Enchant the Night. Amanda Ashley

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.

      She darted away from the edge of the bed, turned and left the room. If he lived, she would deal with him in the morning.

      And if he died . . . ? She didn’t even want to think about that.

      In her bedroom, she pulled off her jeans and sweater and crawled under the covers, only to lie there, staring up at the ceiling while a multitude of questions chased themselves around and around like hamsters on a wheel.

      Callie was on the brink of sleep when she remembered her grandmother’s words from the night before. Be careful, Callie. You’re on dangerous ground.

      Had Ava been warning her against Quill himself, or the danger that surrounded him?

      With a shake of her head, she flopped onto her stomach and closed her eyes. There was no way in the world Ava could have known Callie would ever meet someone like Quill.

      No way at all.

      * * *

      Callie’s eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep when she woke in the morning. Her first thought was for the stranger in the guest room. Tiptoeing down the hall, she opened the door a crack and peeked inside. From what she could see, he hadn’t moved a muscle since last night.

      Heart pounding with trepidation, she crept into the room. She started to reach out to touch him when she remembered how he had reacted the night before. Taking a deep breath, she placed her fingertips on the pulse in his neck.

      He didn’t grab her this time. Instead, he turned his head to look up at her, his eyes dark with pain.

      “You killed those two men, didn’t you?”

      He nodded.

      “Did you know them?”

      “No.” But he had known who they were.

      Callie worried her lower lip. Why had those men attacked him? And what had they used to inflict so much damage? She couldn’t shake the feeling that any other man would have died from his injuries. “Can I get you anything?” she asked.

      His gaze slammed into hers.

      Callie swallowed hard, afraid she knew exactly what he wanted.

      He smiled faintly as he reached for her arm.

      She turned away as he bit into her wrist. It had hurt last night. But today the feeling was oddly sensual when it should have been painful and repellant. He drank from her as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

      And she let him.

      After taking only a few swallows, he closed his eyes and released her arm.

      Callie stared down at him a moment, then hurried out of the room. After quietly closing the door behind her, she returned to her own room. Feeling a sudden need to get out of the house, she changed out of her nightgown and into a pair of jeans and a sweater, grabbed her wallet and her keys and left the house.

      After getting into her car, she drove aimlessly up one street and down the other. Seeing a market ahead, she stopped and bought a quart of milk, a loaf of bread, and a bunch of bananas. It felt odd to be doing something so normal.

      When she pulled out of the parking lot twenty minutes later, the realization of what she was doing sizzled through her like a bolt of lightning.

      She was hiding a vampire in her house.

      And he was feeding on her.

      * * *

      Later that afternoon, Callie spent several hours going over the photographs she had taken at the Nelson wedding before putting together a set of digital proofs. She felt a wave of pride when she finished. It had been a long shoot. She had photographed the bride while she got ready, the bride and her bridesmaids, the groom and his ushers. The wedding itself, of course. Then the family at the park. And, lastly, the reception. Counting the engagement photos and the ones taken at the reception, she had taken close to three hundred pictures.

      After uploading the proofs to a password-protected website, she emailed the password to the bride.

      Rising, she stretched her back and shoulders, and went through the clutter on her desk, tossing old store receipts and out-of-date coupons. She made sure her cameras were in working order before putting them away, then wandered around the room. She was stalling, she thought, reluctant to enter the guest room again, even as she wondered how her guest was doing.

      Her guest. Hah. Some guest. The man was a vampire.

      A vampire! How was that even possible in this day and age? Or in any age? Should she call someone? Ghostbusters? An exorcist? The police? Who would believe her? Still, if they could see him lying there, unmoving and covered in blood, how could there be any doubt about what he was?

      Gathering her courage, she tiptoed down the hall and peered into the room. She watched him for a few moments, then quietly closed the door.

      In the kitchen, she made a turkey sandwich and carried it into