Lair of the Lion

by Christine Feehan

  Isabella was in far too fragile a state for Nicolai to indulge his anger. He wanted to get her into the safety of the palazzo, where the horror of this night would fade. Nicolai lifted his betrothed onto the back of his waiting horse, his arms and body sheltering her close to him. Nuzzling her hair, he turned his mount away from the sea of bodies and the beasts devouring them. She wept quietly against his chest, her tears soaking his shirt, breaking his heart. Building his hatred and need for retaliation against anyone, anything that had caused this great a sorrow.

  Sarina was waiting at the palazzo, and she enfolded Isabella in her arms as if she were a child, taking her to the sanctuary of her room, where a bath and a fire awaited. She let her young charge cry out her storm of emotions. Tea and the hot bath helped to revive her for the coming ordeal. It wasn't over, and Isabella knew it wouldn't ever be over unless she could defeat the entity, her most powerful enemy.

  "Have they said whether any of Rivellio's men escaped the valley?" she managed to ask as she sipped the steaming tea sweetened with honey.

  "The patrols have been sweeping the valley," Sarina answered. "The pass and the tunnels in the caves are well guarded. It would be nearly impossible for any to slip through. Rivellio and his men will become, as so many others, part of the legend: would-be invaders who never returned to their holdings. Who's to say what happened to them? The evidence will be long gone should any seek information."

  Isabella shuddered. Her hand was shaking as she set her teacup aside. She would need all her strength, all her determination, to face her craftiest, most evil enemy.

  She wanted yet feared to see Nicolai before she entered the room where the court was assembling, but he hadn't come to her. Rivellio and his men had invaded the valley with the purpose of taking over the holding. Don DeMarco had a duty to protect his people from all invaders, and he had done so with the least amount of bloodshed to his own soldiers. She pressed a hand to her stomach. In all her experience, Isabella had not been prepared for such a killing field. It had been a nightmare, a horror. In truth, she didn't know if she would ever be able to overcome the sounds and sights, knowing the identity of the beast leading the killing spree.

  She took another sip of tea as the knowledge of Rivellio's death finally began to sink in. The enemy of the Vernaducci family was truly dead. Her breath hitched in her throat. Nicolai DeMarco had the power to restore the Vernaducci's honored name. She had no doubt he could do it, even restore their lands. That would clear the way for Lucca and Francesca to be together. Carefully Isabella set the teacup on the tray, smiling as the thought of the look on her brother's face, the light in his eyes as his gaze followed Francesca. Between Isabella and Francesca, Isabella was certain that, with Nicolai's help, Lucca would find the happiness he deserved.

  Isabella dressed for court with great care, making certain that every hair was in place, that her gown was regal and becoming. There was nothing she could do to overcome her pale features or the bruise darkening one side of her face and eye. Her stomach was tied in knots, but she would not plead the vapors and hide in her room weeping. She swept through the halls to the tower room where they were holding court. Theresa's trial. She looked neither right nor left, aware of the servants crossing themselves as she passed them, of young Alberita sprinkling holy water in her direction.

  The room was filled with people, some officials she had never met, some she recognized. Captain Bartolmei stood stiffly to one side. Captain Drannacia was very close to his wife, Violante. Theresa stood in the center of the room, facing Don DeMarco. He was motionless, his features dark and implacable, only his eyes alive, burning with intensity, with rage.

  "Now that my betrothed, Isabella Vernaducci, has arrived, we may continue. You have brought grave charges against her, claiming she had been unfaithful to me and had lain with my trusted captain." As he spoke in a flat, expressionless voice, Nicolai's gaze burned over Isabella.

  She felt the impact like a blow, but she stood unwavering, silent, listening without protest.

  "You have admitted to us that you betrayed your people and that you stalked and attempted to kill Signorina Vernaducci. You have admitted to us that you have the DeMarco ability to become the beast, and you used your ability in your pursuit of Signorina Vernaducci. How is it that you kept this talent from your don, and from your husband?"

