Chapter Ten
She was still afraid, Neona acknowledged as Zoltan stretched out on the bed beside her, but her desire had overpowered her fear. She needed to feel loved in a way that only Zoltan could give her. The way he touched her as if she was a rare treasure, the way he looked at her like he hungered for her soul, the way he kissed her as if they could melt together and become one.
He was kissing her now. Touching her. Making her stomach quiver and her heart race. She wrapped her arms around him, wanting more. More. Why was she so desperate? Was she falling in love? Or so starved for affection that she was fooling herself?
She shivered as he nibbled down her neck. “Zoltan.”
“Mmm?”
“This is happening so quickly. Is that . . . normal?”
He propped himself up on an elbow and looked at her. For a second, his eyes appeared red and glowing, and she tensed. But after he blinked, they resumed their usual amber color. It must have been a reflection from the fire blazing in the hearth.
“I’ll go as slowly as you want.” He brushed her hair back from her brow. “I know it’s hard for you to trust me.”
“I’m not sure I can trust myself. I’m hurting so much from losing my sister, I may be desperate to feel love.”
He frowned. “If that were the case, then you could go to the nearest village and pick any—”
“No, I couldn’t.” She’d seen many male villagers over the course of her life, and none of them had attracted her like Zoltan. She touched his cheek. “They’re not you.”
He turned his head to kiss her palm. “If your sister were still alive, would you feel differently about me?”
She grazed her fingertips along his whiskers. “No. I would feel the same.” So her fear was groundless. She would have known that earlier if she could have talked it through with her sister.
Her heart squeezed in her chest. From now on, it would be Zoltan whom she entrusted with her innermost thoughts and feelings. “No man has ever affected me the way you do.”
A corner of his mouth curled up. “That’s good. ’Cause I’m crazy for you.”
“Crazy?”
“I’ll try to explain myself better.” He skimmed a finger down her nose. “I think about you all the time. You’re the most beautiful, brave, and intriguing woman I’ve ever met.” He ran his finger over her lips. “I want to bring joy back into your life. Whenever I feel that your heart is aching, my heart aches with you.”
She sucked in a breath. How could she have questioned her feelings for this man? “I want you so much, I feel like my heart will burst. How can you be so perfect?”
He winced. “I’m not. There are things about me . . . you may not like.”
“I know. You’re a little slow to get in the mood.” She raked her fingers through his long, soft hair. “But we can work on that.”
His jaw shifted.
She wound a strand of his hair around her finger. “You’re also incredibly stubborn, but I like that, because it made you refuse to give up on me.”
“That is true. I will not give up on you. I will not betray you, nor abandon you.”
God, how she wanted to trust him. Was it as simple as this? A leap of faith? She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Then take me, Zoltan. Make love to me.” She glanced down at his pants. “When you’re ready, that is.”
With a growl, he pressed himself against her.
“Oh.” Her breath caught. He was definitely ready.
He peeled her tunic open and gazed at her breasts. She shivered under the heated look. Were his eyes turning red again? Before she could get a closer look, he leaned over her and teased a nipple with his tongue.
She gasped. “Oh! I didn’t realize—” She cried out when he sucked her nipple into his mouth.
“Zoltan.” She dug her fingers into his scalp.
He continued to suckle her, then grazed his whiskers across her chest to the other nipple.
Her thighs squeezed together as a deep yearning settled between her legs. Heat sizzled along her veins, making her want to throw off her clothes. She pulled at his jacket—
He sat up suddenly, his head turned toward the door.
She scrambled onto her knees and tugged at his jacket. “Take it off.”
“Wait.” He ran to the door as a flurry of scratching noises sounded outside. “They’re coming.”
“What?”
He opened the door and her cat raced inside, hissing.
“They’re coming!” He stepped outside to grab her sash and knife.
“Zoltan!” She leaped out of bed. “You must leave!”
He slammed the door shut, bolted it, and handed her the knife. While she slipped it back into the sheath attached to her leg, he quickly knotted her sash together. “Put this back on and tie it over the other knot so it won’t show.”
She grabbed the sash. “Stop worrying about me. Get out of here now.”
He looked about the room. “I don’t want you to be in trouble.”
“Zoltan, they’ll kill you if they find you here.” She quickly tied the sash. “Go out the back window now!”
He grabbed one of Frederic’s books off the wooden chest and handed it to her. “Tell them you couldn’t sleep and came here for a book. You were reading in bed.”
