“You’re going to fall asleep?”
“Death-sleep.” He rolled onto his side to look at her. “I’ll be completely vulnerable. I’m trusting you to keep me safe.”
She studied him, searching his eyes. “Why do you trust me?”
“You’ve saved me twice. I don’t figure you would let me die now.”
“What do you mean by death-sleep?”
“I’ll be dead. Then I wake up right after sunset.”
“How can you wake from the dead?”
“I’m not sure. I’m just damned grateful that it keeps happening.”
She frowned. “Does it hurt? When you die?”
“A little,” he lied. Then he sat up with alarm. “If I look like I’m in pain going into my death-sleep, do not touch me. Do you understand? It’s the pain of death, and if you take that upon yourself, you would probably die.”
Her face paled and she nodded.
He lay back down as another tug pulled at his senses. “Why the no fornication rule?”
“Isn’t it obvious? They’ll kill you as soon as I’m pregnant. So the best way to keep you alive is to make sure that I never get pregnant.”
“So you’re rejecting me because you care about me.”
“I don’t want you to be killed because of me.” She hugged her knees. “And I don’t trust you. I saw how your fangs sprang out in a moment of intense pain. They might do it again if you feel . . . intense pleasure.”
“You think I’ll bite you while I’m cl**axing?”
“Yes.” Her cheeks turned pink as she gave him a wary look. “Does that usually happen?”
He yawned. “I can control it.”
“It would be foolish for me to trust you.”
“I understand. Trust has to be earned.” He felt a stronger pull tugging him into the deep dark hole, but he fought to remain conscious. “We’ll start with something small. Then if I don’t bite you, we’ll move on to something bigger. Do you agree?”
She nodded sleepily. “I guess.”
“Fine. Then tomorrow, I’ll give you one little cl**ax and not bite you.”
She blinked. “What?”
“I know.” He yawned. “You wanted ten. When we get through all ten cl**axes without me biting you, then you’ll know you can trust me. And then we’ll make love.”
“What? I can’t agree to that!”
“You already did.” One final tug swept over him, seizing his heart with a burst of pain. With his last breath, he whispered, “Tomorrow.”
Chapter Sixteen
The boy was near death, his body bleeding and bruised, an angry red burn seared across his back. Neona moved her hands over the gashes and bruises, taking in as much of his pain as she could endure. In the distance, where the village and castle were located, smoke billowed into the sky. The stench of burning bodies made her choke. Gathering up her courage, she reached for the red burn on his back.
Suddenly, he grabbed her, pulling her down and rolling on top of her. It was Zoltan, grown up and smiling at her in the way that always made her stomach quiver. “Neona,” he whispered. “It’s time to give you that first cl**ax.”
She woke with a jolt. Then a groan. Her head hurt. She was lying on top of her comforter with her knees hugged to her chest. She glanced at the other bed. Zoltan was there, still and quiet. With another groan, she slowly stretched out her legs. They were stiff and achy from sleeping hunched up in a ball.
She sat up. Her white silk gown was a wrinkled mess. She should have taken it off before sleeping, but she hadn’t dared undress in front of Zoltan. He was lying on his side, facing her, barely visible in the dim light that filtered into the room around the door and windows.
It was daylight outside. She’d spent the night with a vampire. And she’d survived without a single bite mark.
She eased out of bed, her stiff legs protesting. He appeared to be sleeping. Death-sleep, he’d called it. She remembered how Russell had sizzled when sunlight had touched his body.
Alarmed, she lurched toward him to make sure he was all right. A sliver of light illuminated a narrow strip down his bed about a foot from his back. If he rolled over, he might get burned. She checked his back and exhaled with relief. No injuries.
The arrow wound was almost completely healed. Only a red mark remained where the puncture hole had been. She pressed her fingers to his neck. No pulse. She winced. Was he really dead? How could he be dead when his body was healing itself? For the change to occur, there had to be some part of him still alive. She’d heard stories of Buddhist monks who could slow their heartbeat to the point it was no longer discernible. Perhaps that was what happened to vampires.
