How to Seduce a Vampire (Without Really Trying)

by Kerrelyn Sparks

  Neona emerged from the building, her arms full of supplies. “Sorry it took me so long.” She hurried toward Zoltan. “I had to make some more bandages. We used up most of them three weeks ago after the battle.”

  Zhan trotted up to her and rubbed against her legs. “Good kitty,” she whispered as she set down a bowl and pitcher of water near Zoltan’s feet. Inside a basket, there were torn strips of white linen and a pottery jar. She removed the knife from the sheath on her leg and sawed through the ropes tying his hands together.

  “Neona,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

  She ignored him, focusing on his hands.

  “What are you doing, Neona?” The queen grabbed the sword she’d dropped earlier.

  “I need his hands free so I can take off his jacket.” Neona sheathed her knife, then removed his jacket and tossed it aside. The leopard ran over to sniff at it.

  The queen sheathed her sword. “You missed his latest lie. He claims to be the son of Dohna.”

  Neona gasped and her eyes met his. “How can that be?”

  “That’s what we’re wondering,” Nima muttered, glancing back at Winifred and Freya. “How could he have lived so long?”

  Neona’s face turned pale.

  Was she remembering the fangs she’d seen? Zoltan watched her intently, wondering if she was going to tell everyone he was a vampire.

  She grabbed her knife, and, with trembling hands, she cut his T-shirt and ripped it open. “We don’t know if Dohna had a son.”

  “So you agree he is lying?” Nima asked.

  “I don’t know what to think of him,” Neona said softly. She poured water into the bowl, then wet a cloth and wiped the blood from the small stab wound on his ribs.

  “I am still the same,” Zoltan whispered.

  She ignored him and opened the pottery jar to smear some salve on the small wound.

  “How would he even know about Dohna?” the queen demanded. “Did you tell him about her?”

  Neona winced.

  The queen scoffed. “You see how he twists your words to deceive us.”

  Neona didn’t answer. She grabbed a strip of linen and wrapped it around his torso to cover up the small wound.

  “I am telling the truth,” Zoltan said. “How else would I know that my mother could communicate with both birds and animals? The villagers thought she was a witch and that she had caused the Mongols to attack us.”

  “And then your so-called father let them kill her?” Nima shouted. “If you are who you claim to be, then you are the son of the man who betrayed us!”

  Neona gave him a wary look as she tied off the bandage.

  “I blame my father, too,” Zoltan said. “I tried to save my mother. They were throwing stones at her, and I blocked them. And when they threw a torch, I jumped onto the kindling to keep it from catching fire. It burned my back—”

  Neona cried out and stumbled back. “You—oh my God, you’re the boy?”

  “You were there?” Zoltan asked. It seemed clear now that the women of Beyul-La had attacked his village, but his stomach clenched at the thought of Neona going on a killing rampage.

  “You remember him?” Nima asked her daughter.

  “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,” Ni
ma 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.

  Another knock sounded on the door. He set the trivet down and picked up the teapot as Tashi entered once again. He poured some tea into a small round cup without handles.

  “I thought you might want to clean up.” Tashi placed a bowl and pitcher next to the tray and frowned at the plate of food. “You didn’t eat.”

  “I was waiting for Neona. When is she coming?”

  “Are you in a hurry to die?” Tashi gave him a wry look. “Neona’s with Freddie and Freya. They’re getting her ready for you. And making a big deal out of it.” She rolled her eyes. “They act like this is a wedding.”

  His heart stilled. Would Neona see it that way? Could she accept a vampire for a husband? His groin tightened at the thought of a wedding night.

  “But it is more like your funeral,” Tashi continued. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

  “I’m in love with Neona. And I want to help you defeat Lord Liao.”

  Tashi stiffened. “We don’t need your help.”

  “You do. There are only six of you.”

  Tashi winced. “You will never convince the queen to trust you.”

  “I have to try.” Zoltan looked around the small house. He might be here several days. He needed to teleport back home and grab a supply of blood. And he needed to make plans with Angus. “How long will it take Neona to get here?”

  Tashi shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “I should rest before she comes. Can you tell her to come in thirty minutes?”

  “Do we look like we would own a clock?”

