The Watcher (Anna Strong Chronicles #3)

The Watcher (Anna Strong Chronicles #3) Page 5

BUT IT'S A DAMNED NICE CAR. I DRIVE A TWO-YEAR-old, British Racing Green Jaguar XKR convertible. It makes the run between Balboa Park and La Jolla a snap, especially since it's too early for commuter traffic.

I know the spot where Williams is sending me. It's deep in Torrey Pines State Park where there is no convenient access to the secluded beach, only a steep path down a sheer wall of rock. Because of its isolation, it's become a popular "suit optional" beach, favored mostly by those who should never be given that option. But at this time of morning, and for a vampire who can climb like a mountain goat, it offers the privacy one needs for what Fisher has in mind.

I'm neither nervous nor anxious about what awaits me. I've done it before. For the last month, I've worked with Williams doing what the human justice system cannot, taking supernatural rogues to task for their criminal acts. Williams and others as yet unknown to me act as judge and jury. I am one of the enforcers, or executioners, as the verdict dictates.

It's simple. It's quick. It makes sense.

And I've found I'm good at it.

Not that the irony isn't lost on me. My day job is tracking bail jumpers and turning them over to a system that will likely release them back onto the streets to claim more victims. The otherworldly way offers more protection to the innocent and is a hell of a lot more efficient.

I pull as far into the park as I dare and cut the engine. I don't want Fisher to bolt at the unexpected arrival of a strange car. It's almost six, and the late fall sun will soon cast its bright, brittle gaze to the sea. I don't have time to waste.

Before climbing out of the car, I reach into the glove compartment. There's a knife there, in a nice little leather holster. I clip it to my waistband, at my back. If I turn my back on Fisher, he will see it. I don't intend to turn my back on him.

Then I step out, toss my jacket into the front seat, kick off the heels, and I'm off, running through the trees with an ease borne of belonging as much to the animal world as the human. I pass a dark sedan, tucked into a small clearing at the trailhead. I detect no sound from the car as I approach. It is empty. The keys are in the ignition and the doors are unlocked. I pull open the passenger door and release a heady bouquet of blood, lust and fear.

Fisher's scent, commingled with that of his victim. There are a few drops of blood on the headrest. I brush my fingertips over the stain and they come away wet. The taste of her blood is rich on my tongue, sends a thrill of anticipation through me. Tonight I'll head straight back to Beso de la Muerte. I'll have to.

Quietly, I push the door shut. Ahead of me is the path to the caves, still hidden by the deep shadows of predawn.

Head tilted, I listen. Below the ridgeline that hides the path from sight, I hear the rumble of the waves, the skitter of claws on sand as something big frightens smaller creatures back into the sea. That something is treading with heavy, certain steps-one set, not two.

I hope I'm not too late.

The path descends in a rocky, precipitous slope to the entrance of the first cave. I send out a silent, tentative probe, careful to mask my identity and close off my thoughts, seeking only to identify the thing below. Like a bat's radar, the echo bounces back-vampire.

It's all I need to know. I race down the path. I want to surprise this Simon Fisher. Give him something to take his mind off his victim. Something he'll want more than a mortal woman. Something better.

At the bottom yawns the entrance to the first sea cave. It's open, hollow, allowing a straight shot through the sand to the sea. It's the way most beach goers head. Unless you knew what else was down here, you'd miss it. To the left, behind a jagged outcropping of rock that looks solid, is another entrance. Invisible, dark, forbidding. Behind it, I pick up steady footfalls, heavy treads, someone carrying a burden. And soft, uneven breathing.

Vampires don't breathe.

I may not be too late after all.

Another probe tells me that the vampire is only a few yards from the entrance. His thoughts are feverish, the blood-lust is high. He is looking forward to the kill. He will take the woman sexually first, he can barely contain his excitement. Then he will drain her, savoring an even greater sexual pleasure as her life flows into his.

I step around the rocks, into the open. He is too involved in his fantasy to notice. He lays the woman on the ground, strikes her cheeks with the palm of his hand. He knows the drug he used on her should be wearing off. He slaps her again.

She groans, stirs.

I send out the first message. Simon Fisher?

His body jerks toward me. His eyes glow with a savage inner fire, then become flat and unreadable. He stares at me. Tries to probe my mind.

I don't let him.

What are you? What are doing here?

As I step forward, he takes a reflexive step back. His hands are curled in fists at his sides. His face is familiar- the face of the animal that claims us both. The face of the vampire. He growls a warning.

I hold up a hand. My name is Anna Strong. I am a Watcher. I came to warn you.

Of what?

The police know you are here.

The woman on the ground takes a deep, gulping breath. Her eyes are open, but clouded in confusion. When at last she can focus and she sees Fisher, the vampire, she tries to scramble away.

He reaches out, grabs her wrist, yanks her back close to him. He applies pressure to her jugular until she slumps against him.

I take a cautious step forward. Let her go. It will be worse for you if they find her here.

He grins, presses her limp hand to his lips, licks her wrist. I will claim my prize first. The human police cannot hold me. You know that.

But the Revengers can. You have attracted their attention with your carelessness. They are sending one of their own with the police. He will be the one who takes you into custody. You will never be seen again.

Fisher considers my words. It is well-known in the vampire community that the Revengers have members on the police force. It's how they identify criminal activity that can only be attributed to a vampire. It only takes a few bloodless bodies to raise their suspicion.

The woman's eyes open. She struggles against Fisher's restraining hand. When his grip loosens, she brings a knee up into his crotch. But it's not a solid kick and instead of letting go of her, quick anger darkens his face and he raises his hand to strike her.

