Lair of the Lion

horses began to walk. "No, not ever. But that day, in the castello, my life changed for all time. Not even Sarina could see me anymore. When they look at me—my friends, my people—they see something else. All of them." He looked down at his hands on the reins. "I see my own hands, but they do not. It's a lonely existence, cara, and I had hoped never to pass such a thing on to my child."
    "I see your hands, Nicolai." Isabella rested one gloved hand on his. "I see your face and your smile. I see you as a man." She rubbed her head against his shoulder in a small caress.

    "You aren't alone anymore. You have me. I'm not running from you. I'm staying with you because I want to stay." And, God help her, she did want to stay. She wanted to hold him in her arms and comfort him with her body. She wanted to chase the shadows from his eyes and banish the nightmare that had ended his childhood.
    He put the reins in one palm and enveloped her hand with the other, tucking it beneath the heavy furs to keep her warm. They rode in silence, in the white, cold world, with the moonlight beaming down on them and the snow glistening like a gem field.
    Isabella rested her head against his shoulder and stared up at the sky. The wind blew softly, sending little snow flurries flying from the tree branches. She felt the tug of it in her hair, on her face. As the conveyance glided over the snow, cutting through the wind, she felt a sense of freedom she had never had. It did feel as if they were flying, and she laughed softly, clutching the furs to her. "I love this, Nicolai. I truly do." Her laughter floated away on the wind, beckoning. Beckoning.
    An owl flew out of nowhere, straight at one of the horses, talons outstretched as if it might rake the vulnerable eyes. The horse reared, screaming, a cry of terror that echoed through the silent world. Both horses went wild, plunging and bucking, streaking through the snow, racing down the slope and through a small stand of trees.
    The conveyance tipped over, spilling them out onto the ice-cold ground. Somehow Nicolai managed to wrap his arms around Isabella. She clung to the thick fur rug, and as they rolled, it wound around them both, helping to protect them from the collision. They rolled to the bottom of the hill, a tangle of arms and legs and hair. Snow was everywhere, clinging to the fur, to their clothes, between their shivering bodies, even on their eyelashes.
    When they came to a stop, the wind knocked out of them, Isabella was lying on top of Nicolai, his arms wrapped around her head to protect her.
    "Isabella!" Nicolai's voice shook with concern. "Are you hurt?" His hands moved over her body, searching for injuries.
    She could feel laughter bubbling up out of nowhere and wondered if she was the first Vernaducci in history to become hysterical after all. "No, really, Nicolai, I'm just shaken up a bit. What about you?"
    He was already looking around for the horses. She felt him stiffen just as the laughter inside her faded, replaced by a creeping fear. Her hands tightened on the fur rug, and she looked cautiously around them. She glimpsed movement in the trees, sleek shadows, glowing eyes.
    Nicolai very gently lifted Isabella off him. "I want you to make for the nearest tree.
    Climb up it and stay there." His voice was calm, low, but held unmistakable authority. The don giving an order.
    Isabella looked around desperately for a weapon, anything at all, but found nothing. She was shivering violently from the cold. Or fear. She wasn't certain which. The horses stood only a short distance away, shaking, their bodies wet with the sweat of terror. "Nicolai."
    There were tears in her voice, an aching need to stay with him.
    "Do as I say, piccola. Get to a tree now." He rose to his feet, dragging her up as he did so, his eyes restlessly probing the thick stands of pine. He lifted his head and scented the wind.
    Isabella couldn't smell their enemy, but she caught glimpses of the shaggy, slender bodies as they slunk through the woods. More than that, she felt the taint of something, something malignant, something nameless and far more deadly than a pack of wolves.
    "Isabella, move!" There was no mistaking the command or the menace in Nicolai's voice, although he didn't spare her a glance.
    She dropped the fur and raced to the nearest tree. It had been years since she climbed, but she caught the lower branches and hauled herself up. Without the protection of the fur, the wind bit at her skin,