Watchers in the Night

by Jenna Black

  Gray groaned and tried to twitch his shoulder out of her grip. Carolyn rolled her eyes and gave him another shake. “Come on already! It’s the middle of the afternoon.” His eyes fluttered and he groaned again.

  “G’way,” he mumbled, turning onto his side facing away from her.

  She shook him more vigorously and he rolled onto his back again. His eyes were open, but just barely. He mumbled something else, but she couldn’t understand him.

  “Time to wake up,” she said. “Do you need me to make you a cup of coffee?”

  He blinked, reaching up to rub his eyes, but despite the movement, he didn’t look any more awake. “Tired,” he said, and his eyes slid closed again.

  “Oh no you don’t,” she said, and a little hint of worry returned. What was the matter with him? He batted her hand out of the way without opening his eyes. She reached out to touch his forehead, wondering if perhaps he were feverish. Another incoherent protest escaped him. “Gray, what’s wrong?” she asked, keeping her voice relatively steady despite the hint of panic that threatened to take over.

  “Hangover,” he said, and he sounded like he was talking in his sleep. “G’way!”

  She finally understood that to mean “go away,” but she wasn’t at all sure what to make of this. A hangover that had kept him in bed all day? A chill crept up her spine. Drugs, maybe? Was that the secret he was trying so hard to hide? She touched a finger to his throat, feeling his strong, steady pulse. She tried to check his pupils to make sure they weren’t dilated, but he woke up enough to growl “stop that” and roll away. Gray started snoring softly and she stared at him.

  He didn’t seem to be in any immediate danger, she supposed, but it wouldn’t hurt to poke around a little and try to see what he had taken. She couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and brush away a lock of hair that dangled over his forehead. She thought she heard a quiet sigh of contentment at her touch, but maybe that was just her imagination.

  The most obvious place to check was the bathroom, but she saw no signs of drugs in there, not even in the medicine cabinet. Which was very strange. Not only did she not find any illegal drugs, she didn’t find any drugs. No aspirin, no Turns, no antihistamines. Weird.

  She made a thorough check of the two bedside tables, but again found nothing. Next, she tried the downstairs powder room, to no avail. Maybe in the kitchen? She returned to the scene of her earlier break-in.

  It was a bachelor’s kitchen, to be sure, although unlike most bachelors he didn’t have dirty dishes stacked in the sink. There was no sign of any food on the counters, and although there was a teapot on the stove, the layer of dust that coated it suggested it hadn’t been used in ages. Carolyn opened the cupboards and found prissy-looking china as dusty as the teapot. It occurred to her that not only had she not found drugs, she hadn’t found alcohol either. Just what kind of hangover was this? She supposed he could have gotten drunk or high somewhere else, but if he tended to such habits, she would have expected to find some evidence in his home.

  Another cupboard held glasses. These were surprisingly clean, compared to the rest of the dishes. Carolyn was getting a distinctly uneasy feeling, but she couldn’t put a name to it.

  A narrow door in the corner opened onto a pantry. An empty pantry. She chewed her lip and frowned. She hadn’t once seen Gray buy anything but milk at the store. Nor had she seen him go out to dinner or order take-out, which had led her to assume he kept his pantry well-stocked.

  When was he eating? Not during the daytime, when she’d never seen him leave the house. And apparently not at night, as he didn’t seem to have food supplies. It just didn’t make sense!

  She turned to face the refrigerator. Maybe he only ate fresh food, food that had to be kept in the fridge. Yeah, but then why are all the plates dusty? she asked herself. More unnerved than she had any right to be, she pulled open the refrigerator door.

  JULES PACED THE LIBRARY in quick, angry strides as he waited for Eli to make an appearance. Fury and grief had roused him long before sunset, and his advanced age had allowed him to venture forth into the fading daylight—swathed head to toe like a devout Muslim wife. He’d shown up at Eli’s doorstep maybe a half hour before sunset, demanding entrance. Eli had let him in, then instructed him to wait in the damn library. Jules had controlled his temper until the lock clicked shut and he realized Eli had locked him in. He’d cursed the Founder with the foulest Québécois epithets he knew, then repeated them all in English just for the hell of it, but he doubted Eli had hung around to listen.

