Lair of the Lion by authors_sort

care what was dwelling within their walls, it was none of her business. Looking neither right nor left, not waiting to see if the housekeeper followed, Isabella hurried through the maze of halls, relying on her memory to find her way out. She was terrified of leaving yet equally terrified of staying.
    The unnatural cold air followed her as she made her way through the wide halls. It stabbed at her as if to run her through with an ice-cold sword. It clawed at the wounds on her back, seeking entrance to her soul. She couldn't prevent a shudder of fear, and she imagined she heard the echo of taunting laughter. As she walked down the long, twisting stairs, a ripple of movement followed her, and she could have sworn the portraits on the walls stared at her. The burning tapers in the halls flared from strange wind gusts and splattered waxy, macabre apparitions onto the floor, as if her adversary were maliciously celebrating her departure with gleeful delight.
    She felt a wrenching sensation in the region of her heart as she walked out of the castello into the biting wind of the Alps. She took a breath of the clean, fresh air. At least the horrifying feeling of something evil watching her was gone once she was outdoors. Men and horses were waiting for her to join them. Without warning, the lions began to roar, from every direction—the mountains, the valley, the courtyard, and the bowels of the palazzo —
    creating a frightful din. The sound was hideous and terrifying, filling the air and reverberating through the very ground. It was nearly worse than the black feeling inside the castello.
    The horses panicked, fighting the riders, bucking and snorting, heads tossing warily, eyes rolling with fear. The men murmured to the animals in an attempt to calm them. Snow fell in steady sheets, turning everyone into ghostlike mummies.
    "You have plenty of food," Sarina assured her, quickly hiding her shaking hands behind her back. "And I put salve in the pack."
    "Thank you again for your kindness," Isabella said without looking at her. She would not cry. There was no reason to cry. She cared nothing for the don. Still, it was humiliating to be sent away as though she mattered not at all. Which was true, Isabella supposed. She no longer had lands or a title. She had less than did the servants in the castello. And she had nowhere to take her sick brother.
    Isabella ignored Betto's helping hand and swung into the saddle by herself. Her back protested alarmingly, but the pain around her heart was more intense. She kept her face averted from the others, even grateful for the snow that would hide the tears glittering in her eyes. Her throat burned with regret and anger. With sorrow.
    Determinedly she dug her heels into her horse and set the pace, wanting to put the palazzo and the don far behind her. She didn't look at the escorts, pretending they weren't present. The lions continued roaring a protest, but the snow, falling faster, helped to muffle the sound. She was aware that the men and horses were extremely nervous. Lions hunted in packs, didn't they? The breath left Isabella's lungs in a sudden rush.
    Unless that was the terrible secret the valley guarded so well. So many of those men loyal to the Vernaducci name had been sent out to find this valley within the Alps, yet they had never returned. It was whispered Don DeMarco had an army of beasts to guard his lair.
    Were they hunting her now? The horses gave every indication that predators were near.
    Isabella's heart began to pound.

    Don DeMarco had acted strangely, but surely he wouldn't be so upset with her that he would want her dead. What had she done that warranted her removal from the castello? She hadn't asked the don to marry her; he had been the one to insist on it. She had been willing to work for him, had offered her loyalty to him. If he had simply changed his mind about taking a wife, would he want her dead?
    Isabella glanced over to the captain of the guard, attempting to gauge