was very annoyed with me, he said he wished I could read so our children would learn.” Her expression mirrored a deep sorrow. “So far, I am a great disappointment. No bambini, and I can’t read.” She forced a laugh, but it held no humor.
“You’ll have a bambino, Violante,” Isabella said in an effort to console the woman. “Have you spoken with the healer? I know our healer offered much advice to the women in out villaggio when they wished to have a bambino.”
“Grazie, Isabella. I hope you’re right. But I’m afraid I’m too old.” She turned her head away, but not before Isabella saw tears glittering in her eyes.
“Violante!” Isabella was shocked. “You’re not that old. You can’t be more than a couple of years older than I. You certainly are not too old to have a bambino. Speak to your healer, and if that doesn’t help, I’ll send word to my healer to see if she has any advice.”
“You would do that for me?” Violante’s voice trembled.
“Well, of course. I would like us to be friends and would hope our bambini would play together. Come, I’ll show you how easy it is to make marks upon the page. I’ll write your name for you.” Isabella opened the great desk and searched until she found the small box containing dye and a quill.
Violante crowded close to her, and Isabella carefully made swirling marks along a piece of parchment.
Violante inhaled sharply. “That’s me? That’s my name?”
Isabella nodded. “Doesn’t it look beautiful? I remember the first time Lucca showed me my name.” She wrote her own name on the bottom of the parchment with a flourish. She studied it for a moment with a critical eye.
“What would you say in a letter to your brother if you were to write to him?” Violante asked, curious. “How would you write it?”
Isabella smoothed the parchment with one fingertip. “I’d write his name here, just below where yours is.” She did so and added a couple of sample lines. “This says that I miss him and wish he would hurry and join me. I’m not really good at all the letters. I don’t practice enough. You see where some of the lines waver.” She blew on the wet dye to dry it, pleased she had found a way to begin a friendship with Sergio Drannacia’s wife.
“That seems many marks for those words,” Violante observed.
Isabella swallowed hard. “I added that I love him—silly, when he’ll never see it.”
“You said your brother was being held in the dungeons of Don Rivellio,” Violante remembered. “I’m so glad he was released. Theresa dislikes him intensely. The don has a reputation of being difficult.”
“A nice word to describe him, Signora Drannacia,” Isabella said dryly. “How in the world did Signora Bartolmei have dealings with Don Rivellio?” Isabella was curious, despite her dislike of gossip.
“You must call me Violante,” the older woman implored. “Theresa is, of course, a cousin to Don DeMarco. She was raised on a farm, nowhere near the palazzo, yet she is an aristocratica.” There was a hint of envy, of frustration, in Violante’s tone. “She wed Rolando Bartolmei, who, like Sergio, also carries a great name. Naturally, she and her kin are invited to all the celebrations in the other holdings.”
Isabella sat down at the table and studied Violante’s face. The mixture of jealousy and relief she saw there was nearly humorous. But Violante’s expression was serious. “Theresa and Rolando took Chanise, her younger sister, with them to a festival. Don Rivellio was there. He paid particular attention to Chanise, although she was but eleven summers.”
Isabella’s heart jumped. Very deliberately she folded her hands in her lap to keep from betraying her agitation. A child’s fear was blossoming in her stomach and spreading rapidly.
“Theresa said the don was gallant and charming. They were all impressed with his attentions. Chanise seemed very enamored of him. But she disappeared. They were frantic and looked everywhere for her, but to no avail.” Violante sighed. “Chanise was a beautiful child, very much loved. I used to wish I had a little bambina just like her.”
Isabella rubbed at her suddenly throbbing temples. “Did they ever find her?”
Violante nodded. “After much time passed, Don Rivellio sent word that Chanise had hidden in his carriage and insisted on staying with him. She had a bambino but was very ill. There is a sickness the people of this valley get if we are away too long. If we don’t return, we wither and die. Theresa and Rolando brought her home. She doesn’t speak. Not to anyone at all.” Violante sighed softly. “I go to see her often, but she won’t speak to me. She stares at the floor. She has scars on her wrists and ankles. Theresa told me there are stripe marks on her back. The bambino is the only one she responds to. I think she would take her own life if she didn’t have him. Rolando and Theresa loathe Don Rivellio, and I can’t blame them.”
