A clanging noise and laughter sounded outside. It sounded like metal pot lids being knocked together. He set the jewelry box on the bed, then walked in his stocking feet to the door. With his superhearing, he could detect voices outside.
“You’re all drunk,” Lydia fussed. “How will you guard this house through the night? We can’t let the prisoner escape.”
Someone scoffed. “I don’t think he’ll be wanting to escape tonight!”
The others laughed.
Lydia scoffed. “Don’t let the queen see you like this. She’s busy in the cave tonight.”
The cave? Where the Living Water was? At some point, Zoltan needed to sneak in there for a taste test. He’d brought an empty bottle for the task.
The bar on the door scraped. “Go inside, Neona,” Lydia ordered. “The rest of you, go sleep it off. You can guard during the day.”
Zoltan stepped back between the beds so it wouldn’t look like he’d been eavesdropping.
When Neona stumbled inside, his mouth dropped open. She was more beautiful than ever. She smelled of wildflowers and looked heavenly in white silk. The front part of her hair had been braided and wrapped across the top of her head like a crown. Wildflowers had been inserted in the braid, making her look like a fairy princess. The back section of her hair hung loose down her back like a shiny black curtain. More flowers blossomed in thread on her white silk gown and red silk slippers.
She looked at him and her eyes widened. When the door slammed shut behind her, she jumped and hiccoughed. Wincing, she lifted a hand to her mouth. The bell-shaped sleeve of her gown fell back toward her elbow, revealing the Hello Kitty watch fastened to her wrist.
He smiled. “You look beautiful.”
She frowned. “So do you.” Her gaze swept over his bare chest, and her frown deepened. “You took off the bandages.”
“They were a little bloody, and I wanted to wash up.” He took a step toward her.
She stepped back. “The wounds didn’t bleed?”
He shook his head. “That ointment you put on them worked well.” He took another step toward her. “Thank you for saving me. Twice.”
She moved over to the table. The bowl and pitcher were still there, untouched. She peered into the pitcher and grazed her fingertips across the dry bowl.
No doubt she was wondering how he was standing here squeaky clean with wet hair. She shot him a wary look, then eased behind the table.
“Careful.” He stepped toward her, worried that her long gown was too close to the fire.
She grabbed the knife off the uneaten plate of food and pointed it at him. “Don’t come any closer.”
He sighed. So much for his wedding night. And that knife was clearly meant for spreading jam. “You should find a sharper knife if you want to kill me.”
Her face crumbled. “I don’t really want to kill you.”
“That’s a relief.”
“I don’t know what to do with you.” She gazed sadly at the knife in her hand. “Maybe I should go cut the donkey.” She hiccoughed. “Poor donkey.”
Zoltan’s mouth twitched. “I think you’re drunk.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I think you’re smirking at me.”
“Never.” He wiped the smile off his face.
“I had a little wine. Four cups. No, five.” She lifted her chin. “It’s in my blood now, so I’m warning you. I won’t taste good.”
His mouth twitched again. She would still taste wonderful to him. “Is that why you drank?”
“Partly. But I also wanted the courage to—” She swayed to the side and caught herself on the back of a chair.
“To have sex with me?”
“No!” She pointed the knife at him. “I know your secret. You’re a monster!”
“I know your secret. You’re a two-thousand-year-old crone.”
She gasped. “I’m not a crone!”
“I’m not a monster.”
She huffed. “You have fangs!”
“You have a gray hair.”
“I do?” With a stunned look, she lifted her hand to her hair, forgetting she still had the knife in it.
“Careful!” With vampire speed, he raced forward, yanked the knife from her hand, and pulled her away from the fireplace.
“Get back!” She shoved at his chest.
He released her but remained in front of her.
“Move!” She shoved again, but he didn’t budge. She pushed again. “You’re like a rock.”
She paused, her hands splayed across his chest. Her eyes widened. “So . . . hard.” Her fingertips pressed gently into him. “But soft.”
He drew in a steadying breath as her fingers slid down his torso, caressing his bare skin. He needed to stay in control and keep his eyes from glowing and frightening her.
“You feel like a human,” she whispered.
“I am human.”
“No!” She fisted a hand and pounded it against his chest to accentuate each sentence. “You’re a vampire. With fangs. You’ll get hungry. And bite me.”
“I won’t.”
“I don’t trust you—”
“I won’t bite you. Here, I’ll prove it to you.” He walked over to the wooden chest and pulled out the small ice chest. “I brought plenty of blood with me.” He showed her a bottle, then opened it to drink a few gulps.
Her eyes widened with horror.
Damn. Instead of reassuring her, he was scaring her. He stuffed the bottle back into the ice chest.
She hiccoughed. “Where did you get all that blood?”
“It’s synthetic blood. Manufactured.”
“You didn’t . . . drain it from someone?”
“No, it’s made in a factory. All of us good Vamps drink synthetic blood. We don’t attack people for food.” He opened the wooden chest again to set the ice chest inside.
She stumbled closer for a quick look. “You brought clothes here? Where did you go?”
“I went home for a little while. I can teleport to another place in a second.”
She blinked at him. “That’s how you disappear? You tele—pork?”
His mouth twitched. “Teleport.”
“Oh. So you . . . teleported home?” When he nodded, she gave him an incredulous look. “Then why did you come back?”
His heart sank. “You . . . don’t want me here?”
“There are people here who would like to kill you. If you had any sense, you would stay away!”
“So you’re worried about me?” He smiled. “You care about me?”
She crossed her arms. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You mean you don’t want to admit that you care about me.”
She scowled at him. “Why did you come back?”
“I can’t leave you here alone to shoulder all the blame. Not when I want you to trust me.” He turned to close the lid on the wooden chest.
With a grimace, she eyed the arrow wound in his shoulder. “If you can teleport whenever you like, why didn’t you disappear when Lydia shot the arrow?”
“The arrow would have hit you.” He frowned at her. “Don’t ever leap in front of me like that again.”
“I-I wasn’t thinking.”
He arched an eyebrow at her. “One might get the idea that you cared about me.”
She huffed. “I am a healer. It is my natural instinct to spare people from pain.” She reached for his shoulder. “Should I heal it now?”
“No.” He grabbed her hand. “It will heal during my death-sleep.”
“Death-sleep?” With a shudder, she pulled her hand away. “If everything heals while you’re . . . asleep, why do you still have the old scars on your back?”
“I was mortal then. Only fourteen.”
She regarded him solemnly for a moment, then swayed on her feet.
He took hold of her shoulders to keep her steady. “Maybe you should lie down.”
She shook her head, and one of the wildflowers slipped from her hair and fluttered to the floor. “I cannot believe it is really you. The boy. Do you know you’re the only human male I have ever healed?”
“I didn’t know.”
She rested her hands upon his chest, then circled behind him, moving her hands across his chest and shoulder to keep herself steady. “I remember this so clearly.” She touched the burn mark on his back. “Like it was yesterday.”