Carpe Corpus
There was a hidden ladder down to a surprisingly large, well-lit tunnel underneath Common Grounds. It had a false brick wall that led into one of the maze of tunnels that was big enough for cars - and there was one waiting, a big idling limousine. One of Claire's vampire captors opened the back and pushed her inside before getting in with her. The other one took the front seat, and before more than a few seconds passed, they were driving on into the hidden world underneath Morganville. "Hey," Claire said. The vampire sitting next to her in the back glanced at her, then away. He was about twice her size, and she had a feeling that he could have broken her in half with a harsh word and his little finger. "What's going to happen to them?"
He shrugged, not like he didn't know - more like he just flat didn't care enough to tell her. The Goldmans didn't mean much to him. Claire meant even less.
"What's your name?" she asked, and surprised herself. But for some reason, she wanted to know. Dean's brother - he hadn't been just some nameless Bad Guy Number Four. This vampire wasn't, either. He had a name, a history, maybe even people who cared what happened to him.
"My name is none of your business," he said, and continued to stare out the window, even though there was nothing but blurry brick out there.
"Can I call you None for short?" It was an Eve joke, but Claire didn't think she delivered it very well, because the vampire didn't even blink. He just shut her out.
She concentrated on not thinking about what might have happened to Shane.
The car burst out of the tunnel at a high rate of speed, rose up a ramp, and exited from what looked like an industrial building - another of Morganville's secret roads. They turned onto a residential street near Claire's parents' house - she recognized two of the burned-out homes and the carefully clipped hedge animals in front of the yellow clapboard house on the corner. She'd always thought the squirrel looked kind of crazy.
They didn't slow down as the limousine sped through the streets. People got out of the way - bikes, cars, even one or two pedestrians hurrying home into the sunset. The vampire driver had a blacked-out windshield, but he was still wearing sunglasses, gloves, and had most of his face covered as well. Young, Claire thought. Older vampires wouldn't care about the sun that much. It hurt them, but it wouldn't kill them. So maybe Bishop had recruited some new guys.
Before she could think of anything else to say that wouldn't get her killed, the limousine took a turn down a shaded wide street. At the end of it, Claire saw familiar buildings, and the big green expanse of Founder's Square.
They were taking her to Bishop.
She slid over to the far side, taking her time about it, and as the car slowed for the next turn, she tried to open the door and throw herself out.
Locked. Of course. The vampire in the back didn't even bother to look at her.
Another ramp, this one leading down under the streets, and thirty seconds later they were parked underground. Claire tried to come up with a plan, but honestly, she didn't have much. She'd lost her cell phone when Theo had crashed into her, not that she had even a vague idea of who she could call, anyway. There was a stake hidden at the bottom of her backpack that maybe, maybe she could use - but only if it was one-on-one, and the one was a lot less scary than the two currently escorting her around.
"Get out," the vampire in the back said, as the door locks clicked open. "Don't try to run."
She didn't want to. She wanted to save her strength for something more useful.
Whatever that useful thing was, it didn't become clear as they headed for the elevator and crowded inside. Phony not-really-music was piped into the steel-and-carpet box, making it seem that much more like a nightmare.
The elevator doors opened in a big formal room, the round one where she and Myrnin had circulated in their costumes before Mr. Bishop's welcome feast, the one that had been the starting point for everything going so wrong in Morganville. The doors to the banquet hall were closed, and her vampire guards marched her up the hallway to Bishop's office instead.
Michael opened the door. He hesitated, and almost lost his cool, then nodded and stepped aside for the three of them to come inside. There was nobody else in the room.
Not even Mr. Bishop.
"What's going on?" Claire asked. "I thought . . . Where is he?"
"Sit down and shut up," her vampire backseat guardian snarled, and shoved her into a chair. Michael looked like he might have been tempted to come to her defense, but she shook her head. Not worth it. Not yet, anyway.
The office door opened, and Mr. Bishop came in, wearing what looked like the same black suit and white shirt he'd been wearing the day before. There was something savage in the look he threw Claire, but he didn't pause; he walked to his desk and sat down.
