The Watcher

WHEN I LUNGE, WHEN THE VAMPIRE LUNGES, Foley flinches. He's not prepared for the sight or sound of my fury. I'm at his throat, dimly aware of the danger of the crossbow in his hand, acutely aware that he is a threat to my friends, Frey at his feet, Culebra on the cross. I press my body against his, forcing the hand with the crossbow down between us. If he fires now it will be painful, but not deadly.

But Foley doesn't fire. In fact, he does nothing. His eyes are wide, staring, unbelieving. He can't seem to look away, makes no move to flee. He is rooted to the spot, terrified, confused. I remember what it was like, that first realization that what confronts you is a creature from a nightmare. It hasn't been that long. The paralyzing fear, the reeling mind, the body numb with shock.

It fills the vampire with power, wonder, lust. It makes taking a human easy.

I feel it now. I hear the voice-Anna's voice-telling me to be careful. Foley is human. If I kill him, if I feed from him, I will be changed. He is not a willing host. He is not feeling the pleasure that comes from wanting.

My heart is pounding, deafening in my ears. My body is on fire with the bloodlust. This overwhelming urge to kill a human overtook me once before-when I had Trish's tormentor by the throat. Frey stopped me then. I have to stop myself now.

Foley is limp in my arms. He's whimpering, making a sound much like the one Frey made moments before. Not of pain. This is the sound of surrender, of terror. My lips are at his throat, the rush of his blood makes them tingle with anticipation. I let my tongue rest lightly over the pulse point at the base of his jaw. His heart is hammering and I revel in the knowledge that he is mine for the taking.

A movement, small and inconsequential brings me back. Frey, squirming in pain at our feet. And a sound, the witch yelling.

I jerk my head back from Foley and whirl around.

Humans are coming up the stairs toward me. They clutch pieces of sharpened wood in their hands and their faces are masks of hatred. These humans know about vampires. They are not paralyzed by fear or wonder. With a swooping motion, I grab Frey. I glance over at the cross. I can't do anything for either the human or Culebra. I can only save Frey and myself.

Culebra, I scream silently, I'm sorry.

There is no answer.

The woman hangs alone on the cross. Culebra is gone.