  Theresa took a deep breath. She was fighting for more than her marriage; she was fighting for her life. "The first time the beast overtook me was a few months after my sister returned. I was so filled with rage, I couldn't contain it. I went out into the forest and screamed. It just happened. I didn't know how. I thought it was a dream, a hazy dream. It didn't happen very often, and when it did it was always when I was enraged." Theresa glanced at Don DeMarco, looked quickly away, and allowed her gaze to stray toward her husband. She stiffened, her face crumbling when he refused to look at her. "The second time it happened was the first night Signorina Vernaducci arrived. I had gone to the castello to wait for my husband...."

  "Continue." It was a command.

  Theresa shivered at the tone. "Guido was out walking and spotted me near the stables. He said things to me. He wouldn't stop. He insisted I wanted him." Tears glittered in her eyes. "He ripped my gown and threw me to the ground. I was so frightened, so angry, it--it just happened. I didn't try. I didn't know until later."

  "You knew everyone thought I had killed him," Nicolai said softly, his voice a condemnation. "You said nothing. And the servant? Did you kill him, too?"

  She shook her head. "No, Rivellio's men did that. Signorina Vernaducci will tell you. They killed him, not I."

  "But you tried to kill Isabella." Nicolai was relentless.

  "No!" Theresa shook her head in denial. "I don't know. I think I wanted to frighten her away, but the rage grew and grew until I just wanted her gone. Then I knew I could use her to destroy Rivellio. He forced me to spy for him. He wouldn't return my sister unless I agreed to supply him with information on the valley. I would have agreed to anything to get her back."

  A single, strangled sound of horror escaped Rolando Bartolmei's throat.

  "I couldn't really tell him anything," Theresa explained hastily. "I wasn't really spying. I didn't know anything. But I wanted him dead. I had to have him dead. He should have been punished for what he did." She twisted her hands together. "I knew I could lure him to the valley. He would come for Signorina Vernaducci. He thought to trade her life for Don DeMarco's. He was certain he could use her brother to invade the valley and defeat our men. I planned to kill him."

  "Using Isabella." Nicolai's tone held accusation, threat, the promise of death.

  "She betrayed you with my husband. With my Rolando!" The allegation burst from Theresa. For a moment her eyes flashed with anger; then, humiliated and ashamed, she resumed looking at the floor.

  "You have proof of this." Again it was a statement.

  Theresa shivered. She nodded, her gaze once more sliding to her husband, then quickly away.

  The room was silent, the hush of expectancy. Isabella stood in the center of the room, looking as serene as she could manage, grateful for her father's training. All eyes were focused on her. She didn't flinch, but rather faced her accuser calmly.

  "Let me see the proof of my betrothed's infidelity," Nicolai said softly. "The proof of my captain's betrayal." His voice was a low purr of menace. His tone brought the tension in the room up another notch. He held out a hand.

  Isabella blinked rapidly, mesmerized by the sight of Nicolai's large hand. It was a giant paw, covered in fur, razor-sharp claws glinting like stilettos. She heard a collective gasp go around the room. She lifted her gaze to meet his, but he was focused fully on Theresa, watching her with the unblinking stare of a predator.

  Theresa stepped toward the don, her outstretched hand holding the evidence of Isabella's treachery. She stopped short, her face pale, her hand shaking. No matter how hard she tried to force herself forward, she couldn't take the step to put the da
mning proof in that huge paw. Nicolai refused to move forward to take the scrap of parchment. He continued to stare at Rolando Bartolmei's wife, orange-red flames burning in his eyes, daring her to place the damning proof in the huge paw.

  It was Isabella who broke the impasse, taking the missive from Theresa and putting it in Nicolai's open palm. She watched Nicolai's face as he read the words aloud "'I miss you so much. Please hurry and join me. I wish I had told you the last time I saw you how very much I love you.' It is signed, 'Isabella.'" He lifted his gaze from the parchment and looked directly at her. "Did you write this, Isabella?"

  "Yes, of course I did," she answered easily, quickly, into the expectant silence.

  The silence stretched nerves to a screaming point. Theresa attempted to look triumphant. Rolando looked stunned. Isabella only had eyes for Nicolai. She watched his face for any fleeting expression, anything to give her a clue to his thoughts. He said nothing, simply waited in the vacuum of silence.

