Lair of the Lion

by Christine Feehan

  The woman attempted to shrug casually. "The Master has pets. You must not leave your room at night. I will have to lock you in for your own safety."

  Isabella could feel terror welling up inside her, sharp and strong, but she forced herself to breathe through it. She was a Vernaducci. She would not panic. She would not run away. She had come here for a purpose, risked everything to get to this place, to see the elusive don. And she had done what all others had failed to do. One by one the men she had sent out had turned back and told her it was impossible to continue. Others had come back to her facedown on the back of a horse, with hideous wounds much like a wild animal might inflict. Still others had never returned at all. Time and time again her inquiries had been met with silent shakes of heads and signs of the cross. She had persevered because she had no other choice. Now she had found the lair, and she had entered it. She could not quit now, could not allow fear to defeat her at the last moment. She had to succeed. She could not fail her brother; his life was at stake.

  "I must speak with him tonight. My time is running out. It took me far longer than I expected to reach this place. Really, I must see him, and if I don't leave soon, the pass will be closed, and I won't be able to get out. I have to leave immediately," Isabella explained in her most authoritative voice.

  "Signorina, you must understand. It is not safe now. Dark has fallen. Nothing is safe outside these walls."

  The wealth of compassion in the woman's faded eyes only increased Isabella's terror. The servant knew things she did not and obviously feared for Isabella's safety.

  "There is nothing to be done but to make you comfortable. You are shivering with cold. A fire is burning in your room, a warm bath is being prepared, and the cook is sending food for you. The Master wants you to be comfortable." Her voice was very persuasive.

  "Will my horse be safe?" Without the animal, Isabella had no hope of covering the many rugged miles between the palazzo and civilization. The roars she had heard were not those of wolves, but whatever made the noise sounded dreadful, hungry, and doubtless had very sharp teeth. Isabella's brother had given her the mare on her tenth birthday. The thought of the horse being eaten by savage beasts was horrifying. "I should check."

  Sarina shook her head. "No, signorina, you must stay in your room. If the Master says you must, you cannot disobey. It is for your own safety." This time there was a distinct warning note in the sweet voice. "Betto will see to your horse."

  Isabella lifted her chin defiantly, but she felt that silence would serve her better than angry words. Master. She didn't have a master, and she had no intention of ever having one. The thought was nearly as abhorrent as the murky feeling pervading the palazzo. Pulling her cloak closer around her, she followed the older woman through a maze of wide halls and up a winding marble staircase, where a multitude of portraits stared at her. She could feel the eerie weight of eyes watching her, following her progress as she made her way through the twists and turns of the palazzo. The structure was beautiful, more so than anything she had ever seen, but it was an icy kind of beauty that left her cold. Everywhere she looked she saw carvings of enormous maned cats with razor-sharp teeth and ferocious eyes. Great beasts with shaggy hair around their necks and down their backs. Some had huge webbed wings spread to launch them into the sky. Small icons and large sculptures of the creatures were scattered throughout the halls. In an alcove recessed into one of the walls was a shrine with dozens of burning candles before a fierce-looking lion.

  A sudden thought made her shiver. Those roars she'd heard could have been from lions. She had never seen a lion, but she certainly had heard of the legendary beasts that were reputed to have torn countless Christians to pieces for the entertainment of Romans. Did the people in this terrible place worship the beast? The devil? Things were whispered about this man. Surreptitiously she made the sign of the cross to protect her from the evil emanating from the very walls.

  Sarina stopped beside a door and pushed it open, stepping back to wave Isabella through. Glancing at the servant almost for reassurance, Isabella stepped across the threshold into a bedchamber. The room was large, the fireplace roaring with the warmth of red and orange flames. She was too tired and drained to do more than offer a murmur of appreciation for the beauty of the long row of stained-glass windows and the carved furniture. Even the huge bed with the thick quilt only penetrated the edge of her awareness. She had poured every ounce of her courage and strength into getting to this place, into seeing the elusive Don Nicolai DeMarco.

  "Are you certain he will not see me tonight?" Isabella asked. "Please, if you would just let him know the urgency of my visit, I am certain he would change his mind. Would you try?" She stripped off her fur-lined gloves and tossed them onto the ornate dresser.

