Lair of the Lion

by Christine Feehan

  Nicolai was already shaking his head. "You know that is not possible, Isabella I have sent out several of my most trusted men, and they will see to it that Lucca is well enough to travel and escort him to the castello as soon as his health permits. Rivellio's men wouldn't dare bring me a dead man."

  She jumped up from the chair and paced restlessly across the gleaming floor. The falcon flapped its wings in warning, but she sent it a single, ferocious glare, and the bird of prey settled down docilely.

  Nicolai watched her, admiring the passion in her--so much passion her shapely body could barely contain it. His own body hardened with the relentless ache of need. Of hunger. Possessing her might not be enough. Devouring her would not be enough. She was fire and courage, the epitome of the characteristics he wanted in himself. She was a living flame, and making love to her was an endless journey into erotic ecstasy. He wanted to yank her to him, to crush her mouth beneath his.

  She stopped directly in front of him, tilting her head back so she could look up at him. The action exposed the vulnerable line of her throat. Her large eyes blazed with temper, and her fingers curled into fists. "Perhaps you mistake me, signore. I did not ask for an escort. I am aware you have need of your people here. I am perfectly capable of finding my way to mio fratello." She was making every effort to speak politely, but her breath was coming fast, and even her sensual mouth gave evidence of her agitation. "I will not take a chance with Lucca's life. I prefer to make certain the don's men do not harm mio fratello in any way."

  She was so beautiful, Nicolai wanted to drag her to him, crush her perfect, trembling mouth beneath his. Crush her body beneath the weight of his and bury himself deep inside her, where there would be white-hot heat. She made him wild, something a DeMarco could ill afford. He could feel his primitive nature rising, calling to him, demanding he embrace it, demanding he take what was his and hold her against all enemies. As a precaution, he slipped farther into the shadows. Was he so much an animal that he couldn't control his passions when she was near? His body was painfully hard, his erection thick and heavy with need of her. Even now, when he was delivering news that upset her, he hungered for the lush pleasures of her body. It was a frightening thought that the beast was gaining control faster than he expected.

  "I did not misunderstand you, Isabella." His voice was gruff, a soft, warning growl escaping from deep within his throat. "I have many enemies who would love to get their hands on you, Rivellio being one of them. You are protected in this valley, and you will not leave."

  Her eyebrows shot up. "That is ludicrous! I am no longer your betrothed. You have only to announce it to the world, and the threat is gone. In any case, I'm evidently in more danger here than I would be anywhere else--you told me so yourself. Nicolai, I am not running away from you. I'll return immediately. You know I must go to Lucca."

  "And you know I cannot allow it." His voice was quiet, purring with menace.

  With anyone other than Isabella, that dangerous note in his voice would have been warning enough. But eyes held the beginnings of a turbulent storm. "Can't allow it, Nicolai, or won't allow it?"

  "If you like, I will send Captain Bartolmei along with those escorting our healer. He will personally see to it that your brother is fit for travel and escort him back as quickly as possible." He found himself trying to appease her.

  "Then I will be perfectly safe traveling with the captain," she challenged.

  He snarled. Actually snarled. But even that wasn't enough to express the intensity of his emotions. Another sound rumbled from deep within his throat, swelling in volume. A roar filled the room, an explosion of rage that shook the entire wing of the palazzo, set the falcon's wings flapping wildly in alarm and the lions in proximity answering roar for roar, as if the don were one of them. From deep within the shadows his amber eyes glowed with eerie flames. His hair was wild from the constant raking of his fingers. It spilled around his face, long and shaggy, reaching down his back. Fearing he would appear more the beast than ever, Nicolai slipped deeper into the alcove.

  His gut clenched at the very idea of her traveling for days and nights in the company of Rolando Bartolmei. Boyhood friend or not, Nicolai didn't want Isabella seeking solace in the arms of another man. Even innocently. If her brother didn't survive, and she was grief-stricken, it would be perfectly natural for Bartolmei to console her.