  Jules stopped his pacing for a moment to pound on the door until his fist hurt. “Eli!” he shouted. “Let me out of here, you bastard!” A small, rational corner of his brain told him that he was demonstrating the very explosion of temper that had prompted Eli to lock him in; but that didn’t seem to help him regain his self-control. He kicked a small side table, sending it crashing into the wall.

  He should have skipped this little trip to Eli’s, should have gone straight to Gray’s house and ripped the fucker’s heart out! God, how he wished he had Gray’s mealy face in front of him right now. He wouldn’t kill him quickly, that’s for sure. That killer of innocents would suffer more than he ever thought possible. It wouldn’t really avenge poor, sweet Courtney, but it was the best Jules could do.

  It felt like hours that he paced that claustrophobic library, powerless to control the rage that coursed through his blood. But when Eli finally unlocked the door and stepped in, Jules sensed that the sun still had not set, so it couldn’t have been long at all.

  The fury and the thirst for vengeance were so overpowering that Jules had to suppress an urge to lunge for the Founder’s throat. Aside from being an incredibly stupid thing to do, it would never work. That realization helped quell the urge.

  Eli stood in the doorway and folded his arms, his face devoid of emotion. “Control the beast,” he said, and his voice conveyed both warning and command. “Your anger is awakening it.”

  “Vas te faire mettre!” Jules snarled. He hated it when Eli went all Yoda-like! Even when the bastard was right. Especially when the bastard was right.

  “Be careful, Jules. You’re standing on the brink of a precipice. I’d hate to see you fall in.”

  Jules’s breath came in short gasps, and he wanted desperately to hit something. He clenched his fists as tightly as he could, making his knuckles ache. “He killed Courtney! I have a right to revenge!”

  “You don’t know that. You’re just making an assumption.”

  “Damn it, Eli—”

  “You’re never safe from the hunger, no matter how long you’ve kept it under control. If you let it control you now, you may never get your humanity back. It’s not the human part of you that wants to kill without proof. Is it worth losing yourself to slake the beast’s thirst?”

  Jules found himself shaking as Eli’s words wormed their way into his consciousness. Now that he knew what to look for, he felt the beast within him stirring, uncoiling, ready to strike. That realization chilled him, and with that chill came a modicum of calm. He swallowed hard and unclenched his fists.

  Eli stepped closer, watching him with intense concentration. Jules felt as if the Founder were poking about in the dark shadows of his psyche, trying to read his future. Another chill shivered through him. If Eli decided he was losing his humanity, that he would succumb to the bloodlust and become a Killer, he would never leave this house alive.

  “He escaped my surveillance last night,” Jules said, hoping his voice sounded cool and rational. “And we’ve … had words lately.”

  Eli snorted, a hint of a grin playing about his lips. “And this is something new?”

  The sarcasm eased a bit more of the tension out of Jules’s shoulders, and when he spoke he was certain he sounded more like himself. “What are the chances it’s a coincidence that he slips away and my girlfriend is murdered on the same night?”

  “I agree it looks bad. But I don’t believe Gray James is stupid, and
only a fool would kill your girl and then advertise to you that he’d gotten out of the house without being seen. If he’d slipped back in the way he’d slipped out, you’d never have known.”

  Jules shook his head. “Why do you have such a soft spot for him? It’s not like he’s a Guardian. It’s not like he contributes anything to any society, mortal or vampire. He’s done nothing but sulk and feel sorry for himself since the moment we saved his pathetic life, and yet you always stand up for him.”

  Eli sighed. “It’s not him I’m standing up for in particular. But Jules, I founded the Guardians not just to destroy the Killers, but to save the fledglings who could still be saved. And until I’m one hundred percent certain he can’t be saved, I will fight for Gray James and anyone else who’s had the misfortune to be transformed.”