He never did that. She couldn't imagine it was a good sign.
"Come here," he said. Claire didn't want to, but she felt the power woven into the tattoo on her arm snap to life. It responded to Bishop's voice - only to his - and the harder she tried to resist it, the worse it was going to hurt. But Patience Goldman was right . . . it hurt a lot less than it had before. Maybe it really was fading.
Better not to fight it and tip him off, if that was the case. She took a deep breath and let it pull her closer, right in front of his desk. Bishop leaned forward, staring up at her with cold, empty eyes, elbows braced on the polished wood surface. "Did you know what Goldman was going to do?" he asked. "Did you put him up to it?"
"No," she said. She wasn't sure whether it would help Theo if she took the blame, anyway.
Bishop stared a hole into her, then sat back and let his eyes drift half closed. "It hardly matters," he said. "I knew those people could not be trusted for any length of time. I kept watch on them. And you - I know you can't be trusted, either, little girl. I tethered you, but I didn't tame you. You're harder than you look, like my daughter, Amelie. No wonder she took you under her Protection."
"What are you going to do to the Goldmans?"
Bishop slapped his palm down on the desk, hard enough to leave his imprint half an inch deep in the wood. "I am done with restraint. This town will learn I am not to be taunted, not to be toyed with, not to be mocked. You will learn."
Claire wanted to shoot back some smart-ass remark, but she could see the vicious anger in him, and knew it was just waiting to pounce. She stood there, silent, watching him, and then he slowly relaxed. When she started to back away, he said, "Stay there. I have something for you."
He snapped his fingers, and when the door opened, Shane walked in. She hadn't noticed it in the cell, but he was thinner than he'd been a few months ago - and he was also bruised and simmering with fury. When he saw Bishop, he lunged for him.
"No!" Claire yelled. "Shane, stop!"
He didn't, but he also didn't have to. Michael flashed across the room and got in his way, wrapping Shane in a bear hug and bringing him to a sudden halt.
"Let go!" Shane's voice was ragged, splitting and tearing under the strain of his anger. "Screw you, Michael; let go!"
He tried to break free. Michael didn't let him. He pushed him back, all the way to the wall, and held him there. Claire couldn't see Michael's face, but she could see part of Shane's, and she saw something change in it. Shane stopped fighting, as if he'd received some message she hadn't seen.
"I am a good master," Bishop said, as if none of that had happened. "You asked me for a birthday favor, Claire. I granted you a visit. Today, I have decided that it was a poor gift. I will give you what you want. Shane will be free to go."
Claire didn't dare to breathe, blink, move. She knew this was a trick, a cruel way to crush her hopes, and Shane's, too. "Why?" she finally said. Her lips felt numb. "Why now?"
"Because I intend to teach you both what it means to defy me, once and for all, and let you carry the tale for me," Bishop said. "Michael. Hold them, but make sure the two of them see everything. I won't have my students failing their lessons."
Bishop's control let go, and Claire stumbled backward into Michael. His arm went around her waist, and she felt the pressure of his lips close to her ear. "Stay still," he whispered. "No matter what happens, just stay still. Please. I'll protect you."
On Michael's other side, Shane was very, very quiet. He wasn't looking at Bishop. He was looking across at Claire, and he was scared - scared that something was going to happen to her, she realized. She tried for a smile, but wasn't sure how it came out.
Shane opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, a vampire guard came in, bringing a thin, scraggly man with a mess of graying, curling hair and a nasty scar down his face.
Shane's dad. He looked older, thinner, and even more vulnerable than he had back in his cell - nothing like the big, scary monster who'd terrified her when she'd first met him.
"Are you watching, Shane?" Bishop asked. "I want you to learn, so that you don't make the same mistakes again."
"Dad," Shane said. "Dad?"
Frank Collins put his hand out to stop Shane from trying to break free. "It's all right. Nothing he can do to me now." He faced Bishop straight on. "Been there, done that, not scared of anything you can bring to this party, bloodsucker. So just kill me and get it over with."
