Читать книгу Enchant the Night - Amanda Ashley - Страница 11

Chapter 3

At home, Callie couldn’t relax. She tried to watch a movie, only to turn it off and reach for a book, which she soon put aside. A cup of hot chocolate didn’t help to calm her nerves. Neither did a warm bubble bath or a lavender-scented candle.

Clad in her favorite PJs, she paced the living room floor, unable to forget or understand the odd sensation that had thrummed through her when she’d met the stranger’s eyes—some weird connection she couldn’t explain or deny, almost as if his soul had touched hers.

She told herself that was ridiculous. She didn’t believe in psychic soul mates or love at first sight, although what she felt was far from love. The man was stalking her, and that scared her to death. What if he wanted to bite her again?

What if, as Vivian had so flippantly suggested, he really was a vampire?

She dismissed that thought out of hand, but having once considered it, it kept sneaking back in. He certainly looked like a vampire. Long, dark hair. Long, black coat. Hypnotic eyes.

She shook her head. Nobody believed in vampires these days, not when there were so many other, scarier, things to be afraid of.

Mentally exhausted, she stretched out on the sofa. Unable to get comfortable, she shuffled into the bedroom, slid under the covers, and closed her eyes....

And he was there. A tall, broad-shouldered man with mesmerizing deep-gray eyes and thick, brown hair so dark it was almost black. A jagged white scar started at the edge of his jaw, ran down his neck, and disappeared beneath his shirt collar.

She shivered as his gaze caught and held hers, stood frozen as he glided toward her.

Callie. He whispered her name, drawing it out like a caress.

The sound of his voice did funny things in the pit of her stomach. When he extended his hand toward her, she was helpless to do anything but go to him. She whimpered when he took her in his arms.

His gaze searched her face. Who are you? he asked, his voice filled with a note of wonder. What are you?

She stared up at him, not knowing what to say.

He trailed his knuckles along her cheek and down the length of her neck, then ran his fingertips over her lips. His touch, as light as butterfly wings, sent a frisson of desire racing through her.

Callie. Just her name. A single word filled with intense longing.

When he brushed her hair aside and lowered his head to her throat, she trembled from head to foot, whether from fear or anticipation, she couldn’t say. His breath was hot against her skin.

She moaned softly when he bit her, surprised by the warmth that swept through her in wave after wave of sensual pleasure. He was a stranger, and yet it felt like the most natural thing in the world to be in his arms, to press her body to his. She felt bereft when he lifted his head, would have cried his name, had she known it. Would have begged him not to stop. Tears burned her eyes when he kissed her lightly, then vanished from sight....

Callie woke abruptly, her cheeks damp with tears, her whole body quivering for his touch.

* * *

Lost in thought, Quill stood outside the woman’s house. He had intended to call her to him and dispose of her, but when his mind touched hers, he had discovered she was dreaming about him. It had taken little effort to merge his thoughts with hers. He didn’t know what had surprised him more, the fact that she was dreaming of him—or that he soon became as aroused as she. Dream or no dream, he had never felt such desire, such intense longing for any other woman.

Moving to the back of the house, he used his preternatural powers to open the bedroom window. Though the room was dark, he saw her clearly. She slept on her side, facing him, lips slightly parted, one hand beneath her cheek, the blankets bunched around her hips.

Callie.

She stirred but didn’t wake.

We need to meet.

She nodded in her sleep.

I’ll be waiting for you in Hunter Park tomorrow, just after sundown. Come to me.

Who are you?

Quill. Remember, Hunter Park. Tomorrow, after sundown.

She didn’t answer, but a faint smile of anticipation curved her lips.

* * *

Callie woke slowly, only to lie in bed staring up at the ceiling and listening to the melody of the wind chimes outside her window. Grandma Ava had told her that wind chimes drove away evil spirits.

Turning on her side, she frowned. She’d had the most peculiar dream, by turns unsettling and erotic. Strangest of all was the feeling that she needed to go to the park near her house tonight after sundown, though she couldn’t imagine why.

Shrugging it off, she slipped out of bed and wandered into the living room. It was Monday and she didn’t have anything scheduled for the day.

The morning stretched before her. Ordinarily, she would have been happy to have the time off, but not today. Today, she needed something to keep her from dwelling on the bizarre happenings of the weekend.

Shuffling into the kitchen, she fixed tea and toast for breakfast, then sat at the table, her mind replaying the dream she’d had the night before. Was he real, that strange, sexy man in the long, black coat, or just a figment of her all-too-vivid imagination? And if he did exist, who the devil was he? Maybe the Devil himself, she thought, fighting down a burst of hysterical laughter.

“Quill.” His name fell from her lips. How on earth did she know that?

