The Watcher

How do I know that smell?

A memory flashes. My brother and I on a camping trip. Too many years ago to count. Another lifetime.

Where am I?

Open your eyes.

I think the command comes from inside my head. But I don't want to open my eyes. I'm not ready. I'm afraid.

What am I afraid of?

"A

The voice makes me jump. I cringe away and raise my hand to cover my eyes.

Another's hand snatches it away.

"Open your eyes, vampire."

A female voice. Cold. Unsympathetic.

"Very well. This will bring you back."

A sharp prick. Pressure as a plunger is depressed. Something snakes into my bloodstream, trailing an icy finger. I feel it move, invade my system, awaken every nerve ending, reach into my brain and gnaw at me until I can't fight it anymore.

I'm yanked screaming back into consciousness.

CHAPTER 44

A WOMAN IS LOOKING DOWN AT ME. She's smiling.

She'd be pleasant looking if it weren't for the blood that mats her hair and streaks her face.

Blood? Whose blood?

Why can't I remember?

A memory cuts like a strobe light into my head. It pulses in black-and-white relief. A body. Ravaged. Torn. Blood everywhere.

Instinctively, I raise my hands. They are flaked with dried blood. My nails are embedded with tissue.

The groan starts deep in my gut and spews forth in a wail of despair.

What have I done?

Why can't I remember?

CHAPTER 45

WHEN I OPEN MY EYES AGAIN, I REMEMBER. Everything.

Marta is no longer standing over me.

I look around.

I'm in a room identical to Max's. I'm on a cot, lying on a torn, rough-textured blanket. A sheet has been thrown over me. I'm naked beneath it.

I don't know where I am in the house. I thought there were only two rooms on the landing. But I'm alone here. And there is no blood on the white tile walls, none on the cement floor. After what I did to Martinez, there would be blood.

Unless.

I pull myself into a sitting position, groaning with the effort. My limbs are in revolt.

But I have to sit up to look around. There is a drain in the middle of the floor. And from it wafts the scent of pine and bleach. And underlying it all, blood.

The sheet falls away, and I see that the room is not the only thing that has been cleaned. There is no blood on my body, on my hands. My nails have been scrubbed. The same slightly antiseptic smell of soap wafts up when I raise my hands to rub at my eyes. The wound on my arm from Marta's blade has a dressing covering it. I rip it off. There is only a flush of color where the knife penetrated my flesh.

Confusion clouds my thoughts.

If this is the same room, where is Max?

Max.

A tremor passes through me.

Where is he? What have they done to him? Why did I let this happen? I should have attacked Martinez the moment I saw him at the door. I should have had a plan. I let the fact that I am vampire lull me into thinking I could handle anything a human could throw at me. I was wrong. It may have cost Max his life.

I swing my legs over the side of the cot and push myself off. Marta has left me nothing to cover my nakedness. I tear the sheet into two pieces and knot the smaller portion around my body. It falls just to my knees allowing me the freedom to move without tripping over the ends.

I'll need to be able to move.

I start for the door. I expect I'll have to break it down, and I'm surprised when the knob turns in my hand. Cautiously, I let it swing open.

The corridor is dark and empty. And quiet. I pull the door shut behind me.

I cross to the other side and put an ear to that door to see if I detect any sound. There is none. Again, the knob turns in my hand and the door opens.

The cots are lined up as before. But the bodies of Martinez' family are gone. Three other bodies are laid out.

I tiptoe from one to the other.

Foley.

Martinez.

Max.

I touch Max's face, too full of anguish to do anything else. When my fingers brush his lips, I realize with a jolt that he is warm. I rub the tears out of my eyes to examine him more closely. His color is good, flushed even. I push my ears against his chest. There is a heartbeat. Slow. Regular. His chest rises and falls in measured, controlled breaths. He is asleep. Drugged again?

But alive.

It sparks my resolve.

I move to Martinez. There is no doubt that he is dead. His throat has been torn open. His head is cocked back at an unusual angle, shattered vertebrae visible through the wound. Delicate streamers of shredded skin are all that hold skull to shoulders. The co

I view him with detached coldness. I know it was I who inflicted the damage. But he was going to kill me. He was going to kill and torture Max. I used the weapons I had at my disposal. Teeth and my vampire nature. I feel no remorse.

My glance falls on Foley. Martinez killed him with a gun he had under his shirt. I slip a hand beneath Martinez' body. The gun is no longer there. I'm sure Maria thought to take it before leaving me alone to find the bodies.

Because I'm also sure this is part of her plan.

I need to be smart this time. Decide how to handle her when she comes back. I can't kill her outright. I'll need her to help me get Max out of here. To bring him around when we're in the chopper.

The chopper. A memory surfaces. Before we got out of the car in the desert, Foley threatened to drug me if I was uncooperative. Is the syringe still in his jacket?

A sound in the corridor distracts me. The door to the landing is opening. I'm at Foley's cot in two strides. I yank at his jacket, searching first one pocket, then the other. My fingers close around the leather case just as footsteps approach the door across the hall. I open the case, tuck the syringe into a fold of the sheet at my breasts, and slip the case back into Foley's pocket. I hear the click of tumblers falling, the quiet opening and closing of the door across the hall and know.

Marta is now right outside my door.

CHAPTER 46

I'M TREMBLING. WHETHER FROM STRESS AND FAtigue or the effects of whatever drug I've been given or from anticipation, I can't tell. I only know it takes conscious effort to keep my hands still. I finally press them against my sides.

Marta is cautious about opening the door.

She is a smart woman.

When the knob finally turns, I prepare to throw myself out of the way just in case she comes in blasting.

But she doesn't. Her hands are empty and hang at her sides. She has cleaned the blood off her body, too, and is dressed in a simple black skirt and white peasant blouse. Her hair is wet and hangs straight down her back. She is barefoot.

Her eyes glance behind me.

"You have seen that Max is alive."

I nod.

"It is my gift to you."

I narrow my eyes. "Gift?"

She nods, too. "I could have killed him. I could have killed you, too, while you slept. But I did not. It was a show of good faith."

She's not making any sense. I gesture toward Martinez. "I did that to your friend. Why would you want to show me good faith?"

She brushes past me and stands beside Martinez' cot. She places a hand gently on his shoulder. "As soon as I saw the two of you fighting, I knew how it would turn out. I tried to stop it. I plunged the needle into your arm, but the drug was no match for the strength of your rage. It took too long to work and when it finally did, it was too late for my son."