She gave him a little shake, but there was no reaction. He was unresponsive. Defenseless and vulnerable. And he was trusting her to keep him safe. Her heart squeezed in her chest. He trusted her. And God help her, she wanted to trust him. The attraction was still there. The yearning. Her feelings had taken a shock when she’d realized he was a vampire, but they hadn’t withered away.
His eyes were shut, with a line of thick eyelashes that were so pretty, her fingers itched to touch him. She brushed his shoulder-length hair back from his brow. His hair was soft and silky. She ran a fingertip over his eyebrow, then down his whiskered jaw to his square chin. A stubborn chin, she thought with a smile. And a wide, sensual mouth. She touched his lips. Too gorgeous.
Too dangerous. Her gaze drifted down his muscled chest to the waistband of his underwear, low on his hips. She could see the outline of his long legs underneath the sheet. So he thought he could earn her trust, one cl**ax at a time. She snorted. The rascal would come up with a plan like that.
Her gaze shifted back to the arrow wound. Instead of teleporting away, he’d taken the hit to protect her. He’d tried to protect her from her pet leopard, too. And even though he could have stayed in the safety of his own home, he’d returned to be with her. No matter how many times she tried to discourage him, he refused to give up on her. With a sigh, she realized he’d been earning her trust all along.
She removed the white silk gown and lay it over the back of a chair. Then she wrapped a plain linen robe over the white silk shift that Tashi had insisted she wear, claiming it was easy to rip. With her legs still stiff, she hobbled over to each window and pulled the thick woolen curtains shut, making sure they blocked out any light. The room grew darker. The fire in the hearth had died out.
At the door, she slipped on her leather slippers, then carefully opened the door, making sure no sunlight fell on Zoltan. She slipped outside, grimacing at the bright light.
“You’re up!” Someone called from the central fire pit.
Shielding her eyes from the sun’s glare, Neona spotted Tashi, Freddie, and Freya sitting around the fire.
“We’ve been watching your house since sunrise.” Tashi regarded her curiously. “There hasn’t been a sound.”
“It’s already afternoon,” Freddie said. “You missed breakfast and lunch.”
“Are you all right?” Freya asked.
Neona nodded. “We were asleep.”
“Worn out, huh?” Freya exchanged a grin with the other two.
Neona headed toward the outhouse, her stiff legs protesting.
“Good heavens,” Freddie whispered loudly. “She can hardly walk.”
“He must have been good,” Tashi said, and they all laughed.
Neona groaned and kept walking.
“Should we take him a tray of food?” Freddie called after her.
“No!” Neona whirled to face them. Their surprised expressions made her realize she’d overreacted. “He’s asleep now. I’ll feed him later.” Wincing, she resumed her walk to the outhouse.
“She seems a bit . . . possessive,” Freya said.
“Doesn’t even want us to look at him,” Freddie added.
“He must have been damned good,” Tashi muttered, and the others laughed again.
Neona hurried to the outhouse, then washed her hands and face in the stream before returning to the central fire pit, where Freya was stirring a pot near the fire.
“We’ve kept the soup hot for you and your man.”
“His name is Zoltan.” Neona glanced at her house before taking a seat.
“We figure it’s best not to get too familiar with him,” Tashi murmured.
Because they believed they would have to kill him, Neona thought. Luckily, if they tried to execute Zoltan, he could teleport away. But only at night. He was helpless now, and she was his only protection.
“Here.” Freya ladled some hot soup into an earthenware bowl, then added a lump of sticky rice. “You must be hungry.”
“Thanks.” Neona looked around. “Where are the others?”
“My mother’s asleep,” Tashi said, referring to Lydia. “She guarded your house all night.”
“The queen is busy in the cave,” Freddie added.
Neona nodded, then spooned some soup broth into her mouth. Soon she would need to tell everyone that Zoltan was a vampire. But she’d better wait till nighttime, when he could defend himself or teleport away, in case the news didn’t go over well.
