Lair of the Lion

in spite of her determination not to show her fear.
    Then she froze, standing perfectly still, her gaze riveted to the deepest shadows, a darkened alcove where she made out the shape of a man. He stood tall, and on his forearm perched a falcon, a raptor with a wicked beak and talons that could pierce, rend, and shred delicate skin. Its round, beady eyes were fixed on her intently. The bird stirred as if it might fly at her face, but the man spoke softly to it, his voice so low she couldn't make out the words. He stroked the falcon's neck and back, and it settled down, though it never took its gaze from Isabella.
    No matter how hard she tried to pierce the darkness to see the man clearly, she could not.
    When he turned slightly to touch the bird, he appeared to have long hair, swept back from his face and secured at the nape of his neck with a leather tie, yet it was still wild and shaggy, looking like a mane in disarray. But the cloak of darkness shielded most of him from her so that she couldn't tell what he truly looked like. His face was completely hidden, so she had no idea of his age or features. But as she continued to stare, the flames from the fireplace seemed to leap into his eyes, and for a moment she could see the reflection shimmering through the darkness.
    His eyes glowed a fiery red, and they were not human. Cold gripped her, and Isabella wanted to turn and run from the room.
    "You are Isabella Vernaducci," he said from the dark alcove. "Please be seated. Sarina has brought tea to steady your nerves."
    His voice was pleasant enough, but his words immediately pricked her pride.
    She swept across the room regally, a woman of stature, of importance, her head held high. "I do not recall having unsteady nerves, Signor DeMarco. However, if you feel nervous, I shall be happy to pour a cup for you. I trust the tea is free of any herbs that might cause you to become… drowsy." Isabella sat in a high-backed chair, taking time to arrange the long skirt primly over her legs and ankles. She cursed herself silently. Her pride might lose her her hard won audience with the don. What was wrong with her that she bristled in his company? What did it matter what he said, what he thought of her? Let him think her nervous and weak if that was what he wanted. As long as she got her way.
    Don DeMarco allowed the silence between them to lengthen. She could feel the weight of his disapproval, the weight of his stare from the shadows.
    Trying to salvage the situation, Isabella looked down at her hands. "Thank you for the garments. I had very little in the way of proper clothing with me. The room you offered me is beautiful and the bed comfortable. I could not have asked for better care. Signora Sincini took excellent care of me."
    "I am happy to see that the gowns fit you. Are you rested from your journey?"
    "Yes, grazie, " she said demurely.
    "It was foolish of you to venture into danger, and if your padre was alive, I'm certain he would see to it that you were punished for such folly. I am inclined to take on the responsibility myself." His voice was velvet soft, playing along her nerve endings like the brush of fingertips, warming her skin, and she was thankful for the heat of the fire to explain the blush stealing into her face. He was chastising her, yet his voice was nearly a physical caress, and for some reason, Isabella found herself extremely susceptible to it.
    "You were warned repeatedly not to come to this place. What kind of woman are you that you would risk your reputation, your life, making such a journey?"
    Her fingers curled into two tight fists, and her fingernails dug deeply into her palms. She had the feeling he was watching her closely from the shadows, that his eyes caught that tiny telltale rebellion. Surreptitiously she pushed her hands out of sight beneath the skirts of her dress.
    "I am a desperate woman," she admitted, trying unsuccessfully to peer into the darkness.
    He looked a large, powerful being, not quite human. The bird of prey perched on his arm, staring at her with round, beady eyes, added to her nervousness. "I had to see you. To plead for mio fratello's life. I sent messengers, but they were unable to reach you. I know you can help him."
    She swallowed the unexpected sob threatening to choke her. "He is in the dungeons of Don Rivellio. He has been sentenced to death. Mio fratello, Lucca Vernaducci, has been imprisoned for nearly two years, and the conditions are appalling. I have heard that