  A sob escaped Theresa's throat. She jammed a fist to her mouth and averted her face from her husband. Rolando shook his head again.

  "Where did you find my letter, Signora Bartolmei?" Isabella asked without rancor. Her voice was gentle, soft, non-threatening.

  Behind her hand, Theresa's voice was muffled. "In the pocket of my husband's coat." Another sob escaped.

  Isabella's eyebrows went up. "Really." She said the word thoughtfully and turned her head to search the room for a face. Her gaze settled on Violante. She remained silent, just watching the other woman.

  Nicolai kept his attention centered on Isabella. There was no other in the room who could command his attention...and his control. He could feel his fury building, not white hot but ice cold, the beast raging to be released. Isabella was covered in bruises, in lacerations, subjected to this humiliation, this speculation, before the court. Anger and jealousy mixed with his icy rage until he shook with the need to explode.

  Violante turned a bright crimson, glanced at her husband, then at the floor. Sergio Drannacia looked at his wife, inhaled sharply, and reached for her hand. As she looked up at him, an understanding seemed to pass from one to the other.

  Violante squared her shoulders. "I don't know what made me do it. I took the letter from the library when you picked up the book," she said to Isabella. "I just wanted to have it, to look at my name. I thought I might trace over the marks you made until I learned them."

  She forced herself to look at Don DeMarco's motionless figure. He was so still he could have been carved from stone. "She wrote my name on the top, a short missive to her brother, and her name at the bottom. She was showing me how to write. I tore my name from it to keep it. I still have it in a box at my home."

  Tears shimmered in her eyes as she looked at Theresa. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. I don't know why I said those things about your husband and Isabella. I kept trying to stop myself, but I couldn't. I remember putting the missive in the coat when I picked it up from the ground and gave it to Sergio to give to him. I just don't know why I did such a thing."

  Theresa stared at her, clearly stricken. "Oh, Violante," she whispered, shaking her head. "I betrayed my people, my husband, my don, while you fed my jealousy and rage. How could you do such a thing?"

  Sergio protectively drew Violante beneath the shelter of his wide shoulder.

  "I don't know. I couldn't stop myself. Isabella, Theresa, I'm so sorry." Violante didn't dare look at the don. She had committed an unpardonable sin, treachery against his betrothed.

  "You stalked Isabella Vernaducci and tried to kill her because you thought I had betrayed you?" The words burst out of Rolando Bartolmei. He was trembling with rage as he faced his wife. "You betrayed our people? My people? Mio don? You gave information to Rivellio that might have enabled him to invade our land? You did all of it? Even stalked me through my morning patrol to make me doubt mio don? I have known him since childhood, yet you sought to drive a knife between us?" He looked at his wife as if he'd never seen her before, as if she'd suddenly become a loathsome creature. "You believed I would dishonor mio don, my friend--dishonor you?"

  Theresa sobbed loudly, the sound heart-rending. Humiliated and shamed by Theresa's deceitful deeds, Rolando turned on his heel, prepared to walk out and leave his wife to the don's doubtful mercy.

  "Do you think yourself blameless in this, Captain Bartolmei?" Isabella said softly to his retreating back.

  Bartolmei stiffened but didn't turn around. A soft sound escaped Don DeMarco. A low, rumbling growl that stopped Bartolmei instantly. The growl swelled in volume, shook the room, reverberated throughout the castello.

  Nicolai paced across the room until he stood before the trembling figure of Theresa Bartolmei. He towered over her, a dark, angry cauldron of rage. "You dared to make repeated attempts on my betrothed? You conspired to make it look as if she were betraying me, while all the time you were betraying your don and your people? And for what, Signora Bartolmei?" His form shimmered between beast and man. "Chanise is part of my family. Assassins were in place to take care of the matter. You would have known that if you had had the sense to come to me. Not that I should have to explain my actions to you or anyone else. Don Rivellio was a dead man. He was dead the moment he put his hands on my cousin."

  He stalked the length of the room and back again, his hair wild, his eyes blazing, power and fury in every step he took. He stopped once more in front of Theresa. "As you were dead from the moment you touched Isabella." He held out a hand, only it was a huge paw stretching toward her, one curved, stiletto-sharp claw, touching her chin. "Had I not had men watching her, you would have delivered her into the hands of a devil such as Rivellio. You disgust me."

