Waking the Watcher

by Kim Loraine

  Gritting my teeth, I push past him. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “You know, the Watcher won’t let you control it forever. I’ve spent some time talking with Andrea. She’s dealt with them before. The longer they’re awake, the stronger they become.”

  I stop in my tracks. Why was he talking to his maker about me? “I didn’t ask you to share my personal business with anyone.”

  Pulling open the door of his car, Devin offers me a frustrated glance. “You’re in over your head, Galen. Andrea is over five hundred years old. She’s been around the block a few times. Anyway, I’ve invited her to stay for a few weeks. She’ll be here tonight.”

  “Are you joking? It’s my house.”

  “Just say thank you. Maybe we can figure out a way to get rid of the Watcher without neutering you. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  I stare at the ground for a moment, considering. That would be ideal. Then I could be with Reese without the fear of getting her pregnant, or worse, killing her.

  “Fine, thank you,” I bite out.

  “Now, get in this car so we can go find me someone to eat. I’m starved.”

  We drive the dark streets of Seattle, purposely bypassing the club Reese works for. Devin is in the mood for a young college girl, or boy. He doesn’t discriminate like I do. After we park, we wander Pioneer Square. I let Devin lead the way. He knows what he wants, and I’m effectively on lockdown until I see Reese again. The thumping beat of techno-pop pulls him in, and we walk through the open doors of a crowded dance club. It’s perfect for what Devin wants. The liquor is flowing; college kids are dancing so close they’re practically fucking on the dance floor.

  “Get us drinks, eh, Galen? You look suspicious just standing there.” He’s turned on a fake British accent already and is stalking the crowd, searching for willing prey.

  I order us each a scotch on the rocks and wait for him to return. We never drink … alcohol, but it’s more realistic if we’re holding something. I’ve gotten good at faking it over the years. The music is loud, and the lights too bright as they flash and spin amid the dancers. As I sit at the bar I check my phone, planning to send Reese another dirty text. A smile spreads across my lips as I read her response to my panty theft from yesterday.

  I type a new text.

  I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours with the smell of you on my skin. I want more.

  Now that I’ve given her access to my phone I’m hoping she’ll return my message and we can meet. I watch and wait, noticing when the message indicates she’s received and read my words. Any minute now. As I wait, a few women approach me, but I bat them away, making it clear I’m not interested.

  Five minutes go by, and she doesn’t answer me.

  I try again.

  Where are you? I want to come to you.

  No response.

  Frustration hits me hard. Last night, she was eager for me, even after I’d acted like a madman and attacked her friend. Now she ignores me? I don’t like games. I didn’t like them when I was alive, I don’t like them now. Slamming my drink down on the bar, I leave Devin to his own devices and storm out of the club. The cool air is a comfort to the fire of rejection burning in my chest. A sinking feeling grips me as I walk. She may be in trouble. Or sleeping. Maybe I’d fed too deeply after all.

  I run as fast as my legs will allow, blurring past the buildings, covering the distance in a few short minutes, until I stand outside her apartment building. Now that I’ve had her blood, I can sense her inside. She’s a million miles away but separated only by a few thin walls. Without thinking, I’ve sprinted to her door and am hammering on it.

  The tall, mocha-skinned woman I met last night opens the door, her brows raised and mouth agape. In an instant, her posture changes and she’s slamming the door in my face. I place my foot in the opening and stop her, angry and confused by her reaction.

  “I’m here for Reese.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re not seeing her.”

  My barely controlled anger bubbles up. “I’m sorry. Is your name Reese? I’m not asking your permission.”

  “You’re not going near her, you psycho fucker. Now back away before I call the cops.”

  Cops? What the fuck? This has gone completely upside down. “I know she’s in there. What’s going on?”

  “Of course you know she’s here, you fucking stalker. Now get the hell out. I’m dialing 911 right now. I’m serious, get out of our building.”

  I push past her and stride into the apartment, focusing on the pull I feel toward Reese’s presence. “Reese. Are you here?”

  She’s in her room. I can feel her heart beating. I knock softly, waiting for an answer.