“Does Don DeMarco know about this?” Of course he knew. He knew everything that went on inside and outside his valley. Isabella couldn’t imagine Nicolai’s allowing such an atrocity to go unpunished. She didn’t believe for one moment that the child had chosen to go with Rivellio.
“He arranged for safe passage for Chanise and bargained with Don Rivellio for her release when the don pretended to be reluctant to let her and the bambino go. He claimed he wasn’t certain, but the bambino might be one of his.” Violante gave an inelegant sniff. “If Chanise was ever with any other man, it was because the don gave her to them. Don DeMarco paid a great deal of money to get her back—at least that was the rumor. Theresa doesn’t talk about it at all. I think she feels guilty because she gave in to her sister’s pleas to attend the celebration.”
Violante shook her head. “In truth, no one could resist Chanise. She was like sunshine dancing on water. Theresa never speaks of it anymore, but the sadness and guilt will always be with her, and she deserves better.”
“You feel sorrow, too,” Isabella observed. “You must be very close to Theresa and her famiglia.”
“Enough talk of sadness. I came to cheer you up.” Determinedly Violante stood and looked around for her gloves. “We really should be going if I’m to show you around. Darkness falls quickly here in the mountains.”
Isabella stood, too, pulling on her gloves distractedly. Along with Violante’s story of Don Rivellio’s debauchery and depravity came that sense of evil. It crept into the room, dark and malignant, as if the very name of Rivellio summoned what was already twisted. Isabella shivered and looked around her, wanting to be out in the open where she could see any enemy approaching. At times, she had discovered, she felt surrounded by enemies.
Violante shivered visibly, as if she, too, were affected by the very name of Rivellio. In her haste to leave the room, she moved too quickly and knocked a massive tome from the edge of a shelf. It slammed to the floor with a thud. Violante turned crimson and gave a mortified squeak.
“I’ve done it more than once,” Isabella said hastily, knowing how chagrined Violante became over the slightest social error. She stooped to retrieve the large book. It was heavier than she had anticipated, and it slipped from her fingers to land with a second loud thud. She laughed softly, wanting to dispel the tension in the room, but it swirled in her stomach persistently.
She was more than happy to follow Violante out of the palazzo into the fresh, crisp air. Isabella inhaled deeply. The wind rustled through the trees, and the leaves glittered a beautiful silver. Branches swayed gently. The world seemed a dazzling place of silver and white. They followed the well-worn path that led from the large castello, a nearly impregnable fortress, past the outer walls to the city of houses and shops. The marketplace felt familiar—the smells and sights, the stalls, the narrow steps and small courtyards where people gathered to talk and to trade items of interest. Rows of buildings sprawled in every direction, creating a tight-knit community of people who lived and worked in or near the castello.
Isabella wistfully watched some children playing, throwing snow at one another. She had never done such a thing, and it looked like great fun. She stood a moment watching. “Where I grew up, we didn’t have snow. Did you play like that, Violante, when you were a child?”
“Sometimes. Mostly mia madre refused to let me go outside with the others. It was important to her to choose my friends.” She, too, was watching the children, a look of longing on her face.
Isabella looked around carefully to ensure no adults stood nearby. Then she stooped and gathered some icy crystals into her hand, shaping and packing them as she had seen the children do.
Violante backed away from Isabella, shaking her head in warning. “Don’t you dare! We’re hardly little ragamuffins to play at such things.”
“Why should they have all the fun?” Isabella asked with a wicked grin.
A snowball landed on the back of Isabella’s neck, splattering down the back of her dress. She squealed, whirling around, expecting to face the children. Theresa, a few feet away from her, was gathering more snow quickly, laughing as she did so. She looked quite at ease with the game, packing the ice crystals with swift, efficient movements.
Isabella hastily flung her snowball at Theresa, laughing so hard she nearly slipped and fell. Theresa was just straightening up, and the snowball hit her shoulder, the ice clinging to her sleeve. She hurled her compacted sphere back at Isabella, who leapt sideways, ducking as she did so, already reaching to scoop up more snow.