Voices shouted outside, followed by the screeching sound of swords being pulled from their sheaths.
Panic seized Neona, and she shoved Zoltan toward the back window.
“I’ll be fine,” he whispered, pausing to grab the plastic container of food off the floor.
A fist pounded on the door.
“Neona!” the queen shouted. “Open this door!”
“Just a minute.” Neona made sure Zoltan was at the back window before she slid the bolt. She cracked open the door. “Is there a problem?”
Queen Nima flung open the door, and Neona jumped back. She glanced over her shoulder, but Zoltan was gone.
“Who was here?” the queen demanded as she circled the room, her sword drawn and ready.
Neona lifted the book in her hands. “I was just—”
“No one outside.” Winifred paused in the doorway.
“Did you check this window?” Nima pointed her sword at the back window.
“I did.” Freya stepped into view outside and peered at them through the open window. “I was here waiting, but no one came out.”
Nima frowned at her daughter. “What are you doing here? Why does the owl keep telling me there’s an invader?”
Neona swallowed hard. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping.” At least that much was true. “I shared my house with Minerva for so long, and now she’s not there. So I came here, thinking a book might help.”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.
Freya gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m sure it’s hard on you. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost Freddie.”
Winifred nodded. “It was bad enough to lose our mother and Farah.”
Queen Nima surveyed the room, then sighed. “We had the cabin surrounded. We would have seen someone leaving.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with that owl lately. Freddie, put the fire out, then you and Freya take a quick look through the woods.”
“Yes, your majesty,” the two women murmured.
“Neona, take the book home with you. No more leaving the valley in the middle of the night.”
Neona followed her mother out the door, with Zhan trotting alongside her. She glanced toward the woods, wondering if Zoltan was running to the nearest village. He had a good head start, so he should be able to arrive without Freddie or Freya catching him.
But they had surrounded the cabin. She glanced back at the house. How had Zoltan managed to escape?
Zoltan watched from the top of a tree as Neona accompanied her mother back to the rope ladder. Two of the warrior women were below, searching the hillside.
A sour taste of self-disgust lodged in his throat. He felt like a damned coward, leaving Neona alone to handle the fallout. But she would have been in a lot more trouble if he had stayed. Not to mention the fact that they had looked ready to skewer him first and talk later. These women took their no-men-allowed rule seriously. Before he made himself known to them, he would need to prove that he was on their side.
He teleported straight to the library in his castle, then called Milan to have him investigate the area in Tibet where the women of Beyul-La lived.
“We need to safeguard the area for them, make it off limits to any outside development,” he told Milan as he e-mailed the coordinates from the GPS tracker on his cell phone. “Get as much surrounding territory as you can.”
“I understand,” Milan answered. “You realize this could cost in the millions?”
“Yes, I know. Keep me apprised.” Zoltan hung up and called Angus. “Were you able to track down Frederic Chesterton?”
“Aye,” Angus replied. “He died here in London during a bombing raid in the second human world war. I’ve located his son, Franklin, and he’s agreed to meet me tomorrow. I was going to call to see what ye wanted me to ask him.”
“You’ll have to be careful. Franklin may not remember anything from the first six years of his life. If he’s who I think he is, his mother was one of the warrior women of Beyul-La. Calliope. She died six years ago. He has sisters, Winifred and Freya, who are still alive. If he remembers them, he might enjoy hearing about them.”
“Verra well. I’ll use some mind control first to see what he remembers before proceeding.” Angus paused. “Howard told me what he knows, that these warrior women are hiding something that Master Han and Lord Liao want. Any idea what it could be?”
Zoltan paused, not ready to divulge his suspicion that the women had some sort of fountain of youth. Neona’s strong reaction had seemed to confirm it. “I’m working on it. And working on gaining Neona’s trust. I was wondering if Emma would be—”
Angus chuckled. “We were thinking the same thing. Since they doona trust men, we could send our own warrior woman. Emma’s ready to go.”
“Good. I’ll let you know when.” Zoltan hung up, then paced about the library. He gave the bellpull a tug so Domokos could bring his late-night bottle of warmed-up blood.
As he wandered about the room, he wondered how to go about making a good first impression on the women of Beyul-La. Gifts, perhaps? But what would they like? He thought back to what Neona had said about the long winters. They made their clothes. Should he give them some bolts of silk? Some embroidery thread? They also practiced their fighting skills every day.
Of course! Weapons. He had some new hunting knives in the armory they might like. And perhaps a supply of arrows? Some new swords?
