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