Violently, Quinn shook his head and looked back down at Oliver.

“I won’t do this to you. I won’t abandon you like Wallace did. You understand that? You’re my son now.”

A son. God, how often had he dreamed of having a child, one that had the fair looks of its mother, of Rose. They could have been a happy family. But the war and what had happened on the battlefield had destroyed that dream.

In the distance the canons continued to thunder even though night had fallen already. Somewhere he heard drums, interrupted by screams of wounded men, dying men like himself. Quinn knew it was over. He’d fought, but this time, luck had deserted him. There would be no more decorations, no more medals, no more heroic deeds that would bring him closer to his goal of returning as a decorated war hero. All so Rose’s father would accept his suit.

He had gambled and lost.

Now he lay in a pool of his own blood, life slowly slipping from his grasp. He was cold and wet, and from what he’d witnessed on the battlefield over the last few months, he knew it was a sign that he didn’t have much time left.

“Rose,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I meant to keep my promise. I meant to come back to you.”

“Is she waiting for you?” a voice suddenly answered.

With difficulty, Quinn turned his head and saw the man who stood over him. He squinted. The man wasn’t a soldier but a civilian. The few times he’d seen him at the camp, he’d conducted business with some of the soldiers, and Quinn suspected that he was procuring whores for the privates. There was something commanding about him. An odd fellow, he’d always thought.

“Wallace, is it?” he asked.

The man nodded. “Does the lady love you?”

Quinn closed his eyes, pushing away the pain. “She professed it.”

“You promised her to come back?”

“Yes,” he choked out, at the same time wondering about the odd conversation he was having with a man he didn’t even know.

“Then you shouldn’t disappoint her.”

Quinn tried a mocking laugh, but all that escaped his throat was a helpless gurgle.

“Don’t talk. Just listen to me. I can save your life. But it will be different. You will only walk in the shadows, and the thirst for blood will be unbearable at first. But you’ll be alive, strong, almost invincible. And immortal.”

The words were outrageous, unbelievable. But Wallace looked serious.

“And if I say yes . . . if I agree, what do you want for this life?”

Nothing was free. He’d learned that long ago.

“A place to call home.”

“I have a small estate . . . ”

Wallace nodded his head. “That will do for now.” He crouched down. “When your heartbeat becomes so faint that it is barely there, I will feed you my blood.”

It was all Quinn remembered until he came to the next night. There was no pain, only the thirst for blood. The battlefield provided all the nourishment he needed.

He was different now, human no longer. But one thing that hadn’t changed was his love for Rose. With Wallace’s skill of mind control, a skill Quinn himself had yet to master, he secured an honorable discharge, which allowed him to return to England. Their travels were fraught with difficulties, since they could only travel at night and had to hide during the day. However, the need to see Rose, made everything bearable.

But Rose . . . she hadn’t loved him enough to see past what he was, what he had become to survive. He’d done it all so he could come back to her. And it was all for naught. Had he known, he would have chosen death instead.

Quinn hugged Oliver tighter, pumped his fist harder to make the blood spurt from his open wrist with more pressure. A moment later, Oliver stopped swallowing, his head rolling to the side.

Quinn’s heart stopped. Had Oliver had enough blood? Should he force him to take more?

He licked his own wrist to allow his saliva to close the puncture wounds then reached for the cell phone in his pocket. He speed dialed.

“Hey, can’t get enough of us, can you?” came Zane’s voice from the other end of the line.

“I need you now. I—”

“Whoa! I’m not sure Portia will like that kind of—”

“We had an accident,” Quinn interrupted, breathing hard. “Oliver’s dying. I’m turning him. I need help.”

Instantly, Zane’s voice was all business. “Where are you?”

“On Highway 1, about five minutes south of you. Use the GPS tracker.”

“On my way.”