Bishop slowly rose from his chair, staying behind the desk.
"But, Mr. Collins, you mistake me. I'm not going to kill you. I'd never do such a thing. You're far too valuable to me."
His pale hands flashed out, grabbed Shane's dad, and jerked him forward over the desk. Claire shut her eyes as the fangs came out, and Bishop's eyes flashed red. She didn't see the actual biting, but she heard Shane screaming.
It was over in about thirty seconds. Shane never stopped fighting to get free of Michael's hold.
Claire didn't fight at all. She just couldn't.
She heard a thud as Mr. Collins's body hit the floor, and when she opened her eyes she realized that she'd been wrong about everything. Very wrong.
Bishop wasn't finished.
He gnawed at his wrist, pried open Frank Collins's mouth, and poured blood into it as he spread his other hand over the top of the man's head. Claire had seen this before - Amelie had done it to Michael - but Amelie had found it difficult and exhausting to make a new vampire.
For Bishop, it seemed easy.
"No," Shane said. "No, stop."
Right there, right in front of them, Frank Collins coughed, choked, and came back to life. It looked painful, and it seemed to take forever for the thrashing and screaming to stop.
When it did, he wasn't Frank Collins. Not anymore.
He opened his eyes, and they were red.
"You see?" Bishop said, and wiped excess blood from his wrist on his black jacket. "I am not cruel. You'll never lose your father, Shane. Never again."
Claire could hear Shane's breath coming fast and ragged - more sobbing than gasping - but she couldn't look at him. She knew him; she knew he wouldn't want her to see him like this. That's Shane. Always trying to protect me.
Shane wasn't even looking at him. He was looking at his dad.
Frank Collins, standing next to Bishop, kept staring back at his son, and Claire didn't think that look was concern.
More like hunger.
"I hope everyone learned something today," Mr. Bishop said. "First, I know everything that goes on in Morganville. Second, I don't tolerate foolish attempts at rebellion. Third . . . well. I am so kind and merciful that no one else will die for it today. No, not even the Goldmans, before you bleat the question at me. They have been confined somewhere safe, for now, until I decide on a fitting punishment." He flicked his fingers at Michael. "See your friends home, boy. It would be a dreadful irony if they should be drained along the way by some passing stranger. Or relative."
Emphasis on the dreadful, Claire thought. She grabbed Shane's cold, shaking hand and forced him to look at her.
"Let's go," she said. "We have to go, Shane. Right now."
She wasn't really sure he understood her, but Michael helped nudge him along when he slowed down.
It was a long ten seconds until they were on the other side of the closed door, being eyed by Bishop's vampire guards. Claire felt like the last sandwich on the lunch counter.
Shane broke out of his trance when they got into the elevator.
Unfortunately.
Michael was pushing the garage button on the elevator panel, and he didn't quite see it coming. Shane got in a lucky shot to his face, fast and vicious, as Michael turned. It was hard enough that Michael, even with vampire strength, felt it, and crashed back against the wall, denting it in an uneven outline of his shoulders.
When Shane tried to follow up with a second punch, Michael caught his fist in an open palm. "There was nothing I could do, Shane," he said, but there was something behind the words. Something far kinder. "Let's wait to do the cage match when Claire isn't trapped in the middle, all right?"
She wasn't exactly in the middle, but close enough. No way could she come out of it unbruised if Shane and Michael decided to really go at it in a small, enclosed space.
Shane stopped, and, as if he'd forgotten that she was there at all, he turned to look at her. For a second there was no expression on his face, and then it all flooded in - pain, fury, relief.
And then horror.
He lowered his fist, gave Michael a look that pretty clearly said, Later, and turned toward Claire. There were two feet of space between them, and about a mile of separation.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "God, Shane, I am so sorry."
He shuddered and stepped forward to put his arms around her. As hugs went, it was everything wrapped together in a tangled mess - tight, a little desperate, filled with need. He needed her. He really did.
He didn't say anything as the elevator slowly descended. She listened to his breathing, and finally, he made a faint, wordless sound of pain, and pulled away from her. She held on to his hand.