  “Go away, Galen. Find someone else to stalk. Trisha’s not kidding. We’ll call the cops.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I’m no stalker. I hear her shifting on her bed and have to work to keep the Watcher at bay. The image of her on her knees before me flashes in my memory, and an ache takes hold in my crotch. The Watcher pushes back, trying desperately to get out, to take over.

  “I’m not a stalker,” I say, sounding like an idiot.

  “I don’t want to see you. Don’t call me, don’t text. Just leave me alone.”

  I can feel her despair. It comes off her in waves. How did this happen? I press my palm to the thin wood door, knowing I could break it down with ease. “Reese, open the door.” I have no way to get to her without terrifying her. If I could just see her, hold her to me, she’d remember how it feels to be with me.

  A throat clears behind me, and I realize Trisha has been watching the entire exchange. She’s holding a phone in one hand and has her other propped on her hip.

  “I’m dialing,” Trisha warns.

  This is Trisha’s fault. She’s keeping me from Reese. I can take care of her with one swift twist of her head. Her neck would snap like a twig, and then she’d be out of the way and I could have Reese to myself. I take a step toward the woman, ready to end her. Something inside my head makes me pause. This is the Watcher again. The need to tear apart any adversary is strong and unreasonable. If I hurt Trisha, Reese would never forgive me.

  Shaking my head, I storm out of the apartment, anger heating my blood.

  “Fuck,” I snarl as my phone rings.

  Answering, I work to control my tone. “What?”

  “Well, hello to you too.” Devin’s words are slightly slurred. He’s fed, and whoever he drank from was either high or drunk, a favorite of his.

  “What do you need, Devin?”

  “I’m ready to go, but you took my keys, you Irish bastard.” He lets out a high-pitched giggle. “Ha! See what I did there? It’s funny because you’re Irish, and you’re really a bastard. You know, because your mom wasn’t married to your dad.”

  “Hilarious. Stay put. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  He hangs up before answering me, and I clench my jaw as I work to control my frustration. I don’t begrudge him the opportunity for a little oblivion. Right now, I’d like the same. Maybe that’s what I should do. Find myself a willing junkie and get high off her blood. I’ve done it once before, and it was fun, not as mind-blowing as anything I’ve done with Reese, but still fun. I need a little fun to distract me from the fact that Reese wants nothing to do with me.

  As I approach the club where I’d left Devin, I see him leaning against the brick facade of the building, loose-limbed and blissed-out.

  “Hey, you ready?” I ask.

  He nods. “Andrea should be at the house soon. You think she’ll notice I’m drunk?”

  I help him into the car and slide behind the steering wheel. As I start the engine, he giggles again. “You’re a bastard.”

  Punching him in the arm gives me a small bit of satisfaction. “You’re a drunk.”

  “Only for the next thirty minutes. Then I’ll be back to normal, boring Devin the vampire.” He laughs. “Devin the vampire. What the fuck is that? It’s almost as bad as Galen the inc
ubus. You should be Galen the lucky fucking leprechaun.”

  “I’m starting to get annoyed now, Devin. You might want to shut your trap.”

  He pouts at me. “Aw, did I hurt the little incubus’s feelings? Did I make you cry?”

  “I’m serious.”

  Something in my manner must show him I mean business, because he turns away, staring out the window in silence.

  “Reese thinks I’m a stalker. She’s thrown me over,” I say, still staring straight ahead.

  “Guess your cock isn’t magically delicious,” he offers before erupting in uncontrollable laughter.

  I’m going to kill him.

  I can’t decide if I’ve made a mistake or not. Staring at my phone, I will it to beep with a text alert. I haven’t heard from Galen in over a week, and something doesn’t feel right about that. The more I think about how he was with me, the more I worry I might have jumped to conclusions. Sure, he’s intense and possessive, but he’s also stayed away since I told him that’s what I wanted. Would a stalker do that? I don’t think so.