The rest of the day passed in a blur. She vaguely remembered making her bed, talking to Vivian on the phone, thumbing through one of her photography magazines, eating lunch. But always in the back of her mind was the memory of her dream and the sound of a man’s voice in her head, calling her name, telling her to meet him in the park after sundown.

She was becoming obsessed, she thought. Obsessed with a shadow man.

As the sun set, she pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater, stepped into a pair of boots, and headed for Hunter Park. She told herself she must be crazy, going to meet a stranger in the park at night.

But it didn’t keep her home.

* * *

Anticipation flowed through Quill as he watched the woman enter the park, a wary expression on her face as she strolled along the winding path that led to the fountain in the center. How long had it been since he had known this sense of excitement? A hundred years? Two? It pulsated through him, making him feel vital and alive again, as if he were a young man filled with the juices of life.

She was incredibly lovely, her figure slender and ripe, her skin glowing with good health.

She came to an abrupt halt when he stepped out of the shadows. Eyes wide and afraid, she stared up at him.

“Callie.”

She swallowed hard, then nodded. It was him. She would recognize that deep, whiskey-smooth voice anywhere. He wasn’t a figment of her imagination, after all. He was tall and broad-shouldered and exuded an air of strength and power that was frightening in its intensity. Why had she come here? Everything within her urged her to turn around and run from his presence just as fast as she could, but she seemed unable to move. She could only stand there, looking up at him, feeling small and helpless as his dark-gray eyes moved over her. Questions tumbled through her mind, but she couldn’t find the courage or her voice to ask them.

A wry smile turned up one corner of his mouth. It sent a shiver of awareness down her spine as she remembered the feel of his lips on hers when he’d kissed her. It had only been a dream, she reminded herself, but it had felt so real.

She flinched when he reached for her, yet seemed incapable of resisting when he drew her into the circle of his arms. He held her lightly, his hand idly stroking up and down her back.

“You needn’t be afraid,” he murmured. “I won’t hurt you.”

At his words, all the tension drained out of her. She had no idea why she believed him, yet she was no longer frightened. Feeling as if she had come home after a long journey, she closed her eyes. A sigh escaped her lips when his tongue laved the skin beneath her ear. She clung to his shoulders when he bit her ever so gently.

He’s drinking my blood.

The thought should have frightened her. Repulsed her. Instead, it filled her with a sense of peace and a familiar wave of sensual pleasure.

Her eyelids fluttered open when he lifted his head.

“Meet me here again tomorrow night, my sweet Callie,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear.

And then, between one heartbeat and the next, he was gone.

Callie glanced around the park, but there was no sign of him. How had he disappeared so quickly? She lifted a hand to her neck. If not for the faint tingling where he had bitten her, she would have sworn she’d imagined the whole thing.

Lost in thought, she turned and headed for home.

* * *

Curled up in the easy chair beside the small, brick fireplace, Callie tried to make sense of everything that had happened earlier, but to no avail. Feeling suddenly weary, she closed her eyes, felt her body go limp as long-forgotten memories of her childhood paraded through her mind.

Things like her paternal grandmother, Martha, telling six-year-old Callie that her parents had been killed in an auto accident and that she would be going to live with her maternal grandmother, Ava.

Grandfather Henry refusing to hold her or let her visit them because she was left-handed and he believed that was a sure sign of a changeling child. He claimed her presence in their house would cause some terrible catastrophe. Callie had never seen her paternal grandparents again.

Her maternal grandmother, Ava Langley, making a mystical sign of some kind over Callie each night before she went to sleep. Ava and three of her cronies had performed strange rituals in the light of a full moon. Sometimes Callie had been included; sometimes she watched in secret from her bedroom window. She had vague memories of Ava whispering in her ear that she would understand everything when she was older.

Callie had grown up firmly believing that Grandmother Ava was a witch, even though Ava had adamantly denied it. Callie continued to believe it until she went to high school and discovered boys were far more interesting than four old ladies behaving strangely whenever the moon was full. College courses had convinced her that there were no such things as witches or warlocks or magic spells and that everything could be explained logically and scientifically if one only took the time to think it through.

She had been eight or nine when she’d tried to perform one of Ava’s spells, but instead of turning water to hot chocolate, she had started a fire that had burned her grandmother’s garage to the ground and scorched the backyard fence. That was the last time Callie had tried her hand at magic. Funny how she had forgotten about that until now.

Grandma Ava had passed away in her sleep at the ripe old age of a hundred and six. Callie had been on holiday in France at the time. When she’d returned home, she’d discovered that Ava had left her only heir a tidy nest egg and the house she had grown up in.

Yawning, Callie stretched her arms over her head, wondering what had made her think of those things now. Too tired to care, she took a quick shower and went to bed.

She was on the verge of sleep when she heard Grandmother Ava’s voice whisper in the back of her mind.

Be careful, Callie. You’re on dangerous ground.