Lair of the Lion

couldn't discern him clearly. A shadow figure for her dreams. Isabella blinked to try to bring him into sharper focus, but it was too much trouble to rouse herself from her dreamy state. Her body felt like lead, and she couldn't even find the energy to drag her exposed arm beneath the robe. As she lay, trying to make out the shadowy figure, her vision blurred still more, and his large hands appeared to be claws for a moment, his great hulk moving with a grace not quite human.
    She felt exposed, vulnerable, but as hard as she tried, she could not manage to rouse herself. She lay facedown on the bed, staring apprehensively into the darkened corner, her heart slamming painfully hard.
    "She is much younger than I had imagined. And much more beautiful." The words were said softly, as if merely mused aloud and not for anyone's hearing. The voice was deep and husky, a blend of seduction, command, and a throaty growl that nearly stopped her heart.
    "She has much courage." Sarina's voice came from the other side of her, quite close, as if she might be hovering protectively, but Isabella didn't dare check, afraid to take her gaze off the shadowy figure watching her so intently. Like a predator. A great cat. A lion? Her imagination was running away with her, mixing reality with dreams, and she wasn't sure what was real. If he was real.

    "She was foolish to come here." The lash in his voice stung.
    Isabella tried to force her body to move, but it was impossible. It occurred to her that something had been in the tea, or perhaps in the scented bathwater. She lay in an agony of fear, yet she was hazy and dreamy, removed from the fear, disconnected, as if she were watching all this happening to someone else.
    "It took great courage and endurance. She came alone," Sarina pointed out gently. "It may have been foolish, but it was courageous, and nothing short of a miracle that she could accomplish such a feat."
    "I know what you are thinking, Sarina." A singular weariness tinged the man's voice.
    "There are no miracles. I should know. It is better not to believe in such nonsense." He moved closer, looming over Isabella so that his shadow fell upon her, engulfing her completely. She couldn't see his face, but his hands were large and enormously strong when he caught her up in his arms.
    For a horrified moment she stared at the hands gripping her with such ease. One moment the hands seemed to be great paws with razor-sharp nails, and the next, human hands. She had no idea which was the illusion. Whether this was real or a nightmare. Whether he was real or a nightmare. Her head lolled back on her neck, but she couldn't lift her lashes high enough to see his face. She could only lie helplessly in his arms, her heart pounding loudly.
    He tucked her beneath the quilts, robe and all, his movements sure and efficient.
    His palm cupped the side of her face, his thumb stroking a gentle caress over her skin.
    "So very soft," he murmured to himself. His fingers slid down her chin to push the thick rope of hair from her neck. There was unexpected heat in his fingertips, tiny flames that seemed to ignite her blood, and her entire body felt hot and achy and unfamiliar.
    The strange roars began again, and the castello seemed to reverberate with the hideous sounds.
    "They are restless tonight," Sarina observed. Her hand tightened around Isabella's, and this time there was no doubt she was being protective.
    "They feel a disturbance, and it makes them uneasy and therefore dangerous. Be most careful this night, Sarina." The man's warning was plain. "I will see if I can calm them."
    With a sigh, the shadowy figure turned abruptly and stalked out. Silently. There was no whisper of clothing, no footfalls, absolutely no sound at all.
    Isabella felt Sarina touch her hair again, fuss with the quilt, and then she drifted to sleep.
    She had dreams of a great lion relentlessly stalking her, padding after her on huge, silent paws while she ran down a maze of long, wide corridors. All the while she was watched from above by silent winged harpies with sharp, curved beaks and greedy eyes.
    Sounds penetrated her strange dreams. Strange sounds to go with her strange dreams.

    The rattle of chains. A rising wail. Screams in the night. Restlessly Isabella snuggled more deeply into the quilts. The fire had died down to orange embers glittering brightly. She could just make out the pinpoints of light in the darkened room. She lay staring at the colors as an occasional