Lair of the Lion

language she didn't understand. She dreamed of Nicolai kissing her, holding her, his fierce features softened by love. It was so vivid she tasted him, smelled his wild scent. Abruptly he was pulling away, his eyes red-gold flames. He wore a demonic expression as he dragged her out to a field. He tied her to a large stake and built a fire as shadowy figures danced in a circle around her. Wolves looked on hungrily, and the lions roared approval. She heard the cackle of high-pitched laughter, women dancing merrily in flowing skirts as she begged for mercy. Francesca was there, smiling serenely, dancing around with her arms up as if she had a partner. Then the fire was out, and Isabella was kneeling with her head bowed, thankful to be alive. A shadow fell across her. Captain Bartolmei smiled at her while Theresa and Violante sang softly and Francesca clapped her hands in delight. Still smiling, the captain lifted his sword and swung it at her neck.
    Isabella screamed in terror, the sound jarring her out of her nightmare. A hand caught her wildly flailing arms. "Shh, piccola, nothing's going to hurt you. It's just a bad dream." The voice was warm and soothing.
    She wasn't alone in the bed. She could feel a warm body entwined around hers. Only the thick coverlet separated them. The fire had long since died, and not even an ember remained in the ashes, yet it mattered not at all. Nicolai DeMarco. She would recognize his scent, the feel of him, anywhere, no matter how dark the night. His voice was distinctive, low, a blend of menace and heat.
    She turned her head slowly, cautiously. Nicolai's head was next to hers. She struggled to get her heartbeat under control. "What are you doing here, Signor DeMarco?" She sounded breathless, even to her own ears.
    "I like to watch you sleep," he replied softly, unrepentant. His hands framed her face there in the darkness. "I come into your room each night and just sit and stare at you sleeping so peacefully. I love to watch the way you sleep. You've never had a bad dream until tonight." He sounded regretful. "I did that, Isabella, and I'm sorry I never should have exposed you to such danger."
    "I often dream." She closed her eyes again, oddly secure now that she knew he was beside her. She inhaled deeply, dragging the wild, masculine scent of him deep into her lungs. The nightmare had shaken her, but the night was Nicolai's world, and she knew he could protect her as no other. He might fear that he would harm her, but Isabella felt safe in his arms. "Aren't you afraid Sarina might come in and find you here?" There was a teasing note in her voice.
    He moved his head closer to press his lips against her temple. His breath was warm against her ear. "I have every intention of treating you honorably, however difficult that proves to be." There was self-derisive laughter in his tender tone. He wrapped an arm around her. "Go back to sleep. It makes me happy to see you so at peace."
    "Why aren't you sleeping?" Her voice was drowsy.
    His body hardened, making urgent demands, when all he had come for was contentment.
    "I don't sleep at night," he said softly, his fingers tangling in her hair. He closed his eyes against the memory of his own nightmare, welling unexpectedly, as if his heart needed to tell her his every boyhood terror. "Ever."
    As if she could read his thoughts, she fit her body more closely to his, protectively. Her hand crept out from under the coverlet to cup his cheek, her palm warm against the scars of his childhood. "You can go to sleep here, Nicolai. I'll watch over you." The words were so low he barely caught them.
    His insides melted. It had been years since anyone had ever thought to protect him or worry about him or comfort him. She was turning him inside out without even trying. He buried his face in her hair, closed his eyes, and breathed her in. She had said he was the breath in her body, the joy and warmth in her heart. Well, she was the air he breathed into his lungs. She was his soul.
    Don Nicolai DeMarco wrapped his arms possessively around her and closed his eyes, drifting as he listened to her soft breathing. There in the darkness, in the arms of a sleeping woman, he found peace.

Chapter Eleven
    "Signor DeMarco! Just what are you doing in this bed?" Sarina's voice was shrill with shock and horror. Sarina slammed the door, keeping out any prying eyes and successfully disturbing Isabella's slumber.
    Isabella opened her eyes reluctantly, her body totally relaxed