"Come on," she said, and Michael held the door as the two of them stepped out into the darkened garage. Claire knew there were probably threats out there in the dark, but she didn't care. She was tired, and right now, she hated all of them so much for hurting Shane that she would have staked anybody. Amelie. Sam. Michael. She couldn't believe he hadn't done anything to stop it from happening. She was just now realizing that he'd stood by and . . . watched.
Shane was eerily quiet. Michael moved around them and opened the back door of his Morganville-standard vampmobile; Claire climbed in with Shane, leaving Michael alone in the front seat.
If he had any objections to the seating arrangements, he kept them to himself.
Shane held her hand tightly all the way - through the dark tunnels, then as they traveled the darkened streets. She didn't pay attention to where they were going. Right now, one place was as good as the next, as long as she still had his hand in hers. As long as they stayed together. His misery was a thick black cloud, and it felt like it was smothering them both, but at least they could cling to each other in the middle of it. She couldn't imagine what it would be like all alone.
When Michael braked the car and opened the back door, though, Claire realized that he'd taken Bishop's instructions literally.
He'd brought them home.
The decaying Victorian glory of the Glass House stretched up into the night. Live oaks fluttered their stiff little leaves in the breeze, and in the distance black, shiny grackles set up a loud racket of shrieks and rattles in a neighbor's tree. Grackles loved dusk, Claire remembered. It was their noisiest time of the day. The whole neighborhood sounded like broken glass in a blender.
She got Shane out of the car and opened the front gate. As they moved up the steps, the front door opened, and there stood Eve - not in black tonight, but in purple, with red leggings and clunky black platform shoes. She had a stake in one hand and a silver knife in the other, but as she saw them coming up the steps, she dropped both to the floor and lunged to throw herself on Shane.
He caught her in midair, out of self-defense.
"You're out!" she cried, and gave him an extra-hard squeeze before jumping back to the top of the steps and doing a victory dance that was a cross between something found in an end zone and a chorus line. "I knew you'd beat the rap, Collins! I just knew it! High five . . . "
She held up her hand for him to smack, but he just looked at her. Eve's smile and upraised palm faltered, and she looked quickly at Claire, then Michael.
"Oh God," she said, and lowered her hand. "What is it? What happened?"
"Not out here. Let's get inside," Michael said. "Now."
Shane didn't make it very far. In fact, five steps down the hallway, he gave up and just . . . stopped. He put his back to the wall, slid down to a sitting position, and sat there, staring down at his hands.
Claire didn't know what she ought to do, other than stay with him. Before she could sit down next to him, though, Eve grabbed her by the elbow and shook her hard. "Hey! What happened? You called the house but you got cut off. I've been out looking for you ever since, calling everybody I could think of. Hannah's out looking for you, too. What is it?"
"It's Shane's dad," Claire said. Eve let go and covered her mouth with one hand, eyes wide. She already had a sense of what was coming. "Bishop . . . he . . . he turned him into a vampire. Right in front of us." Claire looked down at Shane. "Right in front of him."
Eve didn't know what to say. She just looked at them, and finally at Michael. "You couldn't do anything about it?"
He kept his head down. "No."
"Nothing? Nothing at all?"
Michael turned and slammed his fist into the wall with so much violence the whole house seemed to shake. Eve yelped and jumped back, and almost tripped over Shane in her stacked heels.
"No," Michael said, with a kind of forced calm that made Claire ache inside. "Nothing at all. If I had, Bishop would have known he didn't have me anymore, and that was what he was waiting for. This wasn't about Shane and Claire, or about Shane's dad. This was more about finding out if I was still his bitch."
Shane slowly raised his head, and the two boys stared at each other for a long, quiet moment.
Michael crouched down. "I'd have killed him if I could have," he said. "I'm not strong enough, and he knows it. That's why he likes to keep me right there, because he knows that deep down I want to rip his head off. It's fun for him."
"So my dad was just your object lesson," Shane said. "Is that it?"