  Now it was Jules’s turn to sigh. He felt like a toddler having a temper tantrum in comparison to Eli’s supreme calm and noble vision. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the sweat that beaded his forehead. Everything Eli said was true, and though he hated Gray with renewed strength, he vowed he would not play vigilante. Maybe some part of him had known this already and that’s why he’d come to Eli first instead of confronting Gray immediately.

  “I’m sorry, Eli,” he forced himself to say.

  Eli dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “Not your fault, my boy.” He gestured Jules into a chair, taking his own seat across from him. “You have to accept that no matter how well you may control the beast, it is still there. You are no longer fully human, and you never will be again.”

  Jules winced at the prognosis, but it was nothing he hadn’t discovered on his own.

  “You can’t help the visceral, aggressive reactions. Why do you think you and Gray hate each other, anyway?”

  Jules sneered. “I hate him because he’s an asshole who’d rather tuck his head in the sand and feel sorry for himself than try to make the world a better place!”

  Eli’s smile was gently condescending. “If you say so.”

  “Just what are you implying?”

  Eli seemed to think about that a moment before answering. “Vampires are not naturally social creatures, my friend. We’re apex predators, territorial and competitive. That I’ve been able to create the Guardians, convince them to work together, and prevent them from killing each other is a minor miracle. You and Gray are simply reacting to that natural antipathy.”

  There had to be more to it than that, Jules thought but didn’t say. After all, he didn’t react so viscerally to any of the other Guardians, with the possible exception of Drake. Still, none of that mattered right now.

  “Never mind,” he said. “You can psychoanalyze me later. At the moment, I want to know what you’re going to do about the murder.”

  Eli gave him another long, assessing look. “Answer me honestly, Jules—can you keep yourself under control?”

  Jules did him the courtesy of thinking about that for a moment, poking at his rage and seeing if it threatened to take over again. But though the rage still simmered, and though he still harbored strong suspicions that Gray had killed Courtney, Eli had instilled enough doubt that Jules believed he could control himself.

  “I won’t kill him without proof,” he promised.

  Eli nodded as if satisfied. “Very well, then. I suggest you stop by his house and ask him what he was up to last night. And make sure he shows you his bolt hole and where it comes out. I guess I’ll have to assign a second Guardian to the surveillance team each night, but it can’t be helped.”

  “All right.” Jules stood, ready to see himself out. His senses told him the sun was almost down, which meant Gray would be up and about at any moment. He turned his back and took a couple of steps toward the door.

  “Oh, Jules?” Eli said, and Jules stopped to look over his shoulder. “I don’t appreciate being told to go fuck myself. In the future, please watch your language.”

  To his chagrin, Jules felt the blood rush to his face. It had never occurred to him that the Founder knew Québécois. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, Eli.” Then he hurried out.

  9

  CAROLYN PULLED UP A chair and sat beside Gray’s bed, setting the green glass bottle on the bedside table. Her stomach turned over at the thought of what that bottle contained, but she managed to hold off the nausea.

  She let out a slow, deep breath as she tried to make sense of the impossible.

  Gray apparently never ventured out in the daytime. His house was dark as a tomb. He’d gained strength, and his reflexes were suddenly blinding. She couldn’t get him to wake up, and despite his claim of a hangover, she’d found no alcohol in the house. And, his refrigerator was stocked with bottles of … blood.

  This ridiculous trail of evidence led to an even more ridiculous conclusion. Surely there had to be some more reasonable explanation.

  Carolyn stared at the bottle of blood and wondered what rational explanation could possibly explain that away. Then she looked at Gray’s pale, pale face as he continued to sleep away the afternoon. What had happened to the man she’d once loved?

  She glanced at her watch and was startled to see how the time had gotten away from her. It was six o’clock already! If her absolutely absurd suspicion were correct, then Gray should be waking up any moment now. But of course, her suspicion couldn’t be correct, because vampires didn’t exist.

  Perhaps Gray was merely insane, in desperate need of professional attention.