  "Just by your coming to this forbidden place, the Master knows that what you seek is of great importance to you. You must understand, it is not of importance to him. He has his own problems to deal with." Sarina's voice was gentle, even kind. She started to move out of the bedchamber but turned back. She looked around the room, out into the hall, and then back at Isabella. "You are very young. Didn't anyone warn you away from this place? Weren't you told to stay away?" Her voice held a scolding note, a gentle one but a reprimand all the same. "Where are your parents, piccola?"

  Isabella crossed the room, keeping her face turned away, afraid the sympathetic note in the woman's voice would be her undoing. She wanted to crumble into a pathetic heap and weep for the loss of her family, for the terrible burdens that had fallen onto her slim shoulders. Instead, she clutched at one beautifully carved post of the giant bed until her knuckles turned white. "My parents died a long time ago, signora." Her voice was tight, unemotional, but the hand gripping the post tightened even more. "I have to speak to him. Please, if you have any way to get word to him, it is very urgent, and my time is very short."

  The servant moved back into the room, firmly closing the door behind her. At once the terrible, oily thickness that permeated the air of the palazzo seemed to be gone. Isabella found she could breathe more freely, and the tightness in her chest eased. She noticed a strange scent rising from the surface of the hot water in the tub prepared for her, a clean, fresh, floral fragrance she had never before encountered. She inhaled deeply and was grateful for the cup of tea the serving woman pressed into her trembling hand.

  "You must drink this immediately," Sarina encouraged. "You are so cold, it will help to warm you up. Drink every drop--there's a good girl."

  The tea did help warm her insides, but Isabella was afraid nothing would ever warm her thoroughly again. She was shaking uncontrollably. She looked up at Sarina. "I really can manage. I do not want you to go to any trouble. The room is lovely, and I have everything I could possibly want. By the way, I am Isabella Vernaducci." The bed looked comfortable, the fire cheerful and warm. Despite the inviting, steaming water in the tub, the moment the serving woman left her alone, Isabella intended to fall onto the bed, completely clothed, and just go to sleep. Her eyelids drooped no matter how hard she tried to stay awake.

  "The Master would want me to help you. You are swaying with weariness. If my daughter was far from home, I would want someone to aid her. Please do me the honor of allowing me to assist you." Sarina was already pulling Isabella's cape from her shoulders. "Come, signorina, the bath is hot and will warm you much more quickly. You are still shivering."

  "I'm so tired." The words slipped out before Isabella could stop them. "I just want to sleep." She sounded young and defenseless even to her own ears.

  Sarina helped her undress and urged her into the hot water. As Isabella slid into the steaming tub, Sarina loosened the silken braids and fanned the younger woman's hair out. Very gently she massaged Isabella's scalp with her fingertips, rubbing in the homemade soap that smelled of flowers. Gradually, as the heat of the water seeped into Isabella, her terrible shaking began to lessen.

  Isabella was so tired, she knew she was drifting as the servant rinsed her hair an
d wrapped her in a heavy robe. She stumbled to the bed as if in a dream world, half aware of her surroundings and half asleep. The feel of Sarina working at the knots in her hair, smoothing the long tresses, then replaiting the heavy mass as Isabella lay quietly was comforting, something her mother had done when she was very young. Her long lashes drifted down, and she lay passively on the bed, the robe around her naked body soaking up the excess dampness from her bath.

  A knock on the door failed to rouse her interest. Even the aroma of food couldn't capture her attention. She wanted to go to sleep, exhaustion taking over and pushing out all worries and fear. Sarina murmured something she couldn't quite catch. She just wanted to sleep. The food was taken away, and Isabella continued to drift, the beauty of the room, the comforting crackle of the fire, and Sarina's hands in her hair lulling her into a sense of well-being.

  From far away, insulated in her dreamlike state, Isabella heard Sarina gasp. She tried to open her eyes and managed to peek out from beneath her lashes. The shadows in the room had lengthened alarmingly. The rows of tapers on the wall had been snuffed out, and the flames in the fireplace had died down, leaving the corners of the bedchamber dark and unfamiliar. In one corner she made out the shadowy figure of man. At least she thought him human.