Violante screamed as snow splattered over her shoulder and neck. She stumbled backward and fell, landing in the wet flakes. “Ooh!” She spluttered for a moment, as if she couldn’t make her mind up whether to laugh, be angry, or cry.
Theresa and Isabella were in an all-out war, hurling snowballs back and forth fast and furiously. Violante determinedly formed several spheres and threw them with unexpected accuracy at the other two women.
Both tried to retaliate, their gloved hands bringing up fistfuls of snow and flinging it back at Violante, their carefree laughter rising without inhibition to be carried on the wind.
“What is going on here, ladies?” The voice was low, amused. Male.
“Theresa!” The name was hissed in a stunned, embarrassed voice, stiff with disapproval and reprimand.
“Violante?” The third voice was more shocked than embarrassed.
All three women ceased instantly, turning to face the speakers. Violante’s and Theresa’s laughter died, replaced by horror and shame. Isabella’s gaze danced with merriment and a hint of mischief as she looked at the don.
Sergio Drannacia and Rolando Bartolmei stood gaping at their wives in a kind of astounded silence.
Nicolai spoke first. “Ladies?” He managed a courtly bow, but he couldn’t keep the trace of amusement from his voice.
“A battle, signore,” Isabella answered, deliberately packing the snow in her hand tighter. “I fear it is unfortunate for you and your captains that you walked into the middle of it.” Without hesitation she threw her missile straight at Don DeMarco. “You may get hit in the heavy action.”
Nicolai deflected the projectile in midair, preventing it from hitting his head. Ignoring his shocked companions, he bent to scoop up handfuls of snow. “You just made a mistake, signorina. No one is better than I at this type of warfare,” he declared.
Isabella took Violante’s hand and began backing up, laughing. Violante caught at Theresa, who remained stiffly staring at the ground.
“With your permission to disagree, Don DeMarco,” Sergio said, reaching for some snow. “I believe I used to be the champion.” He fired off two snowballs at Nicolai, both hitting their target, then lobbed a third projectile playfully at his wife.
Violante lifted her skirts to run, but the ice crystals hit her shoulder before she could move. Without hesitation she caught up handfuls of the flakes and tossed them at her husband, running backward as she did so.
Isabella hit Rolando square in the middle of his forehead and doubled over laughing at his expression. Nicolai took advantage of her merriment, pelting her with snow until she was nearly covered in white flakes.
Rolando began to laugh, suddenly stooping to shape the snow into weapons of his own. He threw two at Isabella, who was laughing so hard she couldn’t retaliate.
“Theresa! Help!” Isabella pleaded as Nicolai dove at her. Violante clearly had her hands full warding off her husband.
Isabella’s pleas roused Theresa to action, and she proved to be the best of the women at the warfare, accurate and swift. Isabella loved the sound of Nicolai’s laughter. More than anything else, she loved that the others saw him as she did. A man. He seemed young and carefree, the battle fast and heated, his worries set aside for the childhood game. She loved the feel of his arms around her waist as he rushed upon her, tipping them both into the snow. She felt the brush of his lips in her hair as he kissed her temple before firing off a flurry of snowballs at Sergio and Rolando.
It was all over much too soon, the men helping the women out of the snow and dusting off their clothes. Children had crowded around to cheer them on, most staring in awe at Don DeMarco, shocked and happy that they saw him out and about.
Nicolai brushed the snow from Isabella’s hair and shoulders, his hand lingering against the nape of her neck. She looked happy, her eyes sparkling with joy. Everything in him melted as it always did when she was near. Isabella. His world. “Where were you going, Isabella?” he asked, his gaze scanning the crowds restlessly as if something or someone might harm her. “I wasn’t informed you were going out.”
“How dreadful.” She reached up and brushed snow from his wild hair with her gloved fingertips. “You really must talk to those spies of yours. They aren’t doing their job.” Her gown was wet, and she was beginning to shiver despite her warm cloak.
He caught her chin firmly and forced her to meet his gaze. “You need to get warm. Go back to the palazzo,” he ordered.
