Jeanne Stein: The Watcher

Tony cringes and tries to get away.

Fingers like steel close around his arms. My mouth is at his ear. "Try that again," I whisper. "And I'll tear you to pieces."

His body is rigid beneath mine. I am aware of the frantic beating of his heart. I smell his fear, see his blood pulsing as it rushes through his carotid, just a kiss away at his jawline.

A kiss away.

David puts a hand on my shoulder and I jump.

"Anna, are you all right?"

It takes a couple of heartbeats before I can relax, let go of the bloodlust. I compose myself and sit back. "I'm fine." My voice is harsh, unsteady. Still, I climb to my feet, hauling Tony up beside me. "I was just explaining to our friend here how it works." As I speak, I straighten Tony's jacket and pat his shoulder. "I think we understand each other now. He's not going to give us any more trouble. Are you, Tony?"

Tony stares at me, his eyes wide. His mouth opens and closes a couple of times but his brain is still trying to process what he saw in my face. Obviously, it can't process fast enough to form a coherent thought.

I pat his shoulder again. "That's okay, Tony, you don't have to say anything."

David gives him a shove toward the bus. "Jesus, Anna," he says. "When did you get so fast?"

"I've always been fast. You just never noticed."

Tony draws a deep, unsteady breath and moves to David's side. He looks up at David and says with pathetic urgency, "Keep her away from me, man. She's like a mad dog."

I smile. Yeah. Kind of like.

WHEN WE GET BACK TO SAN DIEGO, DAVID drops me off at the office before delivering Tony to the cops. Tony seems relieved to see the last of me. Imagine that. Maybe he'll think twice before jumping bail again.

I pick up my car, intending to head for home. But the dance I did with Tony set something loose. Hunger is gnawing at me, refusing to be ignored. If I go home now, I'll face a long, sleepless night of restless anxiety. I need blood.

I know where to go. Mexico.

Culebra doesn't seem surprised to see me when I appear at the door of his bar at two thirty in the morning. He's seated at a table with two other male vamps and a couple of human women. There's no one else in the place and disappointment slumps my shoulders. Obviously, the women are the companions of the two vamps. And the feast is over. They wear the sated, content look of females who have been well serviced. And even if they weren't, vampires are not big on sharing blood supplies.

Culebra reads my mood, senses my hunger, in the instant it takes me to cross to the bar and plunk myself on a bar stool. He joins me, handing me a bottle of beer from the cooler at the end of the bar.

Here. This should help.

Only if it's type O. But I take it, pop the top, and drink.

Culebra is a shape-shifter, a gruff old bandit with a rutted face and the ability to crawl inside my head at will. He's my source of sustenance. Movies and TV depict vampires existing on animal blood. It's not like that in real life. We need human blood to survive. Culebra provides a place for vampires to connect with humans willing and eager to be fed upon. Humans find the process highly pleasurable. Combine it with sex, and the experience is as addictive as cocaine and just as dangerous. Most victims of vampires die because they don't want it to stop and an unscrupulous or undisciplined vampire loses control. Culebra keeps a close eye on those who come here to feed and protects both vampires and their human hosts.

Culebra is watching me, eyes hard and bright in the dim light. Where's your friend Frey? He would not refuse you.

I shake my head. Probably not. But he's a schoolteacher, you know, and it's late. I'm sure he's home asleep.

Daniel Frey is also a shape-shifter. We've had sex and he's let me feed from him, but I'm not about to awaken him in the middle of the night because I've waited too long to feed. Besides, the last time I called him, a woman answered the phone. There was something in her voice when she asked if I wanted to leave a message that made it clear she hoped I didn't.

What you need is a steady human boyfriend, Culebra tells me, shaking a mental finger. It's much safer than these indiscriminate pairings. You should know that after what happened.

Culebra is referring to something that happened a few weeks ago. I came very close to attacking and killing a human who had hurt a member of my family. As a result, I risked exposing myself as a vampire to a mortal world not prepared to accept that such things exist.

Yet I'm not ready for the other alternative, either. I had a human boyfriend. Max. I couldn't bring myself to tell him what I had become, which meant I could not and would not bring myself to feed from him. At the same time, I couldn't seem to stop myself from feeding or having sex with non-humans that came my way. No, that's not exactly true. I didn't stop myself because I didn't want to.

And there's another reason. Max seemed suddenly intent on taking our relationship to the next level. There was a time when that might have made me happy. But even though Max is a good man—strong, loyal, beautiful—because of what I am, that cannot happen. Not only for the obvious reasons, but because I've been unfaithful to him twice with otherworldly men, and I know I will be again.

It's the nature of the beast in me.

Max deserves a woman who can love him as a woman—a real human woman. Not a pretender. I've been practicing the speech since the last time we were together. I just haven't seen him to test whether or not I'll have the guts to deliver it.

I drain the last of the beer, place the bottle on the bar and stand up. With a last glance around, I prepare to leave. When I had Tony on the ground, it took every ounce of strength not to open his neck. I know what would have happened if David hadn't been there. I've got to stop waiting so long between feedings.

I don't need to say any of this to Culebra, either verbally or telepathically. He picks my thoughts out of the air like leaves drifting in the wind.

You need blood. What are you going to do?

I shrug. Go home. Go to bed. Try to sleep. Tomorrow I go see Williams.

At last I've said something that eases some of the concern from Culebra's face. I'm glad you have come to your senses about that. He has much to teach you.

He walks me to the door. If you come back tomorrow, I'll have someone for you. He gestures to the table and the four seated around it. It's been a slow night.

I nod and start for the door. Before I can push it open, it swings inward. A man is silhouetted against the moonless night, black on black. He takes a step into the light and I step back, startled. It's the last person I expect, or in truth want, to see.

"Max. What are you doing here?"

I’M NOT SURE WHO IS THE MORE SURPRISED. MAX knows of my acquaintance with Culebra. He was around when I brought David here because of what Avery, a vampire who pretended to love me, had done to him. Max thought David's wounds had been caused by a human, of course, a skip we traced to Beso de la Muerte. For his part, Max works for the DEA, and since Culebra helped him with a drug case a while back, it's not inconceivable that he should be here—just unexpected. What is alarming, though, is the way he looks.

Not good. Max is a big man, hard muscled, big boned. He usually carries about 225 pounds on a six foot three frame. Today, he looks haggard. Worn. His clothes, jeans, T-shirt, a leather jacket, hang on his frame like rags on a scarecrow. He looks like he's lost thirty pounds. He's covered with dust and the lines on his face have deepened, his blue eyes are dull.