What else? His gaze drifted across the bookshelves in his library. The books in Frederic’s cabin were practically falling apart from heavy use.
He sat at his desk, and on the computer, he located an online bookseller. But what to buy? Apparently, the women had enjoyed Ivanhoe and A Tale of Two Cities, so he ordered a few books by Sir Walter Scott and Charles Dickens. And Neona had said Pride and Prejudice was her favorite, so he bought some other works by Jane Austen.
Domokos shuffled inside and set his tray on the table by the hearth. “Is there anything else I can do for you, my lord?”
“No, I’m fine. There should be a package arriving tomorrow. Books.”
“Yes, my lord.” Domokos filled a wineglass with synthetic blood.
“Do you know of any authors similar to Jane Austen?”
“Excuse me?”
“I need some books like Pride and Prejudice.”
“Ah.” Domokos gave him a curious look. “Have you taken a sudden interest in Regency England?”
“I’m buying some gifts,” Zoltan muttered. “I need to make friends with a group of women.”
“Women?”
“You heard me.” Zoltan gave his steward an annoyed look as the old man brought the wineglass to him. “Any ideas?”
“My wife likes to read historical romance novels.” Domokos handed him the wineglass. “I believe they are quite similar.”
“All right. I’ll get some of those.” He took a long drink.
“My wife is also particularly fond of vampire romance.”
Zoltan swallowed so hard that his eyes watered. “Are you serious? Do people really write those? And read them?”
“I’m afraid so, my lord. They appear to be quite popular.”
“Why?” Zoltan set the glass down. “We’re dead half the time. And until recently, we couldn’t father children.”
Domokos’s mouth twitched. “I believe the writers are focusing on your other attributes, my lord.”
Zoltan gazed at him blankly.
Domokos cleared his throat. “Your prowess in the bedchamber, my lord.”
His eyes widened. “How would they know what I’m doing in bed?”
“They don’t, my lord. It’s fiction.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Although they do seem to make the heroes all extremely gifted and well endowed. With skills that are quite legendary.” Domokos shrugged. “Like I said, it’s fiction.”
Zoltan’s jaw shifted. “Right.”
Domokos’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Is there anything else I can do for you, my lord?”
“No.” Zoltan gave him a wry look. “You’ve helped enough.”
“Then I’ll wish you a good evening, my lord.” Domokos bowed and hobbled toward the door.
“Fiction,” Zoltan muttered as he searched through the top-selling books in historical romance. He added a few more books to the shopping cart, then paid extra for one-day delivery.
Books and weapons. What else could he bring as a peace offering? It felt like he was forgetting something. Given the fact that Lord Liao was searching for them, he was tempted to equip them with short-range missiles.
He finished his bottle of blood, then took it and the wineglass to the kitchen. There, he left a note for Howard on top of his donut box.
Castle tour this afternoon, so I’m sleeping in Budapest. Will return after sunset.
Sheesh, the damned bear was training him to report in. He went to the armory and selected half a dozen hunting knives and swords, plus a box of arrows. He left them on the table, then teleported to the library in his townhouse. There he paced about restlessly, wishing he were still with Neona. Make love to me, she’d urged him. Would she still be that eager when she learned he was a vampire?
He pushed that thought aside and focused instead on how wonderful she’d felt in his arms. Firm, muscular, sweetly rounded. Whatever her age was, she looked like she couldn’t be more than twenty-five.
Her armor had made her appear like an ancient Greek soldier. Had the armor come from her father? When had a Greek army traveled that far east?
He turned on his computer and did a search. Alexander the Great had reached as far as India before his army had rebelled, demanding to return home. Had one of the soldiers deserted, fleeing north into the mountains? He winced at the date: 326 BC. Could Neona be over two thousand years old?
“Damn,” he whispered. He was used to always being the older one, but this made his eight hundred years seem puny.
Two thousand years, living in Beyul-La, protecting . . . what? The fact that they were old? What was the point in living that long if you lived in a prison? Unless there was something else they were protecting.
Like what? It couldn’t be gold or jewels, not when they lived so simply, with their homemade clothes and shoes. He racked his brain but couldn’t come up with anything else.
A sudden thought caused a chill to run down his spine. Neona might have been alive in 1241. She might have been one of the fierce warriors who had avenged his mother’s death. She might have even shot the arrow that had killed his father.
“Shit.” Was he falling in love with his father’s killer?