Free The Scarletti Curse by Christine Feehan Page B

to hide out until the don loses interest."
    "You said he would lose interest immediately, and he did not. You also
just agreed that no one could hide forever from the don." The sparkle was
beginning to return to the older woman's eyes, however, with Nicoletta's
reassurances.
    "I thought you told me you were forgetful," Nicoletta teased her
back, pleased that Maria Pia was no longer so fretful.

 
Chapter Four
    Nicoletta lay beneath her coverlet, unable to sleep, tossing and turning
this way and that. Outside, the wind rushed at the thin walls of the hut as if
storming a fortress. It brought his voice with it. The don's voice. She could
hear the low voice murmuring to her continually, mercilessly, a relentless
assault she feared would never end. Soft. Compelling. Needing. Commanding. It
went on and on, the sound brushing at the inside of her mind and making her
body burn in an unfamiliar way. There was something darkly sensual in that
voice, a whisper of sin, erotic and seductive, that left her wanting and
needing and burning in her bed. Nicoletta squirmed and put her hands over her
ears to try to drown out the sound. It only increased in volume. Her skin felt
damp and sensitive, her breasts aching with need. Furious, she sat up, her long
hair cascading over her shoulders. Impatiently she braided it quickly, padding
on bare feet to the window to stare out into the darkness.
    She desperately wanted to leave the hut right then in the middle of the
night and inspect the cove. What had happened to Don Scarletti? Was he safe?
Was she merely dreaming he was calling to her? Had there been others lying in
wait to ambush him? Could he be out there, injured and in need of aid? But the
voice sounded smooth and haunting, not weak and injured. The voice sounded
seductive, like a sorcerer's weapon that seeped its way through flesh and bone
and under skin to smolder with wicked heat in her breasts, her belly, between
her legs. Color swept up her neck; her entire body seemed hot and unfamiliar to
her. Was the don capable of black magic, as it was rumored? Had he somehow
marked her because he saw her differences? Defensively she put a hand to her throat.
Few things in nature frightened her, but Don Scarletti and his evil palazzo had
managed to do so.
    Restlessly she paced across the room to tuck the coverlet more closely
around Maria Pia. Her heart warmed at the sight of her, sleeping so soundly. The
woman had always been there for her as long as she could remember. Nicoletta
knew they shared a distant blood tie—nearly all the families in the
villaggio
were related in some way—yet Maria Pia was more family to her than any other
she had known. Long before her mother and aunt had died, there had been Maria
Pia. She remembered the low murmur of feminine voices conversing while she was
dozing off. Her
madre.
Her
zia.
Maria Pia. Reassuring, secure.
She had been accepted and loved by Maria Pia all her life. Now she had no one
else, and most likely she never would.
    Were they coming for her, the don's minions? She padded on bare feet back to
the window to peer anxiously in the direction of the palazzo. Right now, were
they gathering torches and coming together at the command of the don to call
her witch? She could hear her heart beating far too loud and fast. Earlier she
had managed to appear calm, but the truth was, she was terrified. This was her
home; she knew no other. These people were her family; she wanted no other. She
did not want to attempt to flee, and no one wanted to be burned as a witch. And
what of her people? Would they suffer for having harbored such an abomination
in their midst? Was the voice she was hearing a sign from God? Had she gone mad?
    The wind rattled the small hut and found its way in through the chinks,
making her shiver. It howled mournfully through the trees, an eerie, ghostly
sound that rose like a thin wail and died off, only to return again and again.
She heard the hunting cries of distant wolves, first the