  Isabella swung around, all restless energy, her stormy eyes flashing fire at him. She stalked him into the shadows as he retreated farther. "Don't you snarl at me, Nicolai DeMarco, and don't you dare roar. I have every right to be upset with you and your dictatorship. You have no reason to be angry with me at all. I intend to go to mio fratello and ensure that his health improves. I have my own horse and don't need your captain or your permission."

  "Don't threaten me, Isabella." His voice was low, controlled. He was careful to keep his hands to himself, though her scent filled his lungs and did wicked things to his body. "The healer will bring your brother to you alive and as quickly as possible. Let that be enough." Jealousy, an unwelcome and unattractive emotion, was gripping him. If Rolando brought her beloved brother back well and happy, would she be grateful to Bartolmei, look upon him with affection? Nicolai was ashamed of his thoughts, ashamed of his inability to control his emotions. He had always been so disciplined.

  Her breath caught in her throat in pure outrage. She closed the distance between them in three angry strides, heedless of how reckless she was being. Anger was energy crackling in the room, fierce and passionate. "I can't believe you're ordering me to stay." The idea was so appalling, she clenched her fist and struck him hard right in the stomach. It made her even angrier that he didn't even pretend to wince, while her knuckles stung. She jerked her hand back, glaring at him.

  A small smile softened the hard line of his mouth as he gently shackled her wrist and brought her throbbing hand to his heart. Because he couldn't help himself, he raised her hand to his mouth, his tongue swirling over her sore knuckles with soothing heat.

  She was indeed all courage and fire; any other woman would have fainted away at the terrors of her position. Not Isabella, with her stormy eyes and passionate mouth. "You don't have the good sense to fear me, do you?" he observed. He feared enough for both of them. He had seen the evidence of the curse with his own eyes. He had felt the welling of savage excitement, known the hot taste blossoming in his mouth.

  "I'm afraid, Nicolai," she admitted. "Just not of you. For you. For me. I'm not a dolt. I'm aware this could end badly. But we're in it already. I'm here in this valley, I've already met you, the pattern of our lives is already unfolding around us. Would it stop if I hid beneath a bed as a child might? What would that help, Nicolai? I want to live my life, what little I may have, not hide shivering beneath a coverlet." Her palm caressed the scars on his face, her heart softening, melting, at his expression.

  "Isabella," he whispered softly, achingly, his throat clogged with such emotion he couldn't breathe properly. "There is no other like you." Sacrificing her for his people, for his valley, was a horrifying exchange. He knew how his father must have felt. The emptiness. The self-loathing. The despair. Nicolai had prayed, and he had lit many candles to the good Madonna. Still, danger surrounded every move Isabella made.

  "I want you, Isabella," he said, his voice aching with need. "God help me, I want you again and again, when I should be locking you up somewhere far from me."

  She looked up at him, and the simple act was her undoing. Desire blazed in his eyes. Possessiveness. Hunger. Love. It was stark, undiluted. Burning brightly.

  Groaning, he bent his head and took possession of her mouth. Dominating. Male. Demanding her response. Devouring her. He couldn't get enough of her, couldn't get close enough to her.

  Despite everything, she was kissing him back, feeding on him. A fire raged in her, burned out of control, a storm of such intensity she was swept up in it, no longer able to think, only feel. Her arms, of their own volition, crept around his neck, her
fingers tangling in his hair. She felt weak with wanting him, craving his mouth, his body possessing hers.

  His lips left hers to trail over her chin, down her neck, the column of her throat, leaving flames where his tongue swirled and caressed. There was no drawstring at the neck of her gown to give him access to her body. In sheer frustration he found her breasts right through the material of her dress. His mouth was hot and wet, pulling strongly so that the cloth rubbed her nipples, teasing them into hard peaks of desire. Her body went liquid with need. He bent her over his arm, tilting her breasts upward so that he could draw first one, then the other, from the neckline of her gown. The material cradled her breasts like hands, holding them up for his inspection.

  "You are so beautiful." His breath was warm against her aching flesh.

  Her body clenched, a heated pool settling low within her, demanding relief. His hands moved over her, thumbs teasing and driving her wild, his mouth strong and hot and persistent until she tugged at his hair, wanting more. She tried her own exploration, tugging at his shirt, at his breeches, but her legs threatened to give out when he lifted the hem of her skirt.