Michael reached out and put his hand on Shane's knee. He'd split the skin over his knuckles, and there was plaster dust all over his skin.
It wasn't bleeding.
"We're going to get him, Shane. We will."
"Who's we?" Shane asked wearily, and let his head fall back against the wall as he shut his eyes. "Just leave me alone, man. I'm tired. I just can't . . . I'm tired."
Eve put her hand on Michael's shoulder. "Come on," she said. "Leave him alone. He needs time."
Shane laughed dryly. It was a rattle in his throat, like the sound the grackles were making outside. "Yeah. Time. That's what I need." He didn't sound like himself. Not at all.
Michael didn't want to go, but Eve insisted, tugging on his hand until he stood up and followed her out into the living room.
Leaving Shane sitting alone on the floor.
"Hey," Claire said, and sat down beside him, arms wrapped around her knees. "You going to sit here all night?"
"Maybe."
"I just thought - "
"What? I'd snap out of it and go play some video games? Eat a taco? It's not that easy, Claire. He's my - " Shane's voice broke, then got stronger. "He was my dad. There was one thing in the world he was afraid of, and I just watched it happen to him. I can't even think about this right now."
"I know," she said, and leaned her head on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry."
They sat there together for a long time. Eve and Michael looked in on them from time to time. After a while, they quit looking, and Claire saw them head upstairs.
The house grew quiet.
"It's cold," Shane finally said. She was getting a little drowsy, despite the discomfort; his voice shocked her back upright again.
"Yeah, kinda. Well, it's the floor." Although it wasn't really the floor's fault, Claire supposed.
He considered that in silence for a few long seconds. "I guess it's pretty stupid to sit here all night."
"Maybe not. If it makes you feel better . . ."
He stretched out his legs with a sudden thump and sighed. "I don't see how getting cold and losing feeling in my body is going to help. Also, I need a bed that isn't a bunk, and hasn't been the previous property of some dude named Bubba with a farting problem."
That was - almost - the old Shane. Claire sat up straight and looked up at him. After a second, he met her eyes. He didn't look happy, but he looked . . . better.
He was trying to be better.
"I forgot to say hello," he said. "Back in Bishop's office, when I saw you."
"Given the circumstances, I think we can let that slide." She swallowed, because he wasn't looking away. "It's been a while. Since . . . you know. Bishop put you behind bars."
"I did notice," he said, deadpan. "Are you asking if I have any wild men-behind-bars stories to tell you?"
"What?" She felt a blush start to burn along her jaw-line, then spill over her cheeks. "No! Of course not! I just . . . I don't know if - "
"Stop stammering."
"You make me stammer. You always have, when you look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm dessert."
He licked her on the nose. She squealed and pulled back, swiping at the moisture, but then he was holding her, and his lips were warm and soft and damp, pressing on hers with genuine urgency. He didn't taste like dessert, not at all; he tasted like she imagined really good wine would taste, dark and strong and going straight to her head. Her muscles warmed and purred where he touched her, and it felt like, just for a moment, there was nothing in the world.
Nothing but this.
He broke off the kiss and pressed his hot cheek against her burning one; she felt his breath fluttering the hair above her ear. She felt him draw in a breath to say something, but she got there first.
"Don't," she whispered. "Don't tell me all the reasons why this isn't a good time, or a good idea. Don't tell me we ought to be thinking about your dad or my parents or what Bishop is doing right now. I want to be here with you. Just . . . here."
Shane said, "Well, I don't want to be here."
The world went out of focus, and her heart shattered. She'd known it was coming; she'd known that he'd changed his mind, that all that time apart had given him time to think about what he wouldn't like about her. . . . Why would somebody like Shane love her, anyway? He'd dated other girls. Better girls. Prettier and smarter and hotter. It had just been a matter of time before he noticed that she was a skinny geek.
But it hurt; oh God, it hurt so badly, like she'd been stabbed with a dagger made of ice.
She couldn't help the tears that flooded her eyes, and she couldn't hold back the sob. Shane went tense, and pushed her back to arm's length. "What?" he asked. "What did I say?"