  “Neona has a watch. I gave her one.”

  Tashi’s eyes widened. “Really? Is it true what Freya said, that you brought gifts for us all?”

  He nodded. “True. I’d like to be accepted here.”

  “The queen will never accept a male here.” With a sigh, Tashi walked toward the door. “Some things never change.”

  The sad tone of her voice made Zoltan suspect that she might be open to change. “Will you tell Neona?”

  Tashi nodded. “Thirty minutes.” She left, closing the door behind her.

  Zoltan grabbed his jacket and looked around as he prepared to teleport. The trivet. It was bothering him because he couldn’t tell what it was. He picked it up, checked the time on his watch, and teleported straight to the kitchen of his castle.

  Howard had his wife pressed against the kitchen counter as he slipped a chocolate-covered strawberry into her mouth.

  Zoltan dropped his bloody jacket and the black tile on the counter. “Sorry to interrupt.”

  Howard jumped and turned. “What the—holy crap! What happened to you?”

  Elsa choked and swallowed, her eyes watering. “Oh, my God! Do you need a doctor?”

  “I’m fine.” Zoltan glanced down and winced. His bare chest was smeared with blood, and more blood had seeped through the bandages Neona had tied around him.

  Howard gave him an incredulous look. “Why do you keep seeing that woman? She beat the crap out of you again!”

  “No, she didn’t.” Zoltan motioned to the stab wound by his ribs. “Her mother did this. And it was one of her friends who shot me with an arrow.”

  “And that makes it okay?” Howard scoffed. “I take it back. You’re not depressed. You’re insane.” He whipped out a cell phone. “I’m calling Mikhail. He has some medical supplies.”

  “I don’t need doctoring.” Zoltan pulled a bottle of Blissky from the cabinet. “But do call Mikhail and Angus and anyone else who can come for a strategy meeting. We have to come up with a plan to help the women of Beyul-La.”

  Howard frowned. “The same women who just treated you like a dartboard?”

  “They’ll come around.” Zoltan poured a glass of Blissky and downed it. The blood gave him a jolt of energy, and the whisky took the edge off the pain. He grabbed the black tile. “Get everyone here now. I’ll be right back.”

 
“What? Where—”

  Zoltan teleported to his office in Budapest. “Milan,” he called as he entered his assistant’s office.

  Milan jumped to his feet. “Oh, my God! What happened to you?”

  Zoltan shrugged, then grimaced from the pain of moving his shoulder.

  “Sir!” Milan ran toward him. “Shall I call a doctor?”

  “No, I’m fine. I’m in a hurry. I need to get back to something.”

  “A battle?” Milan adjusted his glasses as he eyed the bandages. “Are you sure that’s wise, sir? If I might say so, you appear to be losing.”

  Zoltan smiled. “I’m fine. How’s it going with the land deal?”

  “Rajiv met with the government officials. He said they wanted an exorbitant amount, about ten million—”

  “Send it. I need the deed right away.”

  Milan gulped. “Yes, sir.”

  “And see what you can find out about this.” Zoltan handed him the black mystery tile.

  Milan frowned, turning it over in his hands. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. Send it to the lab at the university. The guys who investigated the arrow. And put a rush on it. I want to know by tomorrow night.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How’s business? Do you have everything under control?”

  “Yes, sir!” Milan’s gaze shifted back to the bloody bandages. “How is your . . . vacation?”

  “Great! See you later.” Zoltan teleported back to the kitchen.

  Mikhail and his wife, Pamela, had arrived and were sitting at the table with Howard and Elsa. J.L. Wang was helping himself to a Bleer from the fridge, and Emma MacKay was pouring herself a glass of Blardonnay.

  She gasped. “What happened to you?”

  “I met the other warrior women of Beyul-La,” Zoltan explained. “Is Angus coming?”

  “Yes, as soon as he finishes his interview with Franklin Chesterton.” Emma poured a second glass of Blardonnay and offered it to Zoltan. “I went with Angus, since my psychic powers are much stronger than his, probably because I was already telepathic before I was transformed. I was able to see that Franklin has quite a few memories of his childhood. Apparently he and his father discussed Beyul-La often.”