“You have incredibly beautiful eyes.” She flashed a sassy grin. “Very unusual.” She loved the color, gold with nearly translucent irises, loved his long, almost feminine lashes.
“You told me the truth when you said you did not understand the meaning of the word obey. You do not obey even the dictates of your don.” He leaned close, so that his lips were against her ear, so that his body brushed hers, sending little whips of lightning dancing through her bloodstream. “Do not think to distract me with your pretty words.”
“Never, signore. I would never consider such a thing.” Her mouth curved in a tempting smile. “I believe you men have much to do, so we will, of course, excuse you to your more serious duties.”
Nicolai couldn’t resist the temptation of her smiling lips. He simply bent his head and fastened his mouth to hers. Just like that he created magic, fanning a fire from smoldering embers so that flames raced through her bloodstream and her body throbbed and pulsed in reaction. Energy crackled around them, and the very air seemed alive. He lifted his head slowly, regretfully, oblivious of the children giggling and the four grown-ups staring in shock at him. His hands framed her face, and he kissed the tip of her nose. “It grows dark quickly in the mountains. Return home soon.”
A bit bemused, Isabella nodded, touching her mouth, where she could still feel him, still taste him.
Nicolai clapped his hands, and the children scattered in alarm as he waved them off. Sergio and Rolando followed him as he strode away from the city and toward the dense forest. Isabella stood staring after the three men.
Violante and Theresa were grinning at her. Isabella’s body was aching with need, with a hunger that was fast becoming familiar to her. Finally she blinked at the two women, as if she were astonished to see them standing there. “What?” she asked. But she knew what. Nicolai had rocked the world for her, set it on fire, and she would never feel the same, never be the same again.
“How is it I could see him?” Theresa asked, wonder in her voice.
Isabella pressed a hand to her stomach. “He’s a man, Theresa. Why wouldn’t you see him?” She felt strange, shaky. The feeling crept over her, and she shivered, drawing her cloak closer around her. “You should always see him as a man.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Theresa said stiffly. “I was amazed, that’s all. He rarely makes appearances.”
“I’m hoping to change that,” Isabella answered with a small smile, trying to recapture the camaraderie of their game. She knew she had snapped at Theresa, knew the people in the holding rarely looked at Nicolai, afraid they would see the illusion of the lion. Isabella hadn’t meant to snap, but she felt unsettled. It bothered her that no one seemed to consider the loneliness of Nicolai’s existence, and that the way they all treated him might contribute to the illusion itself.
“The game was fun,” Violante said, “but cold.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms to warm herself. “I couldn’t believe it when Sergio began to throw snow at us.” She attempted to pat her hair back into place, aware of her disheveled appearance. “I don’t suppose I look very beautiful all mussed.” Her gaze moved over Isabella and Theresa critically, enviously, the laughter fading from her eyes. “Theresa, your hair has fallen on one side, and your face is red. I guess it’s impossible for us to look as good as Isabella does.”
“But I’m a mess,” Isabella said, surveying her wet cloak and gown. Her stomach was knotting, and she clenched her teeth.
“I noticed Rolando enjoyed the game while he was playing with you, Isabella,” Violante chattered on. “If you hadn’t thrown snow at him, he might have given poor Theresa another one of his lessons on how to behave.”
“Well, there’s no doubt Theresa’s the best at our little war.” Isabella beamed determinedly at her. “You hit your target every time.”
“I have two younger brothers,” Theresa admitted. “I’ve had lots of practice. I must go. I was visiting a friend but must get back.” She lifted a hand and moved off, following the pathway that led to the rows of buildings.
Isabella watched her until she was out of sight. “I didn’t know she had two brothers. She didn’t mention them before.”
“They’re under Rolando’s command,” Violante said. “Theresa is lucky that her famiglia is so close. I would have thought being raised on a farm would keep one from being able to fit in at court, but her famiglia does it easily.”
Violante’s voice was so wistful, Isabella wrapped an arm around her waist and hugged her gently as they began walking. “I don’t think any of us have your grace and presence, Violante, I grew up running mia famiglia’s palazzo, and I still can’t manage to look as confident and fashionable as you. I’m always saying and doing the wrong thing.”