She wanted to tell him it was all right, but it wasn't, it just wasn't, and it never would be. She felt like half of her was dying, and he looked at her in confusion and acted like he didn't understand what he'd done to her.
Claire scrambled away from him and bolted. It was usually Shane who ran away, but this time, she couldn't stay. She couldn't stand to be here, humiliated and stupid and hurting, and try to be nice to him, even though he needed it. Maybe even deserved it.
"Claire!" Shane tried to get up, but his feet wouldn't stay under him. "Dammit, wait - my legs went to sleep; wait! Claire - "
She didn't wait, but somehow, he managed to follow her, lunging after her with feet that must have been like running on concrete blocks. He tripped into her and they fell onto the couch. Claire smacked at him and tried to struggle free. "Let go!" she said around her sobs. "Just let go!"
"Not until you tell me what just happened. Claire, look at me. I don't understand why you're upset!"
He really didn't know. He was all but begging her to tell him. All right, then, fine. "Fine," she said aloud, in a voice that trembled more than she wanted. "I get it. You don't want to be with me right now. Maybe not ever. I understand, it's been a long time, and . . . your dad . . . I just . . . I can't . . . Oh, just let me go!"
"What in the hell are you talking about?" And then he got it. She saw him run it through his head, and his eyes widened. "Oh my God. Claire, you thought I meant I didn't want - No. God, no. When I said, 'I don't want to be here,' I meant I didn't want to be there. You know, sitting on the cold floor with my ass turning into an ice-berg. I wanted you. I just wanted you somewhere else." He shook his head. "I meant it as a joke. I was going to say, 'I want to be on the couch.' Okay, it was stupid, I know. Sorry. I never meant you to think - Wait. Why would you think I'm not into you, anyway?"
Because I'm a girl, Claire thought. She was barely able to contain the relief welling up inside her. Because we're all stupid and insecure and think that we're never, ever good enough. She didn't say that, though. Some things it was better for boys not to know. "I just . . . It's been a tough day." She was still crying, and she couldn't seem to stop. "I'm sorry, Shane. I'm sorry your dad - "
"Hey." He touched her cheek. "It's bad, but I can deal. I'm more worried about you."
He always was. "Why?"
He wiped away the tears that trickled down her cheeks. "Because I'm not the one doing the crying, for one thing."
She nodded, shuddered, and started to gulp back the sobs. He waited, holding her, until she was finally quiet - relaxed in a way she hadn't been before.
Weirdly happy just to be here, with him, no matter what had happened or would happen. This moment, she thought. This moment is perfect.
"Shane?" she asked. She felt drowsy now, lazy in the warmth of his body.
"Yes?"
"Do you have any wild men-behind-bars stories?"
"Not really. Sorry to tease you," he said, and traced his finger down her cheek and over her lips. Slowly. "You know I spent a lot of time thinking about you, don't you? About how you look, how you smell, how you taste . . ."
"Creepy stalker boy."
He kissed her. There was something new in it, something fierce and hot and wild, and she felt needs explode inside her she didn't even recognize. Her whole body lifted, like she'd become metal to his magnet. Shane groaned and rolled her over on her back, his weight on top of her, and kept on kissing her like it was the most important thing in his world.
His lips left hers gasping for air, and traveled down her neck, around the collar of her T-shirt, and his hand dragged the fabric down to expose more skin to his kisses.
Off, Claire thought incoherently, and tried to pull the hem of her shirt up.
Shane's hand stopped hers. She looked up at him.
"Not here," he said. She waited. He looked wary. "What?"
"I was just waiting for you to say, 'Not now,' too. You know, like always."
He smiled, and it was pure Shane - full of edges and yet oddly sweet."Claire, I just got out of jail. Do you honestly think I'm bucking for sainthood or something?"
Her whole body burned with a sudden burst of furious energy. He just said yes. Oh my God. All she could think of to say was, "Tell me how much you missed me."
"Not everything needs a speech." He was right about that. She could feel the wild energy in him, trembling right under his skin - a match for hers. "But I have to know, do you want to do this? Really?"
