Carpathian 00 - The Scarletti Curse

will miss the villaggio if we continue in this direction."
    "I am escorting you to my home, where you will remain under guard until we are wed. I have neither the time nor the inclination to go on nightly hunts for my errant bride." A note of mocking amusement crept into his voice.
    Nicoletta stopped walking, staring up at him, shocked. "That is unseemly. I cannot go to your palazzo without Maria Pia as chaperone. Don Scarletti, you cannot take me there."
    He reached down and firmly grasped her elbow. "Yet that is exactly what I intend to do, Nicoletta."

Chapter Six
    Nicoletta stared from atop the hill at the palazzo on the next peak, now immersed in fog. The Palazzo della Morte seemed to rise up out of the mist like a great castle in the clouds. She knew that winged Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    creatures guarded the turrets; great gargoyles and strange demons with fangs and claws perched atop the ramparts and tower. Its many portals and great windows of stained glass depicted various scenes of serpents carrying hapless victims into a watery hell. The castle was eerie and sinister, rising out of the fog as if disembodied from the earth. She stopped walking abruptly, staring in a kind of fascinated horror at the palazzo.
    "Palazzo della Morte." Giovanni Scarletti whispered the soft taunt. "That is what you have named my home."
    At any other time, Nicoletta would have blushed with shame. Now, in the middle of the night, with the winged creatures facing her with blank, staring eyes, claws reaching for her, she couldn't find it in her heart to worry whether or not the terrible name had hurt the don's feelings. In any case, she wasn't altogether certain he had feelings. He seemed made of stone, a chiseled marble sculpture of a beautiful Greek god, handsome but ice-cold. His fingers shackled her arm like a vise, leading her to her doom.
    The Palazzo della Morte.
    "I cannot go to that place," Nicoletta said in a low voice. "I wish to return to my home. Besides, it is unseemly for me to be alone with you."
    "It was unseemly of you to run like a little rabbit, but you did so," the don pointed out mildly. "I suggest you continue walking, piccola. It would be far more unseemly if I had to carry you into the palazzo." It was a clear threat, though delivered in his usual calm voice.
    Nicoletta tore her gaze from the grotesque floating castle to stare at him in horror. "You would not dare!"
    Don Scarletti looked down at her upturned face. She was extremely pale, her beautiful dark eyes large with shock. She looked young, ethereal, there in the mist, an untouchable, mysterious beauty. Her skin was soft and tempting, so inviting that his hand, of its own volition, framed her delicate cheek. At his touch she stilled, a measure of fear creeping into the innocence of her eyes. His thumb feathered over her lush lower lip, sending a strange heat rushing through her body, starting a fine trembling deep within her.
    She stared up at him helplessly, mesmerized by his black, hypnotic gaze. She was drowning again, unable to look away.
    He leaned toward her, and her eyes widened as she watched his perfectly sculpted mouth slowly, relentlessly descending toward hers. Her breath stilled in her body, and a small sound of terror escaped her vulnerable throat. He continued to lower his head until his lips skimmed the corner of her mouth, then trailed along her satin skin to her ear. "I dare anything," he whispered wickedly, his warm breath stirring tendrils of hair against her neck. His teeth caught her earlobe, a small, painful nip quickly eased with a sinful swirling of his tongue.
    Nicoletta gasped, her entire body leaping to life, blood surging through her hotly, unexpectedly—and completely unacceptably. She was trembling too hard to move away from him, and, in any case, his fingers still shackled her arm. "I insist you return me to my home. This is very wrong."
    His white teeth gleamed at her. "What is wrong? It would be wrong if a prospective bridegroom did not find his bride in the least attractive." His voice purred at her like that of a satisfied lion, a wild, growling purr that set her heart pounding in alarm.
    She caught the note of dark mirth in his voice, and she glared at him. "I am not amused by your wickedness, Don Scarletti." She tilted her chin at him. "You are reputedly a gentleman. I demand you Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter,