The Watcher

by Jeanne C. Stein

  It's all I need to know. I race down the path. I want to surprise this Simon Fisher. Give him something to take his mind off his victim. Something he'll want more than a mortal woman. Something better.

  At the bottom yawns the entrance to the first sea cave. It's open, hollow, allowing a straight shot through the sand to the sea. It's the way most beach goers head. Unless you knew what else was down here, you'd miss it. To the left, behind a jagged outcropping of rock that looks solid, is another entrance. Invisible, dark, forbidding. Behind it, I pick up steady footfalls, heavy treads, someone carrying a burden. And soft, uneven breathing.

  Vampires don't breathe.

  I may not be too late after all.

  Another probe tells me that the vampire is only a few yards from the entrance. His thoughts are feverish, the blood-lust is high. He is looking forward to the kill. He will take the woman sexually first, he can barely contain his excitement. Then he will drain her, savoring an even greater sexual pleasure as her life flows into his.

  I step around the rocks, into the open. He is too involved in his fantasy to notice. He lays the woman on the ground, strikes her cheeks with the palm of his hand. He knows the drug he used on her should be wearing off. He slaps her again.

  She groans, stirs.

  I send out the first message. Simon Fisher?

  His body jerks toward me. His eyes glow with a savage inner fire, then become flat and unreadable. He stares at me. Tries to probe my mind.

  I don't let him.

  What are you? What are doing here?

  As I step forward, he takes a reflexive step back. His hands are curled in fists at his sides. His face is familiar— the face of the animal that claims us both. The face of the vampire. He growls a warning.

  I hold up a hand. My name is Anna Strong. I am a Watcher. I came to warn you.

  Of what?

  The police know you are here.

  The woman on the ground takes a deep, gulping breath. Her eyes are open, but clouded in confusion. When at last she can focus and she sees Fisher, the vampire, she tries to scramble away.

  He reaches out, grabs her wrist, yanks her back close to him. He applies pressure to her jugular until she slumps against him.

  I take a cautious step forward. Let her go. It will be worse for you if they find her here.

  He grins, presses her limp hand to his lips, licks her wrist. I will claim my prize first. The human police cannot hold me. You know that.

  But the Revengers can. You have attracted their attention with your carelessness. They are sending one of their own with the police. He will be the one who takes you into custody. You will never be seen again.

  Fisher considers my words. It is well-known in the vampire community that the Revengers have members on the police force. It's how they identify criminal activity that can only be attributed to a vampire. It only takes a few bloodless bodies to raise their suspicion.

  The woman's eyes open. She struggles against Fisher's restraining hand. When his grip loosens, she brings a knee up into his crotch. But it's not a solid kick and instead of letting go of her, quick anger darkens his face and he raises his hand to strike her.

  I'm there before he connects, stopping his hand in midswing with mine.

  I pull him toward me. Let her go. I am offering you something better.

  There's an instant when I think he's going to fight me.

  But I take the chance and drop his hand, let him read what I am offering.

  Interest sparks in the depths of his eyes. He keeps his thoughts closed to me but I can guess what's going through his mind. His eyes travel from my breasts to the hem of the miniskirt.

  The sexual drive in a male vamp is powerful—more powerful even than in a human male. And sex between vampires is the best sex of all. The combination of blood and sex transcends anything experienced with or by mortals. His eyes still focused on the point where my skirt ends and legs begin, Fisher's mind opens to me in a heated rush of what he wants to do and how he wants to do it.

  I nod agreement. Let the woman go first.

  He glances down at her dismissively. There are more like her. It is no loss.

  He releases his grip and takes one step back.

  The woman is on her feet, confusion and fear casting a shadow on her face.

  "There's a car at the top of the trailhead," I tell her. "The keys are in the ignition. Get out of here."

  She shakes her head as if to clear it. "What about you? You are coming, too, aren't you?"

  "No. I'll be all right. Just go."

  Still, she hesitates.

  I turn an animal face to her, growl the order. "Go. Now."