  I’ve dreamt of him a few times, always waking aroused and wishing he was with me. Once, I even pulled my phone off the charger and started dialing his number. It was only when I realized the time that I stopped myself. I’m sure he wouldn’t be happy with a two a.m. booty call. I love Trisha, and we’ve been friends since I moved to Seattle, but I think she’s wrong this time. I feel it in my bones. Unable to sleep, I spent the rest of the night reading a raunchy romance. Bad choice.

  I pass the morning doing chores, catching up on my laundry, and trying to distract myself until I need to go to work. There’s always plenty to do around my apartment. Trisha is something of a hoarder. As I tidy up in the living room, I toss out seventeen magazines and twelve cardboard coasters from various bars. She’d be using newspapers as end tables if I didn’t live here.

  My phone stays silent, taunting me for the rest of the day.

  I go through the motions at work, trying to squash down the hope that Galen will walk through the door. I’d called him a stalker, and now I want him to show up. What is wrong with me? No wonder men are always confused about what women want.

  “Reese, hello?” Barnes waves a hand in front of my face. “Are you even listening to a word I’m saying?”

  I blink, focusing on him. “I’m sorry, I zoned out. What’s up?”

  “What’s up? Are you kidding? We’ve got two sold-out sets tonight, and you want to know what’s up.” Annoyance coloring his tone, he hands me the incoming act’s rider. “Look over this again and make sure nothing got missed. Last weekend, we, as in I, got reamed because we, as in you, forgot two items on Buddy Valentine’s rider.”

  “He wanted habu sake. I’m not even sure that’s legal in the US,” I protest.

  “Is that the crazy snake wine from Japan?”

  I nod.

  Throwing up his hands, he huffs out a breath. “Whatever. I don’t want this place to get the reputation of a club that won’t accommodate the talent. We’ve just started getting top-tier acts.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll triple-check and make sure we’ve provided everything they want.”

  Giving my shoulder a squeeze, he mutters his thanks and walks away. I’m left holding a five-page rider to look over and two hours to fix any mistakes.

  By the time the show is over, my legs feel like they have bricks attached to them at the ankles instead of feet. Every step hurts as I trudge to my car. My phone buzzes insistently from my purse, sending my blood racing, and, damn it all, I can’t help but hope it’s Galen. My hope dies when I see the text is from Trisha.

  Meet me at Cowgirls Inc. New male bartenders. HAF.

  I sigh. I don’t care if the bartenders are, as Trisha says, hot as fuck. I want to go home, run a hot bath, and lose myself in that smutty romance novel I’ve been reading.

  My phone buzzes again.

  No is not an option. You need to get out and live. Besides, I’m already drunk, and I need you to drive me home.

  Biting my bottom lip, I type a quick reply and start my car. There’s no way I can leave Trisha without a designated driver, and she knows it. Besides, it could be fun, and I suppose I do need some action in my life.

  The club is rowdy. That’s the only way to describe it. Country music blares, and the bartenders—all female, Trisha is such a liar—are dancing a saucy line dance on top of the worn oak bar. I scan the crowd for Trisha, frowning when I can’t immediately find her. As the ladies dancing on the bar hop down, I sidle up to join the line of patrons waiting to order. I need some kind of drink in my hand so I don’t stick out like a sore thumb.

  “Can I buy you a drink, gorgeous?” A very attractive man with sandy-blond hair and deep brown irises looks at me with a crooked smile.

  I look around, sure he’s not talking to me. When he asks again, I swallow my disbelief.

  “Oh, no thanks. I’m driving tonight.”

  His smile reveals small crinkles around the corners of his eyes, a light filling them making them look less like Galen’s. When one of the bartenders finally addresses our end of the bar, he orders me a water and a whiskey sour for himself.

  “I’m Thomas,” he offers, holding out a hand.

  I shake his hand, which is warm and dry, and feel a little jolt of attraction pass between us.

  “Reese,” I answer.

  “Nice to meet you, Reese. Are you a student at the UW?”

  He says it, you-dub, just like a local, but he’s got a soft Southern accent that betrays his roots and adds even more charm.

