The Watcher

"Martinez was your son?"

Tears slide down her cheeks. "I tried to make him drink. I took your arm where I had cut it and pressed it against his lips. If he had only swallowed. Just one drop. He would be as you are."

I'm staring at her now in disbelief. "You tried to make him drink my blood? You tried to make him a vampire?"

She turns slowly. "I tried to save him. It's what any mother would have done. Your attack was too savage. He died in my arms. Now I exact the penalty for his death. For his murder. And you will pay it because I hold the life of one you love in my hands."

When she faces me, she has something in her hand. Another syringe. She holds it in front of me. "This is not like the others. This is poison. If I inject Max with this, he will die screaming."

She backs toward Max's cot. "You move quickly. I have seen it. But not, I think, quickly enough to prevent me from injecting Max. It takes only a tiny amount, a pinprick of the needle, and Max will die."

I take a step toward her. "Is this the gift you spoke of? You saved Max and me so that you could kill him while I watch?"

She smiles and lowers the syringe so that it rests on Max's chest. "Oh no. The gift is your lives. You and Max will be allowed to live. You will be flown to safety and I pledge no harm will befall you. What happened here will be forgotten."

"And what do you get in exchange for this generosity?" The smile this time is humorless and touches only the corners of her mouth.

"Immortality," she says. "You will make me vampire."

CHAPTER 47

MY LIPS PULL BACK TO BARE MY TEETH. I POINT to her son. "You saw me do that. And you want to be like me?"

She blows out a disdainful breath. "Like you? Never. You are undisciplined and willful. A spoiled child. I would use the power wisely."

I look around. "How? To take over where your son left off? Is that your plan? Become the czarina of the drug world? Don't you know your empire is in ashes? Max saw to that."

She glances at Max, her fingers tighten on the syringe. In that moment, I know that she has no intention of letting Max go.

I don't wait for her to draw another breath. I lunge, hitting her body away from the cot and slamming her into the wall. The attack catches her off guard and the syringe falls from her hand and skitters under Max's cot.

With an oath, she scrambles to her feet. She pulls a knife out of a pocket in her skirt. She doesn't threaten me with it, though, but holds it to her own wrist.

"You will do as I ask," she growls. "Or you and Max will die here. Without me, the others downstairs will kill you on sight. And even if you make it past them, the pilot has his orders. He is watching the house. If you approach without me, he will take off and leave you here. You have seen how well hidden we are."

She presses the blade against her skin. "There is no telephone. No radio with which you can contact the outside world. This house will become your mausoleum. In a few weeks, the jungle will reclaim it's own. Your bodies—our bodies—will never be found. It will be as if we never existed."

She speaks in a slow, measured cadence. Her eyes bore into mine. She does not fear what she describes. She is accepting of whatever fate befalls her. Her grip on the knife tightens and before I can stop her, she draws it across her wrist.

Blood spurts and begins to drip in a steady stream onto the floor.

She watches it with a detached frown. "Can you resist?" she asks, holding the arm toward me. "Blood. I offer it to you in exchange for eternal life. I want you to take me. For him."

Her eyes shift to her son. I wonder why she didn't take my blood while I was out. Does she think the vampire has to be conscious, has to will the change?

It hardly matters now. While her attention is on her son, I make my move. I dive for her, hitting her low, trying my best to ignore the call of her blood, its texture and smell. I fight the animal inside and refuse to let it surface. I need to keep my wits about me.

"You are a crazy bitch," I scream, hooking an arm around her waist and dragging her to the floor.

She fights me, pushing the arm at my face. It takes me a moment to realize she's manipulating the knife in her other hand, trying to distract me with bloodlust while she positions herself to plunge the knife into my arm. She is still intent on mingling our blood. I refused to do it her way, now she will try another.

I jump away from her before she can cut me. She is snarling like an enraged beast, howling with frustration and anger. She moves toward me, swinging the knife in front of her in wide arcs, hoping to get close enough to slash my skin.

I don't let her. The human A

Her will is strong. She doesn't drop the knife. She fights until she's broken free and whirls again to face me. This time, she grasps the knife as if to throw it.

"This is getting old, Marta," I snap. I reach into the folds of the sheet and withdraw the syringe. "Go ahead, throw the damned thing. You'll miss and I'll stick you with this."

Tears of rage stain her cheeks. She pulls back her arm and flings the knife in my direction. I sidestep it easily and before the clatter of the knife hitting the floor dies away, I've plunged Foley's needle into her arm.

CHAPTER 48

I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO EXPECT SO I STAND BACK to watch. Marta's face undergoes the transition from anger to astonishment to utter vacuity. When I am sure she will no longer attempt to bite or gouge me, I step close to her and lower her to a seated position against the wall.

The blood is still flowing freely from her wrist, but it's not arterial blood. I can tell the difference. Whether by chance or on purpose, she did not cut deep enough. I tear at the hem of the sheet wrapped around me and bind her wrist. The cloth quickly soaks through. I tear another piece and fashion a tourniquet above her elbow. I don't care if she lives or dies, but she controls the pilot and those two downstairs. She is going to help me get Max out of this house.

The tourniquet seems to work. Blood no longer flows in a steady stream but rather drips from the cloth into a desultory pattern on the floor. Now that the immediate danger is past, the proximity of this much blood makes me tremble. It's all I can do to keep from lapping at it as it falls. But I don't. Instead, I move away to avoid temptation.

Marta's eyes follow me as I cross the room, but her body remains motionless. Her head lolls against the tiled wall as if too heavy for her slender neck. She opens and closes her mouth and I wonder if she's trying to tell me something. I don't intend to get close enough, though, to find out.

Max is my chief concern now. He hasn't moved since I've been in the room. He's breathing; I can see that. I bend over him and gently tap his cheeks with my fingertips. There is no response. I slap a little harder. His breath catches the tiniest bit, then settles back into the same deep, regular pattern. He could be asleep or comatose. But unless I can bring him around, getting us out of here is going to be a problem. I can carry Max or Marta, but not both.

Marta makes a small sobbing sound. When I turn around, she's on her hands and knees, trying to get her legs under her.

Okay. If she can walk out under her own steam, there will be only Max to worry about. It makes sense that the drug intended for me would not render me completely helpless. Foley was going to use it to get me on that chopper and I doubt he pla