  She gasps and bolts, stumbling on the wet sand. She doesn't look back.

  While my attention is on the woman, Fisher makes his move. He grabs me. With one hand at my neck and one hand at my crotch, he forces me down on the sand. When I'm trapped beneath him, he rips at my blouse with claw-like nails, gathers my skirt up until it's bunched around my waist. His eyes glow yellow and for an instant, I'm transported back to a dark parking lot on a hot July night when another vamp claimed me.

  This night will be different.

  Fisher pauses, lets go with one hand to fumble with his belt. It's all the hesitation I need.

  I jerk my hands free and fling him off, not giving him even a moment to recover before I've reversed our positions. He's beneath me now, his hands pinned behind his back by the weight of our bodies.

  He's grinning. You like to be on top. That's okay with me. But you'll have to open my collar. I can't seem to reach it.

  His words mock me. It's all right. I smile back and do as he asks.

  He squirms, positioning his pelvis against the fabric of my panties. I feel his excitement. It sickens me. Just like the thoughts he's projecting and the lust that burns my skin like acid wherever his flesh touches mine.

  Come on. Let me in.

  His tone is the high-pitched plea of a demanding child.

  I want to drink a little first, I tell him. Get in the mood.

  Irritation sparks along with the beginnings of anger. He raises his head to glare at me. No. We fuck first.

  I leverage myself against him, forcing his head back on the sand with the heel on my hand. No. I drink first.

  For the first time, he realizes that I'm stronger than he is, that he is not in control. He reacts predictably, struggling and cursing.

  Like a cat with a wounded bird, I play with him. Let him try to wriggle out from under me, to work his hands free. I want him to feel the same helplessness his victims felt, know some of their desperation and fear. He tries to probe my mind, asking if this is a game. I swat away his attempts to read my thoughts. He is baffled with the turn this thing has taken.

  What are you doing?

  A smile. Why, I'm playing with you. Isn't this what you like? I bring my knee up into his groin. Press down until I see his face twist. Pain. Terror. Helplessness. Isn't this what gets you off?

  He gasps. Tries to burrow his body into the sand to release the pressure. When he realizes he can't, he bucks against me. You bitch. You tricked me. I'll kill you for this.

  From far away, I hear the faint howl of a siren. It's time to end it.

  His skin is salty to my tongue. When he feels my teeth at his neck, his body relaxes, his thoughts flash that this is more like it. He presses his engorged sex against me and starts to move to the rhythm of his heartbeat. I open his throat with a single bite and start to drink.

  He thinks he's won. He tells me again to let him in, demands sex. It's not until I refuse, refuse to stop feeding, refuse sex, refuse to give him access to my neck, that he realizes what is happening.

  By then it is too late. It doesn't take long. I'm caught up in the hunger. He grows weak, his thoughts diffuse, froth, like foam on the crest of a wave. All the pain and death he's inflicted on his victims flows into me. The horror trips a gag reflex, but I can't stop. Even when he's a shell, a brittle husk, I keep sucking unti
l I feel it. The shudder as his soul is released. Only then can I stop. Only then is the life force gone. Only then do I sit up, climb off his body and collapse on the sand.

  There is still one more thing. I roll on my side to look at Fisher's face. When a vampire dies the second death, by staking or burning, he dissolves into dust. There's nothing left. Being drained is different and results in a kind of fast-forward aging. If Williams were to die like this, for instance, his two-hundred-year-old body would shrivel into something that might resemble a mummy's. Fisher, though, had only been vampire for ten years. His face and body look like that of a forty-year-old man.

  I have to make it look as if a human killed him. I draw the knife from the sheath at my waist and slice across Fisher's jugular. I work at the bite marks with the serrated edge, opening a wide gash to hide them. A few drops of some clear liquid bubble from the wound. I then grab his ankles and pull his body into the water. I wade out a few feet from shore holding onto him until the current catches his body and carries it away. I want the sea to batter the remains, though it won't be a problem if the police have enough to determine cause of death. I doubt they'll waste serious manpower over the demise of a serial killer wanted in several states.