I'm there before he connects, stopping his hand in midswing with mine.

I pull him toward me. Let her go. I am offering you something better.

There's an instant when I think he's going to fight me.

But I take the chance and drop his hand, let him read what I am offering.

Interest sparks in the depths of his eyes. He keeps his thoughts closed to me but I can guess what's going through his mind. His eyes travel from my breasts to the hem of the miniskirt.

The sexual drive in a male vamp is powerful-more powerful even than in a human male. And sex between vampires is the best sex of all. The combination of blood and sex transcends anything experienced with or by mortals. His eyes still focused on the point where my skirt ends and legs begin, Fisher's mind opens to me in a heated rush of what he wants to do and how he wants to do it.

I nod agreement. Let the woman go first.

He glances down at her dismissively. There are more like her. It is no loss.

He releases his grip and takes one step back.

The woman is on her feet, confusion and fear casting a shadow on her face.

"There's a car at the top of the trailhead," I tell her. "The keys are in the ignition. Get out of here."

She shakes her head as if to clear it. "What about you? You are coming, too, aren't you?"

"No. I'll be all right. Just go."

Still, she hesitates.

I turn an animal face to her, growl the order. "Go. Now."

She gasps and bolts, stumbling on the wet sand. She doesn't look back.

While my attention is on the woman, Fisher makes his move. He grabs me. With one hand at my neck and one hand at my crotch, he forces me down on the sand. When I'm trapped beneath him, he rips at my blouse with claw-like nails, gathers my skirt up until it's bunched around my waist. His eyes glow yellow and for an instant, I'm transported back to a dark parking lot on a hot July night when another vamp claimed me.

This night will be different.

Fisher pauses, lets go with one hand to fumble with his belt. It's all the hesitation I need.

I jerk my hands free and fling him off, not giving him even a moment to recover before I've reversed our positions. He's beneath me now, his hands pinned behind his back by the weight of our bodies.

He's grinning. You like to be on top. That's okay with me. But you'll have to open my collar. I can't seem to reach it.

His words mock me. It's all right. I smile back and do as he asks.

He squirms, positioning his pelvis against the fabric of my panties. I feel his excitement. It sickens me. Just like the thoughts he's projecting and the lust that burns my skin like acid wherever his flesh touches mine.

Come on. Let me in.

His tone is the high-pitched plea of a demanding child.

Iwant to drink a little first, I tell him. Get in the mood.

Irritation sparks along with the beginnings of anger. He raises his head to glare at me. No. We fuck first.

I leverage myself against him, forcing his head back on the sand with the heel on my hand. No. I drink first.

For the first time, he realizes that I'm stronger than he is, that he is not in control. He reacts predictably, struggling and cursing.

Like a cat with a wounded bird, I play with him. Let him try to wriggle out from under me, to work his hands free. I want him to feel the same helplessness his victims felt, know some of their desperation and fear. He tries to probe my mind, asking if this is a game. I swat away his attempts to read my thoughts. He is baffled with the turn this thing has taken.

What are you doing?

A smile. Why, I'm playing with you. Isn't this what you like? I bring my knee up into his groin. Press down until I see his face twist. Pain. Terror. Helplessness. Isn't this what gets you off?

He gasps. Tries to burrow his body into the sand to release the pressure. When he realizes he can't, he bucks against me. You bitch. You tricked me. I'll kill you for this.

From far away, I hear the faint howl of a siren. It's time to end it.

His skin is salty to my tongue. When he feels my teeth at his neck, his body relaxes, his thoughts flash that this is more like it. He presses his engorged sex against me and starts to move to the rhythm of his heartbeat. I open his throat with a single bite and start to drink.

He thinks he's won. He tells me again to let him in, demands sex. It's not until I refuse, refuse to stop feeding, refuse sex, refuse to give him access to my neck, that he realizes what is happening.

By then it is too late. It doesn't take long. I'm caught up in the hunger. He grows weak, his thoughts diffuse, froth, like foam on the crest of a wave. All the pain and death he's inflicted on his victims flows into me. The horror trips a gag reflex, but I can't stop. Even when he's a shell, a brittle husk, I keep sucking until I feel it. The shudder as his soul is released. Only then can I stop. Only then is the life force gone. Only then do I sit up, climb off his body and collapse on the sand.

There is still one more thing. I roll on my side to look at Fisher's face. When a vampire dies the second death, by staking or burning, he dissolves into dust. There's nothing left. Being drained is different and results in a kind of fast-forward aging. If Williams were to die like this, for instance, his two-hundred-year-old body would shrivel into something that might resemble a mummy's. Fisher, though, had only been vampire for ten years. His face and body look like that of a forty-year-old man.

I have to make it look as if a human killed him. I draw the knife from the sheath at my waist and slice across Fisher's jugular. I work at the bite marks with the serrated edge, opening a wide gash to hide them. A few drops of some clear liquid bubble from the wound. I then grab his ankles and pull his body into the water. I wade out a few feet from shore holding onto him until the current catches his body and carries it away. I want the sea to batter the remains, though it won't be a problem if the police have enough to determine cause of death. I doubt they'll waste serious manpower over the demise of a serial killer wanted in several states.

Now it's over.

I'm wet, bone weary, and sick inside from the infusion of Fisher's blood. If I were human, I'd stick a finger down my throat and vomit until my system was rid of the poison. But vampire physiology doesn't work like that. His blood is already coursing through my system. I'm stuck with it until I can purge it another way.

Brushing sand from my torn clothes, I start up the path.

The sirens are closer. Fisher's victim must have called for help. I need to be gone before anyone arrives. But Williams and I are going to have a talk.

A stake would have been so much easier.