“When we arrived, the villagers had just set fire to the kindling. Dohna was already dead, and there was a boy on the ground in front of her.” Neona’s eyes widened as she turned back to Zoltan. “It’s you. That’s why I started having the dream.”
She pulled his ripped T-shirt off as she circled behind him, then used it to wipe the blood off his back. “Oh God. It’s really you.”
She stumbled in front of him, and the bloody T-shirt slipped from her hands to fall to the ground. “I didn’t recognize you. Or maybe I did. I started having the dream.” She studied his face. “Do you remember anything?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I woke up the next day a few miles from the village.”
“So he speaks the truth?” Nima asked.
Neona nodded, tears gleaming in her eyes. “I remember the burn mark. And the scars on his back and shoulders. I touched them all and felt the pain.”
Zoltan’s heart stilled. “You . . . healed me?”
A tear ran down her cheek. “When I first saw you, lying in front of Dohna, I knew you had tried to save her. You were near death, so I took you away to heal you.”
“You saved me,” he breathed. Neona had been with him, far away from the village. She’d been busy saving his life, not killing the villagers. Innocent or killer? His Neona was innocent.
He glanced at the queen. No doubt she’d taken part in the massacre. And since she was the leader, it seemed highly likely that she was the one who had killed his father.
The queen noted his stare and stiffened. “Why have you come here? Do you seek revenge for your father?”
He groaned inwardly. His theory appeared correct. “I only wanted answers.” He took a deep breath. “Right now, I’d like to stop bleeding.”
“Oh, of course! I’m sorry.” Neona grabbed the wet cloth to clean his back. Then she smeared some salve on him and wrapped a bandage around him. “This medicine will stop the bleeding and keep the wound clean.”
Winifred stepped closer. “So you’re really Dohna’s son?”
He nodded. “I was fourteen when she died.”
“How have you lived so long?” Nima demanded.
Neona paused in the middle of tying off the bandage. “He needs rest. It is a wonder he’s still
standing.”
“How did you know Dohna was in trouble?” he asked. “How did you get to Transylvania so quickly?”
The queen’s eyes flashed with anger. “You are our prisoner. You do not ask questions.”
The leopard hissed at the queen, then ran to hide behind Zoltan.
“I should take him to my cabin so he can rest,” Neona suggested.
“Can we go find the presents he left for us?” Winifred asked the queen.
“Tomorrow. Tonight we must take turns guarding Neona’s house.” Nima regarded Zoltan with suspicious disdain. “Do not be swayed by his false generosity. He wants something from us.”
Freya snorted. “He wants Neona in bed.”
Blushing, Neona emptied the bowl of bloody water. “He will be too weak.”
“You want to bet?” he asked softly. Once he drank the two plastic bags of blood hidden in his jacket, he would be much stronger.
Her blush deepened as she gathered up her supplies. Zhan butted his head against her leg.
“We have returned,” Lydia announced as she approached with her daughter.
Tashi frowned at Zoltan, then fell to her knees. “Forgive me, your majesty. I don’t know how I missed him. May I kill him for you?”
“I would be honored to assist her,” Lydia offered.
Zoltan groaned inwardly. More bloodthirsty women.
“I have decided to keep him alive,” Nima announced. “He is Dohna’s son.”
Lydia gasped, her eyes widening as she looked him over. “How can that be possible?”
“It is true,” Neona said. “He is the boy I saved.”
Tashi gave him a curious look as she rose to her feet. “He’s not a boy now.”
“I have a name. Zoltan.”
Lydia stepped closer, studying him. “He does look a bit like her. The shape of his eyes . . .”
“You knew my mother?” he asked.
Lydia sighed. “We were all heartbroken when she left with that bastard.”
“I am pleased we have this opportunity to bring Dohna’s bloodline back where it belongs.” Nima waved a hand in his direction. “This man will mate with Neona and give us Dohna’s granddaughter.”
Lydia’s eyes narrowed. “If he is Dohna’s son, then he is also the son of that bastard.”
“That is true,” Nima agreed. “His father betrayed Dohna in the worst way. We dare not trust this man.” She drew a knife from her belt and placed it at the base of Zoltan’s throat, then sliced through the rope around his neck. “He will remain imprisoned in Neona’s house until she becomes pregnant. Then we will kill him.”
Chapter Fourteen
Zoltan ripped the cap off the first bag of blood and guzzled it down. He was in Neona’s house now, alone at last. He’d managed to grab his jacket before being led here. Lydia was standing guard outside, and she’d closed and barred the window shutters to keep him from escaping. The only light in the house came from a small fire in the hearth.
He squeezed the last drop from the plastic bag, then grabbed the second one. A knock on the door gave him half a second to drop the bags on a bed and throw his jacket on top. The door opened, and Tashi entered with a wooden tray.
“We thought you might be hungry.” She set the tray on a round table in front of the fireplace. “The tea is hot.” She moved the earthenware teapot to a trivet on the table.
“Thank you.” Zoltan inclined his head.
She gave him a curious look. “Are you really Dohna’s son?”
“Yes.”
Tashi glanced at the door, then stepped toward him and lowered her voice. “Did your mother give you something . . . special to drink?”
She had to be referring to the Living Water. The women suspected that was why he was still alive. “Where is Neona?”
Tashi snorted. “Eager to get started, are you?” Her gaze drifted down his bare chest to his jeans. “I wouldn’t be in such a hurry if I were you. The minute she’s pregnant, you’re—”
The door opened and Lydia peered inside. “There is no need to talk to him.”
“Yes, Mother.” Tashi hurried outside.
Lydia gave him a dubious look, then closed the door.
He grabbed the second bag of blood and ripped off the cap. Halfway through it, he was feeling strong enough to slow down. He took sips as he looked around. It was a small house. One room. Years of a wood-burning fire had permeated the walls and furnishings with a rustic scent. There were two beds, across from each other, pushed up against walls that were lined with some sort of woven reed mat. Their form of insulation, he figured. It probably got damned cold here in the winter.
There were a few framed pictures on the walls. Long rectangles of bright silk, embroidered with flowers and butterflies. He smiled, imagining Neona sitting in front of the fireplace on a cold winter evening, creating a work of art with needle and thread.
The bedsheets were unbleached linen, soft from years of use and washing. The pillows and comforters were stuffed with something soft. Lamb’s wool, he guessed from the faint scent. A small table sat between the two beds. On top rested a candlestick and the book Neona had taken from Frederic’s cabin the night before. At the foot of each bed rested a large wooden trunk.
The fireplace was on the far wall, opposite the two beds. In front of the fireplace, a table and two chairs sat. Two beds, two chests, two chairs. Neona must have shared this house with her twin sister.
He finished the second bag of blood and zipped the two bags into a jacket pocket. Then he wandered over to the hearth to put on another piece of wood. The fire greedily engulfed the new fuel and sent flickering shadows across the room.
He eyed the plate of food on the tray. Some sort of flat bread, jam made from berries, and cheese. He picked up the teapot to look at it. Pottery painted in a simple red and green geometric design. Was this the handwork of one of the women?
The trivet caught his eye. It was black and slick. Slate? He set the pot on the table and picked up the trivet. It was slightly pliable, with smooth edges. Not stone. Or pottery. Leather? It seemed too thick for that. He leaned over the fireplace and held the edge of the trivet over the fire. It didn’t catch fire, didn’t melt. It barely felt warm. The floor of the fireplace was made entirely of the odd black tiles.