  Carolyn practically jumped out of her chair when Gray moaned and stirred. Her mouth went dry and she grabbed the arms of her chair with white-knuckled hands as he reached up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

  The vague, sleepy look on his face disappeared in a heartbeat, and he sat up abruptly, turning to face her as the covers slid down his torso. Despite everything, she couldn’t help taking a quick glance at the lean, toned body this revealed. Then she wrenched her eyes away and focused on the bottle. Gray followed her gaze, then cursed under his breath.

  He ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair, huffing out a deep breath. He met her eyes, and she couldn’t read his expression at all.

  “What are you doing here, Carolyn?”

  “I’d been calling you all day and didn’t get an answer. I got worried.” She bit her lip, wishing she hadn’t admitted that, but Gray hardly seemed to notice.

  “So you broke into my house and started snooping.” Now she could read his expression, and it was one of anger.

  “I don’t think you’re in the position to throw any stones right now, Gray.” Once again, she stared at the bottle of blood, her stomach threatening to rebel.

  “That really needs to stay in the refrigerator or it’ll go bad,” he said, his voice so bland Carolyn wanted to scream.

  “That’s all you have to say for yourself? I find bottles of blood in your fridge and all you care about is that I keep them cold for you?”

  He swung his legs over the side of the bed, keeping the comforter clutched to his middle. No pajamas, she noted, and hated herself for it.

  “What do you want me to say?” he asked softly.

  “I want you to explain what the hell is going on.”

  He nodded. “But you already have a damn good idea.”

  Her gorge rose, and she swallowed hard. This had to be some kind of dream! “I don’t know what to think.”

  “Yes you do. You just don’t like it.”

  “You’re insane.” It came out a choked whisper, and it occurred to her to worry that his insanity made him dangerous.

  He snorted. “Believe what you like. But those others you’ve seen watching me … they share the same delusion, and they’re dangerous, which is why I’ve tried so hard to convince you to leave me alone.”

  She wished she would wake up from this damn dream. Immediately! But in her heart of hearts, she knew this wasn’t a dream, and though her mind still balked at the conclusions the evidence indicated, that didn’t make the conclusions go away.

  She jerk
ed her chin at the bottle, unable to suppress a grimace of disgust. “You actually drink that?”

  He sighed heavily, his face mirroring her own disgust. “Mixed with milk. Yes. And it’s lamb blood, not human, in case you’re wondering.”

  She blinked. “And where the hell do you get bottles of lamb blood? I very much doubt the Zip Mart carries it.”

  His lips twitched at that, but he suppressed the expression before it became a smile. “It’s a long story, Carolyn.”

  She crossed her arms and gave him her most stubborn glare. “I think I deserve to hear it, don’t you?”

  Gray rubbed his face with both hands. The movement allowed the comforter to slide down a little farther, revealing washboard abs. Again, Carolyn felt an inappropriate tug of desire, but she tried as best she could to ignore it.

  “Let’s make a deal,” he said, raising his head from his hands. “You put the bottle back in the fridge, then I’ll tell you the truth. As much of it as you can stomach.”

  She didn’t relish touching that bottle again, nor did she relish the idea of opening the fridge and seeing the other bottles lined up in the door. But if that was what it took to get Gray talking, then she would do it.

  Without a word, she picked up the bottle, holding it gingerly by the neck, and headed downstairs.

  GRAY CURSED REPEATEDLY UNDER his breath as he slipped out of bed and pulled on some clothes. He should have known Carolyn wouldn’t sit passively on the sidelines. No matter how badly he disapproved of her profession, he had to admit she was damned good at it. He should never have let her catch sight of him! She could have taken out that street punk on her own if he hadn’t come barging in like a frigging hero.

  Now she knew. He saw it in her eyes. Oh, she wanted to tell herself he was a nutcase, but she couldn’t help but put together the pieces of the puzzle. She’d noticed his increased strength and quickness, she’d recognized the daylight sleep for what it was.

  All too soon, he heard her footsteps as she mounted the stairs once more. What were the chances that after she’d heard the story, knew what she was up against, she’d beat a strategic retreat? He almost laughed at the thought