“So how was it?” Freya whispered. “We’ve been dying to know.”
“If you don’t mind talking about it,” Freddie added with a hopeful look.
Tashi snorted. “As if we don’t know what they were doing. Did he rip your shift off?”
Neona used her wooden spoon to break up the lump of rice in her soup. “Nothing happened.”
“What?” All three women gasped.
“He was . . . weak and running a fever. Because of the wound. He needs rest, so don’t go in there. I’ll nurse him back to health.” Neona stood, careful not to spill any soup. “I’ll give him some of this. Thanks.” As she walked toward her house, the women talked in hushed voices.
“I can’t believe it,” Freya whispered.
“I know,” Tashi agreed. “He couldn’t even do it?”
Freddie huffed. “I thought he was stronger than that.”
Neona winced. Thank God Zoltan’s pride was as dead as he was at the moment. She slipped inside the house, quickly shutting the door behind her. He was still stretched out on Minerva’s bed, barely visible in the dark.
She set the bowl of soup on the table next to the uneaten dinner from last night. Then she took a candle from the mantelpiece and hurried back outside. The women hushed and exchanged glances when she approached. No doubt they had been discussing Zoltan’s inability to perform. He would most probably be annoyed by her current strategy, but it seemed like the best way to buy some time. They wouldn’t kill him as long as they were waiting for her to get pregnant.
Freddie stood and brushed off her pants. “Freya and I are going to our father’s cabin to bring back the presents. You want to come?”
“I should keep an eye on Zoltan.” Neona lit her candle from the central fire pit. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
She rushed back to her house and lit the fire in the hearth. Then she wedged the lit candle into the holder on her bedside table.
“There. Now I can see.” She glanced at Zoltan. His eyes were still closed, and he hadn’t budged.
Her gaze drifted to the black box sitting on the bedside table. “Is this another gift for me?”
No response. He just lay there, looking gorgeous with the firelight glimmering over his muscled body and handsome face.
She opened the black box, and her breath caught. Two gold bands. A larger one for a man. A smaller one for a woman. She’d read about these in the books Frederic had left behind. A man and woman exchanged vows and rings at their wedding.
Her eyes misted with tears. Zoltan wanted to marry her. Didn’t he realize that marriage never worked for the women of Beyul-La? Calliope’s husband had deserted her. And Zoltan’s mother, Dohna, had ended up dead.
Would Zoltan try to repeat his father’s actions? Would he try to lure her away from the valley and her sacred duty?
Just last night Neona had urged Tashi to run away and live with the man she loved. But he was a villager. A mortal, who lived close by. She and any future daughters she had could still visit Beyul-La and help fulfill their sacred duty.
Marriage to Zoltan would mean marriage to a vampire. A husband with fangs? Would she have children with fangs?
She snapped the box shut and set it back on the table. There was no point in even imagining it. She couldn’t leave Beyul-La. She was the only healer left. Everyone counted on her.
Her eyes filled with tears as she removed her sparkly watch and set it beside the black box. Then she sat on the edge of her bed and gazed at Zoltan.
“It’s impossible,” she whispered.
Neona woke to a loud squeaking noise. She lay in bed, disoriented for a few seconds. She hadn’t intended to fall asleep again, but after eating all the food on the table, she’d stretched out on her bed with nothing to do other than stare at Zoltan.
She blinked. His bed was empty.
With a gasp, she sat up.
“Good evening.” He smiled at her as he twisted the top off a bottle of blood.
While he drank, Neona looked him over. He was standing next to the wooden chest. The open box, containing ice and his bottles of blood, sat on top of the chest. He’d slipped his blue pants back on, but they were unfastened and rested low on his hips. A line of dark hair ran from his navel into his black underwear. She swallowed hard and lifted her gaze. The stab wound by his ribs was completely gone. No doubt his arrow wound was completely healed, too.