  I shake my head. “Nope. I’m a transplant from the East Coast. I work at a jazz club close to the city center.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Singer?”

  I can feel heat on my cheeks. “No, no. I manage the talent. Trust me, you don’t want to hear me sing.”

  A laugh escapes him. Easy and confident. “Me either. I was in a play in third grade, and the music teacher eventually had to tell me to just mouth the words because I was so bad. I had the projection part of performance down, but being tone deaf really screwed things up.”

  I like this. He’s just a nice, normal guy. There’s nothing crazy about him. No need for hot monkey sex up against the wall, no insane urge to let him plow me as hard as he possibly can while I scream his name. Hmm. I can’t help but feel a little deflated by that notion.

  “Want to dance?” he asks, and I notice the song has changed to a classic rock favorite of mine.

  Shrugging, I smile and take his offered arm. “Sure.”

  As he leads me to the mass of dancing bodies, I catch sight of Trisha. She’s found herself a piece of what she’d call sexy man candy. Tossing back a shot, she waves at me and gestures to Thomas with a wink and a lascivious grin. Thank God he can’t see her. We dance, gradually moving closer to each other as the song continues. His hands start out light on my waist, practically hovering over my body rather than touching. Then, as we get more comfortable, he begins exploring my hips and pulling me closer. The song ends, but he keeps me with him, pulling me closer still when the next song starts and the mood becomes decidedly more sensual. His fingers run up and down the base of my spine, and he leans in to kiss me. His lips are soft, gentle, with none of the passion or urgency of Galen’s. I don’t know how I feel about this. It’s not bad. But it’s not that manic, fiery, crazed need either.

  His hands move to cup my cheeks as he deepens the kiss, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Someone is watching, I can sense it. Turning my face away and breaking the kiss, I see him.

  Galen.

  His expression is a mask of hurt and anger, burning with pained fury. My heart jumps into my throat as he pushes through the crowd, and for a moment, I think he’s coming to confront us. Instead, he and his buddy wade through the sea of people and leave.

  I push away from Thomas, an apology lined up for him.

  “Was that guy your boyfriend? He looked really pissed.”

  I sha
ke my head, pulling my phone from my pocket so I can text Trisha that I’m ready to leave. “Not really. Just part of a complicated mess I’ve gotten myself into.”

  He slips my phone from my hand and programs his number into my contacts list. “Here. In case things get uncomplicated.”

  I take my phone back and smile. “Thanks.”

  I don’t think my life is ever going to be uncomplicated again.

  White-hot rage grips my chest and threatens to explode out of me as I watch Reese kissing another man. She is mine. Every fiber of my being screams at the wrongness of seeing her lips melded with his. The Watcher pushes, pulsing and growing stronger as I give in to my fury. How could she want someone else when I am so consumed with wanting her?

  “Okay there, buddy? We need to make tracks right now before you go on a rampage and put this place on the morning news,” Devin says, his tone the kind of calm reserved for crazies.

  I snap my glare away when she locks gazes with me. I can’t take the fear in them. Steadying myself, I work to control the Watcher, knowing I can keep it at bay and that once I’m away from her, it will be better. That instinct to sink deep inside her and claim her as mine again will die down to a smolder rather than the inferno I’m dealing with now. I head for the door, parting the people with my angry gaze alone.

  As the sounds of the bar dim and are replaced by the rush of cars and the laughter of groups of drunk club hoppers, I fight for control of my mind. How much of this is the Watcher? There’s an ache in my heart, an empty feeling where my soul should be. I don’t think that’s just the fallen angel inside me. Knowing Reese willingly kissed that guy, that she let him touch her the way I touched her, leaves me feeling like I’ve been kicked in the gut.

  “Shit. I know you said she’s having second thoughts, but it looks like she’s moved on completely.” Devin’s rasp is thick as he takes a deep drag on a cigarette and exhales. “What a bitch.”

  In less than a second, I’m on him, one hand encircling his throat. “Don’t ever talk about her like that.”

  He just peels my death grip off his neck like it was nothing. “Pull it together. Your lover spurned you. She’s back on the prowl.”