  Now it's over.

  I'm wet, bone weary, and sick inside from the infusion of Fisher's blood. If I were human, I'd stick a finger down my throat and vomit until my system was rid of the poison. But vampire physiology doesn't work like that. His blood is already coursing through my system. I'm stuck with it until I can purge it another way.

  Brushing sand from my torn clothes, I start up the path.

  The sirens are closer. Fisher's victim must have called for help. I need to be gone before anyone arrives. But Williams and I are going to have a talk.

  A stake would have been so much easier.

  Chapter 6

  I head for home plotting how quickly I can get to Beso de la Muerte. Fisher's blood bums through my system. But I know I have to check in with David first and after our late night in San Francisco, I doubt he'll be in before ten. Unlike me, David is not a morning person.

  My cell phone rings just as I'm walking in the front door. I flip it open. "Anna Strong."

  "Hey, partner."

  David's voice is cheery and much too alert for this early in the morning. "David?"

  "When are you coming in?"

  "You're at the office already?" I may be able to get away earlier than I expected.

  A chuckle. "Don't sound so shocked. How soon can you get here?"

  I glance down at my wet, bedraggled form and torn clothes. "I haven't even showered yet."

  "Well, get to it, girl. I have a surprise for you."

  "A surprise? What kind of surprise?"

  "If I told you, it would spoil it. See you in a few."

  He rings off and I'm listening to dead air. The enthusiasm I felt over the possibility of getting to Culebra's early vanishes with the suspicion that I'm going to hate his surprise. I always do. They usually involve his girlfriend, Gloria. For a man who is smart and sexy and a great business partner, his taste in women sucks. To make matters worse, he's oblivious to the fact that we hate each other.

  I look around my sun-filled cottage. I want to take a shower, a long, hot shower, and fall into bed.

  I heave a sigh and toss the phone onto the couch. Oh well, one out of two isn't bad. Before starting upstairs, I flip on the coffeemaker. I don't care what David's surprise is, it can wait until I've washed Fisher's foul taste from my mouth and off my body.

  The shower revives me though I scrub so hard, my skin tingles when I'm through. I lather on a rich, perfumed body lotion and slip into a clean sweat suit to head downstairs for coffee.

  I'm a purist when it comes to coffee, no flavored blends for me. I like the rich, dark taste and aroma of a Jamaican or Kona coffee, mellowed with real cream and a little sugar.

  I fill a mug and take it back upstairs. I've only been back in the cottage a month. It burned to the ground not long ago, another of Avery's legacies. When I rebuilt it, I added a deck off the master bedroom. I furnished it with a wicker table and two chairs, though I've yet to have anybody up here to occupy the second. I sink into one now and cast a glance toward the empty one. It seems I've more than one itch that needs scratching. I've fed, in a matter of speaking, but a different kind of hunger remains. My sexual appetite is as strong as my appetite for blood.

  I selfishly wish Max were here. Except for the one time when I scared myself by almost drinking from him, sex with Max is great. But what am I thinking? I've got to stop this. I'm breaking up with Max the next chance I get. I have to.

  So then what? Maybe David's surprise is a hot friend who just got into town and David wants to set us up. Maybe I should wear something sexy to the office. Maybe …

  Maybe Williams is right. If I had a mate, I could be inside right now sweating up the sheets instead of sitting here alone thinking about it.

  So stop thinking about it.

  My coffee is at perfect drinking temperature—body temp—and I suck at it greedily. It's still too early for the beach to be crowded, but there are a couple of surfers bobbing hopefully on the water. Hopefully is the operative word, the swells are as flat and listless as I feel. Still it's a distraction from a body aching for release.

  I focus on the surfers until my cup is empty, then rouse myself to a standing position. I may as well get this over with. I change into jeans, a cotton sweater and running shoes. Hardly sexy. I just can't imagine what David has waiting for me. I have a nagging suspicion it won't be anything good.