Violante looked down at her wet gloves. “I saw the way Don DeMarco held you and kissed you. I saw the love on his face. You have something I’ll never have.”
Isabella stopped walking to face the other woman. “I’ve seen your husband when he looks at you,” she said softly. “You have no reason to fear he cares for any woman other than you.”
Violante pressed a trembling hand to her lips, blinking rapidly to prevent tears from spilling over. “Grazie, Isabella. You are a true friend to say such a thing.”
“I only tell you what I see.”
“I just want you to be prepared, Isabella. Nicolai is a powerful man, a man other women will want. Once they see him, they will gaze upon him with lustful, greedy eyes. You will be unable to know what woman is friend or foe. A man can be weak when females throw themselves at him.”
“Has this happened to you?” Isabella could not reconcile the man who had played with such glee in the snow with a man capable of betraying his wife.
Violante shrugged. “I see the way women flirt with him. And they think me old and barren.”
“It matters little what other women think,” Isabella said softly, “only what your husband thinks. And he sees you with the eyes of love. You must know you are beautiful.” Isabella sensed that Violante was becoming uncomfortable with the private disclosures, so she searched for a distraction. “Oh, look! The marketplace.”
Gratefully Violante turned her attention to the wares. They hurried to the long rows of stalls, exclaiming over the various treasures they found.
Isabella found the people of the holding pleasant and informative. They crowded around her eagerly, wanting to meet her. Violante stayed close, agreeable and friendly but making certain Isabella had room to move through the many stalls and stands. Violante became distracted when she spotted a carved box the perfect size for trinkets she had acquired, but as she reached for it, another woman lifted it up for inspection.
Isabella shook her head as an argument broke out between the two women. She knew the other woman would not get the carved box if Violante wanted it. Violante could be tenacious.
A fluttering of color caught Isabella’s attention as a woman with a mane of flowing black hair disappeared around the corner of a building. She moved much as Francesca did and was of her height and build. Few women wore their hair unbound. The color of her gown was unusual, too—a starburst of royal blue she had seen before. Certain it was Francesca, Isabella hurried down the row and turned up a narrow walkway. No one was in sight. She quickened her steps, peering down several side paths that led to small courtyards and also to a network of other walkways that meandered through the city. After several minutes of searching, Isabella sighed and turned back toward the marketplace. No one managed to disappear quite as quickly as Francesca.
A long row of large buildings caught her attention. They were beautiful and carved with the inevitable lions. She walked slow toward them, studying the various renditions of the huge beast. Isabella found them fascinating. Something about their eyes, no matter how they were depicted, drew her attention. The eyes seemed alive, as if they were watching her from every direction. She turned first one way and then another, but always the eyes were watching.
Although the buildings blocked the wind, she shivered, drawing her cloak closer. It was growing late, and she found she was inexplicably weary. Shadows were lengthening, and the multitude of stairs and pathways grew gray. She became aware of the silence, and a chill slid down her spine. Isabella turned to head back in the direction of the marketplace. She slipped on a patch of ice and went down hard, striking her back against the corner of a building. The talon marks were healing, but they throbbed now, reminding her of her frightening encounter. She sat up carefully, looking around, wishing she were in out of the snow.
It took several tries to get to her feet on the icy walkway. As the shadows grew, the temperature dropped, and the cold was piercing. The walkway glistened with ice. It might be wiser to choose a less slippery path. Isabella took a narrow, less steep walkway without stairs and began to walk down it. She was hoping it would lead straight to the marketplace at the center of the city, but the path opened into a courtyard. Sculptures were scattered around, but she saw no people.
She stood still in a moment of indecision. If she took the time to find her way back to the marketplace through the unfamiliar maze of buildings and paths, it might be dark by the time she made her way out. It seemed a better idea to return to the palazzo. It was high above the city, and all she had to do was make her way uphill. There would be no missing the enormous castello. She was certain Violante would go there as soon as she realized Isabella had lost her way.