  "You have too many clothes on," he muttered thickly.

  "So do you," she answered breathlessly.

  He was already yanking his out of the way, tearing away her undergarment to expose her bare skin. Then he was kissing her again, removing her ability to think, building the storm to the next level, his hand sliding beneath her skirt to her thigh, rubbing between her legs to feel her damp invitation.

  "I love how you feel." Nicolai took her down to the floor, to the thick rug in front of the massive fireplace. "You're ready for me. I look at you across a room and wonder if your body will be ready for mine. If just a look would be enough to do this." His finger penetrated deeply, stroked and danced and caressed. "I just have to look at you, think of you, and my body is like this." He settled between her thighs, caught her hips, and pulled her toward him so that his thick erection was pressed against her entrance. "I'm so hard its painful, cara. I need to bury myself in you."

  She gasped as he thrust forward, spearing her, stretching her tight sheath around him. He made a sound, somewhere between a growl and a groan of utter pleasure. He stopped, clenching his teeth, waiting for her body to accommodate his size, allowing her to become used to his invasion so he could inch more of himself into her. She was so hot and tight he was afraid he might not have the control needed to pleasure her, too.

  "More, Nicolai," she pleaded. "All of you. I want all of you."

  He caught her hips more firmly and began to move, surging forward, long, hard strokes, fast and deep. He wanted to crawl inside the haven she offered, the paradise he had never known so completely. He plunged his body into hers, watching them come together in perfect rhythm, wanting to stay there for all time. There was no give in the floor, and he was able to fill her, his every stroke shaking her body so that her breasts quivered invitingly and her eyes grew sultry.

  He experienced no dark thoughts, only the ecstasy of her body, the pleasure he brought to her. He glided in and out of her, pushing deeply, feeling her response as her muscles clenched around him, the ripples spiraling outward until he was caught up in them, too. Until her body was gripping and milking his seed. It poured out of him, a hot stream of desire, of commitment, of love.

  He bent forward and took one breast into the hot cavern of his mouth. Shuddering with pleasure, he held her to him, buried deep inside her, his mouth at her breast, as the ripples overtook her and she cried out his name and her fingers curled into fists in his hair.

  At once, through his pounding heart and the fire sweeping his body, he felt the wildness rising in him, felt the beast wanting to mount her again and again, to ensure no other touched her, no other gave her a child. His thoughts were confused and primal, a fierce possessive streak shaking the very foundations of his soul. He nearly leapt away from her in fear, wanting to retreat into the shadows like the animal he was.

  One moment his body covered hers in a wild, passionate exchange, the next he was wrenching himself away from her as if he couldn't bear the sight of her. Isabella didn't look at him, didn't want to see if the lion was blazing in his eyes. She didn't want to know if he was near the end of his control. She wanted more. Much, much more. She wanted him to hold her close, to cuddle her in his arms and whisper how much he loved her.

  She closed her eyes against the pointless tears burning there. She couldn't blame Nicolai; she had been his willing partner each time. And she would be again. She could hardly deny it when her body still throbbed and clenched and craved his. She pulled her gown up over her breasts, her body responding to the feel of the fabric against her sensitized skin. Very carefully she sat up, looking away from the corner where she could hear his heavy breathing as he struggled for control.

  At once she felt an edge of danger in the room. It had nothing to do with the strange entity and everything to do with the curse. The hair on her skin rose, a chill going down her spine. He was watching her from the shadows, and she didn't know if he was watching as a man or a beast, and for the very first time she was afraid to find out. Isabella rolled over and came to her knees, wanting to get up.

  At once she sensed movement, a whisper of sound, hot breath on her neck. Nicolai stood over her; she felt the brush of his hair along her arm and back.

  "Don't move," he warned. His voice was thick, strange.

  "Nicolai." She knew her fear was between them, that he could smell it. Hear it.

  "Shh, don't move." His hands shaped her bare bottom. "We haven't finished."