  * * * *

  It's not.

  I smell her as soon as I walk into the office.

  David is sitting alone at the desk, but her perfume, some expensive, flowery signature brand made exclusively for her, emanates from his clothes and skin like deadly fumes from toxic waste.

  Gloria.

  I was right. I'm going to hate this.

  He looks up, sees me standing at the doorway and frowns. "Jesus, Anna. What's wrong? You look like you're going to be sick."

  "Where is she?"

  The frown dissolves into a grin. "How did you know?"

  It takes every bit of effort not to roll my eyes skyward and groan. My sinuses are still revolting from the onslaught. I haven't felt like this since I was exposed to a creep who had binged on garlic. I cross the office and open the slider. Wide. "A lucky guess. Where is she?"

  He sits back in his chair, still grinning. "She went across the street to get some rolls from the deli. Should be back in a minute. Are you hungry?"

  I grunt a noncommittal reply and drop into my chair. I'm sure it'll take Gloria longer than a minute to get back. Someone will recognize the goddess and beg an audience. It happens all the time. If I'm lucky, she'll be detained a long time.

  Gloria Estrella is a model. Tall. Beautiful. Rich. She and David became an item when he was playing football. Why they are still together is one of those great mysteries of life. She hates what he does for a living, hates that he lives in San Diego alone instead of L.A. with her and most of all hates that he has a female partner. Or more precisely, she hates me. She met Max not too long ago and got it into her brain that if David insists on doing what he's doing, Max would be a more suitable partner for him. David won't admit it, but I know in my gut she tries to impress that upon him at every turn.

  I must have a glazed look on my face, because David leans across the desk and asks, "Seriously, Anna. What's wrong? You look a little green."

  I shake off his question with a curt shrug. It would do no good to tell him what's wrong. I've tried before. Now my indigestion is coupled with disgust. So, I ask, "What's she doing in town?"

  He gives me a raised eyebrow. "You can't have forgotten. The restaurant grand opening. It's this weekend, remember?" He flourishes a fancy envelope with gold engraving. "Your invitation. We expect you to be there, you know."

  I can't keep the aggravation out of my voice. "That's your surp
rise?"

  The corners of his mouth turn down. "I know you and Gloria don't get along but this is a big deal. She wants you to be there. It's a peace offering."

  Gloria is at the door trying to sneak up on us. A tightness in my shoulders puts me on alert. That, and the insipid smile that appears suddenly on David's face.

  "And Max, too, if he's in town."

  Even expecting it, her voice from the doorway makes me jump, which is a pretty good indication of how she affects me. She dulls all my senses except an overwhelming feeling of revulsion.

  I don't bother to swivel around in the chair to face her. David, however, jumps to his feet like an eager puppy and motions for her to take his seat.

  She does.

  We're face-to-face. Unless I pretend I'm blind, I have no choice but to raise my eyes to hers. I have to look up. Even sitting down, she's tall. My shoulders start to bunch together again.

  The last time I saw Gloria, her hair and eyes were dark. Today, hazel contact lenses complement auburn hair touched with silver. The face is the same, though, heart shaped and delicate with flawless skin made even more radiant by artfully applied makeup, subtle makeup. Only a critical woman would notice the paint. I peer at her, searching for an imperfection.

  Not even a solitary laugh line.

  She knows what I'm doing. She sits without moving and lets me take inventory. She's wearing black slacks and a sweater the color of jade. It's tight. It would be. Got to get your money's worth out of the implants.

  I make a vampire note to look her up in thirty years when she's sixty and I'm—the same as I am now.

  I'd smile if I didn't hate this woman so much.

  She is smiling, though, idiotically, as if the expression on my face was not poisonous. "Hello, Anna. You look much better than the last time I saw you. Your hair is combed. Well, sort of."

  Every muscle in my body clenches in preparation for attack. The last time Gloria saw me I was in the hospital, recovering from being beaten, raped, and turned into a vampire. How nice of her to remember how awful I looked.