Lucca would laugh at her for getting lost. It wasn’t often she managed to lose her way, yet twice now she had gotten turned around. Almost as if everything had deliberately shifted on her. The thought was chilling and brought back the strange sense of being watched. Isabella clamped down on her wild imagination. Buildings couldn’t move. But then, men couldn’t become lions.
The feeling of being watched persisted. Isabella glanced around. There was a large statue of a lion in the courtyard. It seemed to be watching her, but that didn’t account for the heavy weight of malevolence she felt. Abruptly she began to walk along a narrow path that led upward. She was uncertain why she saw no people. Did they go into their homes as the sun went down to prevent a disaster with a stray lion? A chill went down her spine again at the thought.
She heard it then. Soft. Barely discernable. A huffing noise. A whisper of fur sliding against something solid. She began to walk faster up the path, huddling in her cloak, her heart pounding with each step. She felt its presence. Knew it was stalking her, following her scent. Moving deliberately slow to terrorize her.
Nicolai? Would he do such a thing to teach her a lesson? Was the curse unfolding because he had lain with her? He had watched her from the battlements as she spoke with Sergio. He had even sent Sergio some missive warning him away from her. She had been certain that he had come into her room the night before. That something had visited her room. She shivered again and rubbed her arms for warmth. She had felt eyes on her in the night. She should have felt Nicolai’s arms, but he had left her alone. Was he jealous enough to stalk her, hunt her down, and devour her?
Isabella went very still, ashamed of herself. She recognized the subtle flow of power directed at her. It fed her doubts, fed her fears. If she didn’t believe in Nicolai, in his strength, no other ever would. She would not think it was Nicolai. She would not give in to the curse. Nor would she allow the entity any influence over her. But she knew she was in grave danger.
Isabella clutched at the fastening of her cloak as if she could feel the lion sinking its teeth into her throat. She heard the peculiar grunting noise the lions often made. A beast was definitely trailing her. Isabella rounded a corner, and her heart nearly stopped. For a moment she was certain she had come to a dead end. A line of buildings blocked her way.
“Nicolai.” She whispered his name. A talisman. “Nicolai,” she said aloud as she raced toward two buildings that looked as if they might be homes. “Nicolai!” She called his name as loudly as she could, a sob in her voice as she rushed to the door of the nearest house and pounded on it. The lion huffed again. It was much closer. And no one was home, the door secure. Isabella felt the swell of triumph in the air. Of evil. She wasn’t alone with the lion. The entity was there. Real. Seething with malevolence. It filled the small area between the houses with a thick cloud of venom.
“Isabella!” She heard Nicolai’s voice and went weak with relief, sinking to the steps in front of the building. “Answer me!” There was panic in Nicolai’s voice.
“Here, Nicolai, I’m here.” She knew he would hear the fear and relief in her voice. “Hurry! There’s a lion.”
She saw it then, the dark shape hidden in the shadows. Its eyes glowed a fierce red loathing of her. Isabella stared back, mesmerized by such intense hatred. The creature sank into a crouch, watching her, hating her.
“Isabella! If anything dares to harm you, nothing, no one will be safe in this valley,” he vowed. She could hear the pounding of his horse’s hooves as he followed her scent through the maze of streets. There was an edge to his voice, as if he had reached out to control the beast and found it resistant.
She strained to see the lion, but it was well in the shadows. Only the eyes were clear, glowing at her with a wicked promise. The lion was aware of Nicolai’s approach, and it snarled once, revealing huge teeth that gleamed at her from the shadows. Suddenly the beast whipped around and simply disappeared between the buildings.
Nicolai rode around the corner at a dead gallop and had to pull up his horse before it trampled her. He was out of the saddle before the animal even stopped. His face was pale, his hair wild. He dragged her into his arms and crushed her to him. “I’m going to tie you to my side.” It was a vow, nothing less. His hands framed her face, forcing her head up so he could find her mouth with his. Fear welded them together.
His hands ran over her, searching every square inch of her, needing to make certain that she was all in one piece. It had driven his breath right out of his body, that sudden knowledge among the lions that his woman was being hunted. “Isabella, this can’t go on. It has to stop. You’re driving me out of my mind with your heedless ways.” His hands tightened on her arms, and he shook her. “You’re in danger. Why can’t you understand that? From me, from this valley, from everyone. You’re so fearless, so headstrong, you don’t seem to be able to stay out of trouble for one moment.” He shook her again and then once more blotted out the world, his mouth finding hers somewhere between anger and sheer terror.
