Enchant the Night. Amanda Ashley

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      Chapter 4

      Quill strolled through the park’s winding paths long after Callie had gone home, his thoughts unsettled. Not all blood tasted the same. Most was warm and bland. Some people’s blood was more satisfying than others’. Some was sweet, some bitter. And then there was Callie’s blood—hot and rich and oddly familiar. Though he couldn’t say why. Perhaps he had fed on one of her kinfolk. There was usually a strong similarity in taste among close relatives.

      He was still puzzling over it when he realized he was being followed. Coming to an abrupt halt, he whirled around to confront his stalker but saw no one. And still the feeling persisted. Lifting his head, he opened his preternatural senses, searching the night for the source of his discontent.

      He was about to continue on his way when a slight movement caught his eye. As he turned toward it, three men materialized from beneath a cloak of invisibility and rushed toward him brandishing wooden stakes and wicked-looking blades.

      Before he could vanish, the Knights were on him. He let out a roar of pain and anger as a sharp stake drove deep into his chest, barely missing his heart. His attacker withdrew it and struck again—and again missed the mark. And all the while, the other two were slicing and stabbing.

      The scent of blood—his and theirs—filled the night air.

      Quill managed to break the neck of the man with the stake, but the other two were unrelenting. His injuries usually healed immediately but wounds inflicted by pure silver took longer to stop bleeding and longer to heal, and left nasty scars.

      One of his attackers let out a holler, and two more Knights emerged from another cloak and joined the fray.

      Weakened by the loss of so much blood and in agony from the cuts inflicted by their blades, Quill felt his strength fading. It took all his remaining energy to break the neck of one of the men holding him down.

      “His head!” cried one of the Knights. “We have to take his head!”

      Quill bucked violently as one of them produced a wicked-looking cleaver. The Knight was about to deliver the killing blow when a deep voice shouted, “Here now! What the hell’s going on?”

      The Knights attacking Quill ducked under their invisibility cloaks and were lost from sight.

      The jogger stared wide-eyed at the place where the three men had been. Stared at the bodies sprawled on the ground near Quill, then turned on his heel and bolted toward one of the park exits.

      Needing blood and needing it quick, Quill tried to go after him, but the pain was too severe. Dragging himself into the shadows, he closed his eyes, and found his link to Callie.

      Come to the park. I need you.

      * * *

      On the brink of sleep, Callie jackknifed into a sitting position when she heard Quill’s voice in her mind.

      Come to the park. I need you.

      Rising, she pulled a pair of jeans and a bulky sweater over her PJs, grabbed her keys, and ran barefooted out of the house to the garage. It was late, the sky dark and cloudy, the streets deserted. She drove like one possessed, ignoring traffic signals and stop signs, tires screeching as she pulled into the parking lot.

      Not bothering to shut off the engine, she ran across the grass. She didn’t stop to wonder how she knew where to go as she reached one of the winding paths.

      She found Quill lying on the grass in a pool of dark red blood. His shirt and pants were in shreds. Blood leaked from numerous wounds on his arms, shoulders, chest, and legs. He was so pale, so still, she was sure he was dead.

      As were the two men lying nearby, their heads at odd angles.

      “Blood, Callie,” Quill gasped, his voice little more than a whisper. “I need your blood.”

      As if it was the most natural thing in the world, she knelt beside him, pushed the sleeve of her sweater up to her elbow, and offered him her arm.

      She flinched when his fangs pierced her skin. He seemed to drink forever, but, in reality she knew it was only a minute or so. He still looked like death warmed over when he finished, even though his skin had regained a little color and his wounds had stopped bleeding.

      Releasing her arm, he said, “Help me up.”

      It was no easy task. He was a big man, but eventually she got him to his feet. He leaned heavily on her as they made their way toward her car.

      When she opened the door for him, he practically fell into the passenger seat.

      After sliding behind the wheel, she stared at him a moment. She couldn’t deny it any longer. Vivian had been right. Quill was a vampire. Was that why he had such power over her? And why he was still alive when any other man would have bled to death from the numerous injuries he had sustained? Had he killed those two men in the park while defending himself? The answer seemed obvious.

      So many questions, she thought, as she turned the car around and headed toward home. If he survived, would he give her the answers?

      * * *

      Callie had no idea how she got him into the house and down the hall into the guest room. With a great deal of effort, she managed to strip off the bedspread before he fell back on the mattress like a dead man, leaving her to wonder how she would explain his body in her house if he really should die. She had no idea where he lived, didn’t know anything about him except his name, didn’t know if Quill was his given name or his surname.

      She considered trying to undress him and decided against it. If he died, she really didn’t want to explain why he was in her house in his underwear, covered in dried blood from head to foot.

      Maybe he was dead. He didn’t seem to be breathing. Moving cautiously, she pressed her fingertips to the pulse in his throat, let out a squeal when his hand closed on hers in an iron grip.

      He looked up at her through narrowed eyes shot with red. Recognition flickered in their depths, and he released her hand. His eyelids fluttered closed.

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