  He was tall, broad-shouldered, with long hair and slashing eyes. Flames from the fire seemed to blaze red-orange in his hot gaze. She could feel the weight of his burning gaze on her exposed skin. His hair was strange, a tawny color that darkened into black as it fell to his shoulders and down his broad back. He was watching her from the shadows, blending in so she couldn't discern him clearly. A shadow figure for her dreams. Isabella blinked to try to bring him into sharper focus, but it was too much trouble to rouse herself from her dreamy state. Her body felt like lead, and she couldn't even find the energy to drag her exposed arm beneath the robe. As she lay, trying to make out the shadowy figure, her vision blurred still more, and his large hands appeared to be claws for a moment, his great hulk moving with a grace not quite human.

  She felt exposed, vulnerable, but as hard as she tried, she could not manage to rouse herself. She lay facedown on the bed, staring apprehensively into the darkened corner, her heart slamming painfully hard.

  "She is much younger than I had imagined. And much more beautiful." The words were said softly, as if merely mused aloud and not for anyone's hearing. The voice was deep and husky, a blend of seduction, command, and a throaty growl that nearly stopped her heart.

  "She has much courage." Sarina's voice came from the other side of her, quite close, as if she might be hovering protectively, but Isabella didn't dare check, afraid to take her gaze off the shadowy figure watching her so intently. Like a predator. A great cat. A lion? Her imagination was running away with her, mixing reality with dreams, and she wasn't sure what was real. If he was real.

  "She was foolish to come here." The lash in his voice stung.

  Isabella tried to force her body to move, but it was impossible. It occurred to her that something had been in the tea, or perhaps in the scented bathwater. She lay in an agony of fear, yet she was hazy and dreamy, removed from the fear, disconnected, as if she were watching all this happening to someone else.

  "It took great courage and endurance. She came alone," Sarina pointed out gently. "It may have been foolish, but it was courageous, and nothing short of a miracle that she could accomplish such a feat."

  "I know what you are thinking, Sarina." A singular weariness tinged the man's voice. "There are no miracles. I should know. It is better not to believe in such nonsense." He moved closer, looming over Isabella so that his shadow fell upon her, engulfing her completely. She couldn't see his face, but his hands were large and enormously strong when he caught her up in his arms.

  For a horrified moment she stared at the hands gripping her with such ease. One moment the hands seemed to be great paws with razor-sharp nails, and the next, human hands. She had no idea which was the illusion. Whether this was real or a nightmare. Whether he was real or a nightmare. Her head lolled back on her neck, but she couldn't lift her lashes high enough to see his face. She could only lie helplessly in his arms, her heart pounding loudly. He tucked her beneath the quilts, robe and all, his movements sure and efficient.

  His palm cupped the side of her face, his thumb stroking a gentle caress over her skin. "So very soft," he murmured to himself. His fingers slid down her chin to push the thick rope of hair from her neck. There was unexpected heat in his fingertips, tiny flames that seemed to ignite her blood, and her entire body felt hot and achy and unfamiliar.

  The strange roars began again, and the castello seemed to reverberate with the hideous sounds.

  "They are restless tonight," Sarina observed. Her hand tightened around Isabella's, and this time there was no doubt she was being protective.

  "They feel a disturbance, and it makes them uneasy and therefore dangerous. Be most careful this night, Sarina." The man's warning was plain. "I will see if I can calm them." With a sigh, the shadowy figure turned abruptly and stalked out. Silently. There was no whisper of clothing, no footfalls, absolutely no sound at all.

  Isabella felt Sarina touch her hair again, fuss with the quilt, and then she drifted to sleep. She had dreams of a great lion relentlessly stalking her, padding after her on huge, silent paws while she ran down a maze of long, wide corridors. All the while she was watched from above by silent winged harpies with sharp, curved beaks and greedy eyes.

  Sounds penetrated her strange dreams. Strange sounds to go with her strange dreams. The rattle of chains. A rising wail. Screams in the night. Restlessly Isabella snuggled more deeply into the quilts. The fire had died down to orange embers glittering brightly. She could just make out the pinpoints of light in the darkened room. She lay staring at the colors as an occasional draft breathed life into tiny flames. It was several minutes before she realized she was not alone.