  Isabella nearly jumped out of her skin. Her heart leapt in terror, then settled into a strong, fast, pounding rhythm. Hands, not claws, touched her body. It was fully Nicolai. He might be struggling, but he was with her.

  His hands kneaded the firm flesh of her buttocks, then slipped lower to find her pulsing, wet core. He pushed into her with his fingers, immediately bringing her to a fever pitch again so that she moaned and cried out for him.

  "Dio, cara, this is dangerous," he whispered. "So dangerous." But he didn't stop, pushing deeper until she moved against him with a small sob.

  At once he caught her hips and thrust into her again, deeper and harder, filling her with his thickness, stretching her tight sheath, the friction almost more than either could tolerate. Having emptied himself into her once, he had more staying power, but he could feel the wildness rising with every stroke. His blood raced with fire; his belly burned with it. He reached for emptiness in his mind, sheer pleasure, no thoughts, no fear, just erotic pleasure.

  Isabella could feel him surrounding her, his arms strong, every muscle taut, his body surging in and out of hers. He was deep inside her, the pleasure building and building until she was swamped with it, until every cell in her body was stretched beyond endurance and she was shuddering with pleasure. Until her body was no longer her own but his, to teach and play like an instrument until she fragmented, exploded, dissolved. Until there wasn't a part of her that wasn't burning and spinning out of control.

  She felt his body swelling, hardening even more, the friction so intense it was more than she could bear. It sent them both tumbling over a cliff and falling through space. Colors burst in her mind, whips of lightning danced in her bloodstream. This time he collapsed over her, driving her to the floor, where they lay in a tangled heap, too exhausted to move. They lay still for some time, hearts pounding, the heat so intense that beads of sweat formed between their bodies, but neither could find the energy to move away from the fire.

  Nicolai's wild hair was everywhere, their clothes were disheveled, and their arms and legs were tangled together. Isabella turned her head. "What did you do to me? I can't move."

  "I can't move either," he said, satisfaction purring in his voice. "Even if the beast wanted to leap out, it couldn't." He stirred enough to press a kiss against the nape of her neck. "I guess you'll have to spend your nights and days making love with me."

  "We'll
die."

  "It's a better way to go," he pointed out. His hand stroked her bare buttocks, sending a fresh lightning whip sizzling through her body.

  Isabella's answering laughter was muffled against the rug. She closed her eyes and rested, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. She hadn't felt so at peace, such a sense of belonging, since she'd been in her own home. It was so right with Nicolai.

  "What are you thinking?" he asked gruffly.

  "That I belong here with you. That this is right, meant to be. I'm happy with you." She sighed softly. "I do miss Lucca and my holding, but I want to be here with you. My home was a happy place most of the time--if I could stay out of mio padre's way." She spoke unguardedly. "I loved him, but he was distant and disapproving of me. I never seemed an asset to him."

  The sadness in her voice twisted in Nicolai's gut like a knife. He rolled over, taking her with him so he could sit against the wall, cradling her in his lap, his arms protective. "I believe you were more of an asset than he could possibly have ever known. You had the courage to come to me when most men refuse to brave this valley." He kissed the top of her head. "You saved your brother's life, Isabella."

  "I hope I have. I hope that he comes here and recovers completely." Her eyes held shadows. "But then he will have to face what we don't want to face. That there is a lion who at every turn seeks to defeat us."

  "Not a lion," he protested. "The curse. A lion is simply an intelligent beast, not necessarily vicious but acting instinctively."

  His words told Isabella that he saw himself as part beast. The hope that had been blossoming in her died a quiet death. A shiver went through her. "Just as your instincts will tell you to kill me."

  He held her in his arms, cradled her close to him protectively, brushing stray tendrils of hair from her face. "We'll find a way, Isabella. Don't give up on me. We'll find a way. I promise you. The beast was close this time, but it didn't win."

  She thought he was wrong, but she said nothing. The beast had already won. Nicolai accepted it in his life, as part of who and what he was. He had always accepted his legacy, had always known he would take a wife who would provide him with an heir. Provide him with another guardian for the lions and the valley. And something would trigger the lion to kill her. He did not believe their combined strength and love could overcome the beast, the curse.