  He spun to glare at his guards. "Take her to the courtyard at once. At once!" He roared the order, orange-red flames burning in his eyes.

  Chapter Twenty

  Theresa screamed as the two guards caught her arms and dragged her from the castello and out into the dark night. Tendrils of fog lay along the ground, swirling into ribbons of mist. With the snow covering the rocks, the courtyard had the appearance of a graveyard, stark and eerie and hideously vile.

  Isabella eluded Don DeMarco's outstretched hand and raced after the guards "What are you doing? You can't do this, Nicolai." There were tears in her voice.

  Violante burst into a torrent of weeping. "Don DeMarco, I beg you to reconsider. Don't do this."

  Sergio tried to silence her, terrified by the don's fury, terrified it would be turned on his wife for her part in the entire mess.

  Nicolai leapt after Isabella. He caught her arm as she tugged at one of the guards in an attempt to set Theresa free. As he yanked her toward him, she felt the needles puncturing her skin, a certain sign of the beast's aggression. "Go to your room, Isabella, until it is finished here." The flames in his eyes were burning out of control, his voice a dark rasp of authority.

  Isabella quelled her first reaction to fight him. Stubbornly she shut off the fear and horror gathered in her soul. She stood still in his grip, forcing her mind to think. At once awareness crept into her heart, into her mind. Here, in the courtyard where Sophia was beheaded, where everyone believed it had all begun. Where Nicolai's father had killed his mother. Where the entity slept and awakened and orchestrated the hatred and fear that perpetuated atrocity on the entire valley.

  She took a deep breath and forced it through her lungs. And she inhaled the entity's sour odor. Malevolence. Hatred. Pure evil. She was in its territory, and it was feeding Nicolai's rage, feeding his weakness, his utter belief in his destiny that he would kill the woman he loved above all others.

  "We are not alone out here, Nicolai," she announced, looking to the others who had followed them. Even Francesca had arrived, alarmed, out of breath, frightened by her brother's roaring. "If you're very still, you'll feel it. The influence is subtle, but it can't hide the surge of power when it manipulates us." The needles in her skin flexed, and she felt hot breath blast her face, the war
m trickle of blood down her arm that would only serve to call to the beast.

  "It has influenced everyone to act differently than they normally would, building on their failings. Failings we all have. Jealousy, hurt, anger, distrust." She looked at Rolando. "Pride. What else would cause a man to leave his wife to a death sentence, a wife he loves. Even poor Sophia, a woman who by all accounts loved her people and her husband, who certainly loved her children. She never would have cursed them for all time without something evil compelling her to do so." She was alone, fighting an unseen enemy who was swelling in power and gloating at her inadequacy. She looked around her at the faces white with shock from Don DeMarco's orders. No one seemed to comprehend what she was saying. "Don't you see it? None of us would do these things." She was unashamedly pleading with them. Pleading with Nicolai.

  Francesca rushed to her side and caught her hand in a show of solidarity.

  Rolando took several steps toward Nicolai. "My wife is your famiglia. Your cousin," he reminded him. "You would see more DeMarco blood soak into the ground?" His hands were knotted into tight fists at his side. Fury had stolen into his eyes.

  "If you have no mercy, Captain Bartolmei, for your own wife, why would I as the don have mercy for a woman who betrayed me?" Don DeMarco snapped his fingers, and the guard obediently forced Theresa to her knees.

  She screamed in terror again, tears burning down her cheeks.

  "This will not happen," Bartolmei objected, his hand on his sword. "If you're so eager for blood, take mine."

  "No!" Violante protested from where she was huddled in Sergio's arms. "I'm the guilty one. I provoked her."

  Fury swept through Nicolai, pure, undiluted rage. He threw back his head and roared at the defiance of his orders. The sound set the lions in the valley roaring until the night was filled with the brutal, primitive sound. His people scattered in all directions. Nicolai spun in a circle, scratching a deep line down Isabella's arm as he thrust her away from him. His long hair haloed his head and fell around his shoulders and back in a wild mane.