  Isabella turned over, peering through the darkness to the shadowy figure seated on the edge of her bed. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out a young woman rocking herself back and forth, her long hair tumbling around her body. She was dressed simply but elegantly, obviously not one of the servants. In the darkness the gown was an unusual color, a deep blue with a strange starburst pattern, something Isabella had never seen before. At Isabella's movement, the woman turned and looked at her, smiling serenely.

  "Hello. I didn't think you'd wake up. I wanted to see you."

  Isabella fought the fog surrounding her. Carefully she looked around the room, searching the shadows for the man. Had he been a dream? She didn't know. She still felt the brush of his fingers against her skin. Her hand crept up to slide over her neck to capture the sensation of his touch.

  "I'm Francesca," the young woman said, a hint of haughtiness in her voice. "You mustn't be afraid of me. I know we're going to be great friends."

  Isabella made an effort to sit up. Her body didn't want to cooperate. "I think there was something in the tea," she said aloud, testing the idea.

  A tinkling laugh escaped the curving mouth. "Well, of course. He cannot very well have you running around the palazzo discovering all the long-kept secrets."

  Isabella fought the haze, determined to overcome her terrible drowsiness. She pushed herself into a sitting position, clutching the slipping robe, suddenly aware she had no other clothes. For the moment it didn't matter. She was warm and clean and out of the storm. And she had reached her destination. "Are there secrets here?"

  As if to answer her, the chains rattled again, the wails rose to a shriek, and from somewhere far away came a rumbling growl. Isabella pulled the covers more closely around her.

  The woman laughed merrily. "It is a secret how I was able to get into your room when your door is locked securely. There are many, many secrets here, all so deliciously wicked. Have you come to wed Nicolai?"

  Isabella's eyes widened with shock. She pulled the heavy robe even more tightly around her. "No, of course not! Where did you ge
t such an idea?"

  Francesca gave another tinkling laugh. "Everyone is talking about it, whispering in the halls, in their rooms. The entire palazzo is speculating. It was such fun when we heard you were on your way. Of course, the others wagered you would never live through such a journey or that you would turn back. I hoped you would make it!"

  Isabella's mouth trembled, and she bit down carefully on her lower lip. "The don of the palazzo was aware I was coming, and he sent no escort to meet me?" In truth she could have been killed. "How is it you even knew?"

  The woman shrugged carelessly. "He has spies everywhere. He knew long ago that you wished an audience with him. He never sees anyone he doesn't wish to see."

  Isabella studied the young woman. She was approximately Isabella's age yet seemed quite childlike and mischievous. In spite of the circumstances, Isabella found herself smiling. There was something contagious in Francesca's saucy grin. "What are those terrible noises?" The sounds didn't appear to bother Francesca in the least, and Isabella found herself relaxing a bit.

  The woman laughed again. "You will get used to it." She rolled her eyes. "Silly, really. Sometimes it goes on for hours." Francesca leaned forward. "How did you get here? No one can come here without an invitation and an escort. Everyone is dying to know how you did it." She lowered her voice. "Did you use a spell? I know several spells but none strong enough to protect anyone from the perils of this valley. Was it difficult to get through the pass? Everyone says you did it on your own. Is that true?" Francesca fired the questions at her in rapid succession.

  Isabella chose her words carefully. She knew nothing of these people, didn't know if they followed the dictates of the Holy Church or were devil-worshipers. It didn't sound good that Francesca dabbled in spells, and worse that she would admit it aloud. Isabella half expected a bolt of lightning to crash down from the heavens.

  "I did come through the pass," she admitted. Her mouth was dry. Beside the bed was an ornate pitcher filled with water, along with a delicate fluted glass. Isabella stared at the water, afraid that if she drank it, it might contain something to send her back to sleep. Her fingers twisted in the covers. She thought carefully about her trip, how difficult it had been, how she had felt as she overcame each obstacle. "It was exhilarating and at the same time frightening," she answered truthfully. Now that she knew the don had been aware of her plight all along, she was even more pleased that she had done what so many others had failed to do.