The Watcher

He lets go of my arms and steps back, color flooding his face. Embarrassment? I wonder why. Because he guessed wrong about the witch and where she would be tonight or because I accomplished what he and his Watchers could not?

I let him read my thoughts, see the color deepen, feel chagrin replace discomfiture. But I don't push. Part of me is glad to see him. Part of me is furious with him. I let that come through, as well.

For the first time, I see who arrived with Williams. Ortiz and another. Not a vamp. But not human.

He steps forward. "Is Frey with you?"

He opens his mind. Shape-shifter.

Yes. And he's hurt. Can you help him?

He motions for me to lead him to Frey. I do. He bends down and places one hand on each side of the arrow.

I watch as he gently probes. He appears to be in his fifties, tall, broad shouldered, rangy muscle. His face is full of concern for Frey, his thoughts mirror that concern. Before I can ask what he intends to do, he has grasped the arrow and pulled it from Frey's body with one single, violent jerk of his hand.

Frey's body spasms. I jump toward the shape-shifter, a growl of rage erupting from deep inside. Williams grabs me from behind and spins me around.

Wait. Watch.

He turns me back so can I see.

I shake loose of his hands, still reeling from the surge of anger that would have had me at the shape-shifter's throat had Williams not stopped me. I take a step away from Williams. If I decide to attack again, I want to be out of his reach.

The shape-shifter is bent over Frey. He has placed his hands over the wound. Frey is still squirming, making a sound in his throat that is half cry, half growl. But he breathes. I see it. The rise of each inhalation and fall of each exhalation. In less than a minute, his breathing becomes less labored, his body quiets, Frey's keening sound dies away.

Only then does the shape-shifter lift his hands. They are red with Frey's blood. He falls back as if the healing has drained him. That's when I see it—a gash in his shirt and an open lesion corresponding to the wound in Frey's side. He closes his eyes and leans back against the bar. While I watch, the wound closes, the blood is absorbed back into his skin. The only indication that anything has happened at all is the rip in his shirt.

I switch my gaze to Williams. Empath?

He nods.

Like Sorrel? Can she heal, too?

Sorrel's gift is to heal the spirit. He gestures to the man now climbing slowly to his feet. Stephen's gift is to heal the body. Each is distinct unto itself.

When I look again at Frey, he has shifted back into human form. He shakes his head as if awakening from a particularly vivid nightmare. There's confusion and alarm in his expression and a kind of breathless anticipation as rational thought creeps back.

He struggles into a sitting position and looks around. Stephen says, How do you feel?

Although I can't hear Frey's response, I can read the relief and gratitude on his face. He reaches out a hand and Stephen grasps it, pulling Frey to his feet. Only then does Frey turn to me.

"You're all right?"

I nod. I want to throw my arms around him and express just how relieved I am that he is all right. But I don't want to embarrass either of us and I don't know how he would react. After all, he did tell me that he has a girlfriend now and he is standing here naked. Who knows what kind of reaction a near death experience might have on him if I press myself against him?

He's looking at me as if he reads my thoughts. He smiles and reaches down for that pair of jeans he'd left behind the bar. This time, though, he doesn't turn away or hide himself, just slips them on.

When he's zipped up, he comes around to join us. "What happened to the witch?"

The question is directed at me. I shake my head. "I don't know. I grabbed you and got out of there when the coven started getting restless."

Williams releases a breath. "I don't understand why she came here. It doesn't make sense. The very reason we didn't have a sentry in Mexico was because every one of our sources said she pla

"Then what brought you here?" I ask.

"Avatoar." Williams lifts a shoulder. "He came to find me in Arizona. Told me about the barrier. Said it was definitely constructed by a coven."

"So you know Avatoar?"

He brushes the question aside with an impatient wave of the hand. "Obviously. Why do you think the coven would construct a barrier aimed to keep you out?"

"I don't think it was," I reply. "Not anymore. Burke knew that letting me know she had Culebra was the one sure way to get my attention. She wanted me here."

Frey frowns. "What do you mean? We stopped the demon. She almost succeeded in raising it. She wanted you to do that?"

"No. She wanted to raise the demon all right. She didn't think I could stop it. But you were hurt and didn't see what happened after."

He motions for me to go on.

I turn to Williams, anger flooding back. "There was another guest at Burke's party. Foley."

Williams' shoulders tense, his eyes grow watchful, wary.

You knew Martinez had Max. You said nothing yesterday. You sent me here.

Williams is standing so still I can hear the beat of his heart, the stirring of the hair on the back of his neck as he absorbs the enormity of my fury.

Idon't know if I can forgive you for this.

Frey senses the heat of what is passing between Williams and me even if he can't read the message. He looks from one of us to the other as if hoping by that simple act to break the tension. When he doesn't, he asks, "Foley was there, too? Why?"

I look away from Williams.

“They were both waiting for someone else to show up at midnight. They were waiting for me."

"She's right."

The voice comes from the doorway.

Culebra is there, holding the woman from the cross in his arms. His face is battered with grief. "They wanted A

CHAPTER 36

STEPHEN RUSHES FORWARD, HIS ARMS OUT-stretched to take the woman from Culebra.

But Culebra shakes his head and brushes past him. He lays the inert form on the bar. "It's too late for her." His words are harsh. "Something else I must accept responsibility for."

"How did you get away?" I ask.

Culebra raises his eyes, reluctantly, to meet mine. It seems to take a great deal of effort for him to wrest his mind from anything except the dead woman. "When you broke the circle, you broke the spell that bound me, as well. But it took some time for me to shake off the effects. The distraction you provided when you grabbed the panther gave me time to shape-shift and free myself. But it wasn't in time to save her." His voice drops. "Burke saw me. She got to her before I could change back and free her. Burke strangled her while I watched."

I've never seen Culebra like this. For the first time, I see that the "woman" who had been hanging from the cross is really no more than a girl. Thin, pale, sixteen or seventeen years old. "Who is she?"

He touches her hair gently. "A runaway. Burke picked her up on the street, promised her food and shelter. Instead, she became a sacrifice."

His distress is so acute, it's painful to feel. I open my mind to offer him solace but he swats it away.

Idon't deserve your sympathy. All that has happened is because of my arrogance and conceit. I should have told you what the witch had pla