hum. Every Knight wore a similar pendant. Each one had been enchanted by a Dark Witch to alert the Knights to the presence of one or more of the Hungarian vampires.
Hatred burned like acid in his gut as he rushed forward, eager to destroy the beast who had killed two of his companions.
He had been ordered back to the Dark Wood to approve the initiation of two new Knights, but he had refused to obey. His twin brother had been one of the men the vampire had killed. He would not return to the Dark Wood until he had separated the vampire’s head from his body and burned the remains. Only then would his thirst for vengeance be satisfied.
He swore a vile oath as the medallion went silent, indicating the vampire had fled the area.
“I found you once,” he hissed, fingering the magical pendant at his throat. “I will not rest until I find you again. I swear it on my brother’s blood.”
Chapter 7
Callie lay awake long after she’d gone to bed, starting at every noise, every creak, as she replayed her conversation with Quill. He was six hundred years old. He could impregnate a human female. There were two kinds of vampires—his kind and the bloodthirsty ones who killed those they fed on. In spite of the aura of power that clung to him, he didn’t seem menacing—at least not to her. She wasn’t sure why he wanted to stay in her house when he had a lair of his own. Nor did she understand why she wasn’t more afraid of him, of what he was. So, he didn’t kill his prey. That didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of violence. She had seen ample proof of that in Hunter Park.
If not a child, what did he really want from her? And how was she to know if any of what he’d said was even true? For all she knew, maybe there was only one kind of vampire and he had invented the story of “his” kind in hopes of gaining her trust.
She tossed and turned all that night, and when sleep finally claimed her, she dreamed she was being chased by vampires—hideous bat-like creatures with inch-long fangs and hell-red eyes who pursued her through a dark, winding tunnel that had no end.
* * *
In the morning, Callie’s first thought was for Quill. She hadn’t heard him come in last night. Had he decided to return to his lair, wherever that might be? But when she tiptoed down the hall and peeked into the guest room, he was there.
Oh, Lordy, was he there! She gasped when she saw him. He was naked to the waist, the sheet covering his long legs. She couldn’t help staring at him, her gaze moving over the width of his shoulders, traveling down his broad chest to a firm belly ridged with muscle. It wasn’t so much the beauty of his physique that had her staring as the numerous thin white scars that crisscrossed his arms, chest, and belly. Were they all souvenirs of the night he had been attacked? If so, how had he ever survived?
Her gaze moved to his face. His brow was unlined, his cheekbones high and prominent, his nose a straight slash, his lips . . . she knew their contours, their taste. Even at rest, she could feel the aura of power that surrounded him.
Hoping to escape unnoticed, she took a step back, but it was too late. His gaze trapped hers, bringing a flush of heat to her cheeks and a flutter of excitement in the pit of her stomach.
He didn’t say anything, and neither did she. Silence stretched between them, so thick it was almost palpable.
Heart pounding so fast she thought she might faint, Callie moved into the room. One step. Two. And then she hesitated, waiting for some sign from Quill.
Sitting up, he swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. She was relieved to see that he had slept in his jeans.
With his gaze still on hers, he held out his arms.
It was all the invitation she needed. He gathered her close, his hand stroking her back while he rained feather-light kisses on her brow, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, before claiming her lips with his.
She stood nestled between his thighs, one hand resting over his heart, the other delving into the hair at his nape as he kissed her again and yet again. Time ceased to exist as he fell back on