And then they were both out of control, kissing wildly, tearing at each other’s clothes, trying to find skin, oblivious to the darkness, the cold, the enmity of the lion that had been stalking her. She wanted the solace and heat of his body, the joining of their bodies. She wanted him to fill her completely so that she could think only of him, of pleasure.
He pushed her deeper into the shadows, forcing her against the wall of the building deep within the courtyard. His mouth was hot and dominant, a wild response to his fear. He tugged at the string of her neckline, loosening her top so that he could shove the material down, exposing her breasts to his exploration.
Isabella slid one leg up his, nearly as wild as he was, pressing tightly against his thick arousal, rubbing her body against his. It was wicked to be standing outside with her breasts exposed to him, but she loved it, loved watching him look at her. Her nipples hardened in the cold air, and she cried out when he cupped the weight in his hands and bent to suckle. At once his mouth was driving her crazy with need, making her weak so that she clung tighter to him, her leg wrapped around his waist to align her body more perfectly with his.
“It’s too cold out here for you,” he whispered as his teeth skimmed her nipples and his tongue stroked caresses over her breasts. His mouth, hot and moist, was branding her, claiming her for his own.
“Then warm me up, Nicolai, right here, right now.”
“It’s going to have to be fast, piccola. Are you certain you’re ready for me? I don’t want to hurt you.” He was already checking for himself, sliding his hand up her thigh to find her heated, damp entrance. He pushed into her even as he pressed her tighter against the wall. “I want to make certain, cara,” he said, lifting her to an outcropping on the wall, bunching her skirt around her waist. He wrapped her legs around his neck.
“Nicolai!” She sobbed his name, her fists clenched tightly in his hair for anchor as he stroked his thumb over her core.
He bent his head and replaced his hand with his mouth, his tongue stabbing deeply. Her body went wild, bucking against him, fragmenting, so that she was pleading with him to stop even as she held his head to her. He felt the orgasm take her, again and again, before he lifted his head, satisfied she was ready for him.
“You’ll have to help me. It’s cold tonight, and that can take away a man’s ability,” he said as he allowed her feet to touch the ground. He was unfastening his breeches, his body already hot and thick.
“Tell me, Nicolai,” she pleaded. “I want you so much right now.”
“Keep me hot. Take me in your mouth, Isabella.” He guided her head. “Wrap your fingers around me and squeeze gently, firmly. Dio!” He gasped as her mouth took possession of him, hot and tight and untutored but willing. He guided her as best he could when he could barely stand with the waves of pleasure washing over him. His hands found the back of her head even as his hips thrust helplessly.
He watched her through half-closed eyes, marveling at her ability to please him in every way. He loved her body, her mind, and now even her mouth was priceless. Before he could embarrass himself, he dragged her up and simply lifted her in his arms, resting her weight against the building. “Wrap your legs around my waist.”
Isabella pulled her skirt aside and locked her ankles behind his back. She could feel him pressed tightly against her. Slowly he lowered her body so that she settled over the thick length of him, inch by delicious inch, an agony of pleasure. At first Nicolai allowed her the lead, watching her face, her dreamy, sultry expression as she began to move, began to ride him. She was strong, her muscles firm and tight. She started slowly, loving the way she could lift her hips and clench her muscles to bring him even greater pleasure.
“You like that, don’t you?” she whispered.
Nicolai nodded, unable to speak, as he tightened his grip on her hips. He began to thrust upward hard as he brought her body down to meet his. She gasped, clutching at his shoulders, fingers biting into his skin. He did what she needed most—drove out every worrisome thought until there was only the reality of Nicolai, his body taking hers with hard, long strokes, burying himself deeply inside her while her body gripped his and wound tighter and tighter until she let go, flying high, soaring free, exploding with sheer elation. They came together there in the darkness with danger surrounding them, with snow on the ground and in the midst of a city. They came together in fire and passion.