She'd been trying not to think about the scary mechanics of the moment. She'd asked Eve once, in that conspiracy-whisper voice girls used when they were embarrassed not to already know, whether or not the first time really hurt. Eve had said, very matter-of-factly, yes, and gone on to tell her all about her horrible first-time guy. So part of Claire's body was dreading the unknown, and part of it was screaming to jump in, no matter what happened.
"Yes," she said, and her whole body went quiet, stunned into silence. "Yes, Shane. I want to do this. I want to do it with you."
He let out his breath in a shaky laugh. "Nobody else? Not even the hot nude guy from that movie? No? Okay. No pressure." He gave her another kiss, this one fast and warm. "Upstairs?"
They slid off the couch together, hand in hand, and he led her up the stairs, looking back at her in warm glances, stopping every few steps to kiss her. By the time they made it to the top, she was tingling and shaking all over.
Shane pointed questioningly at his own door, but she shook her head. Her room was bigger, and it was at the end of the hall. More private.
He pulled in a quick, shaking breath. "Five minutes," he said. "I need a shower."
She nodded, although somehow being parted from him made it feel risky. They could change their minds at any second.
She opened her bedroom door as Shane went into the bathroom.
It hadn't occurred to Claire, but she supposed that Eve could have turned her former bedroom into anything - a Goth wardrobe warehouse, for instance, filled with skull- themed outfits. Or storage for her growing collection of vampire-slaying implements. Instead, the room was just the way Claire had left it - neat, kind of sterile, no trace of her own stuff left behind. There was a layer of dust on the sparse furniture, and the air felt cold for a few seconds, then began to warm up, as if the house sensed her presence and was eager to make her welcome again.
The big, soft bed still had sheets and layers of blankets and comforters.
She closed and sat down on the bed. Her hands were cold and shaking, and now that Shane wasn't here, she felt sense trying to knock itself back into her head.
No, she thought stubbornly. No, not this time.
He leaned against the door after closing it, watching her.
"So," he said. "Maybe I should just - "
"Shut up, Shane," she said, and went to kiss him for a long, warm, lingering moment.
Then she reached behind him and locked the door. Just her and Shane, no friends banging on the door, no family ready to drag them apart. Not even a single vampire hiding in the shadows to spoil things.
For once, nothing to make either of them change their minds.
"Don't you dare ask me again if I'm sure," Claire said, and raised the hem of her T-shirt and pulled it off. The cold air glided over her flushed skin and made her shiver. She knew she was blushing, and she couldn't stop trembling, but that was all right, somehow. As she dropped the shirt to the floor, she thought, He's seen me like this before. It's okay.
Shane sat down on the edge of the bed, watching her with absolute concentration. She toed off her shoes, stripped away her socks, unbuttoned her jeans and unzipped them, and kicked them off into the same pile.
He's seen me like this before, too.
She reached behind her for the clasp of her bra. But not like this.
"Wait," he said, and pulled his own shirt off. Beneath it, his skin was paler than she remembered, his muscles more defined underneath. "I just want to keep it even."
She swallowed a nervous laugh. "Then you have to get rid of the pants."
Shane grinned at her and leaned back to work the button and zipper. "Don't blame me for the underwear," he said. "It's prison-issue."
"I am so glad you didn't say that before. Oh, and don't say that to my parents, ever."
Shane's pants hit the floor, along with his shoes and socks. Claire's gaze skimmed over him, and she felt dizzy at the sight of so much exposed skin.
"Come over here," he said. "It's cold."
He folded back the covers and slid in. She followed, feeling awkward and made of angles that didn't quite seem to know how to fit together.
Lying beside him felt strange and, at the same time, completely right. They lay inches apart, turned toward each other on their sides. Yearning, and not touching.
Shane lost his smile for a second. "You can tell me to stop anytime. Always."
"I know."
"I won't be angry about that."
"Shane - "
"Anyway, I just wanted to tell you something."
"What?"
He reached out and touched the back of his hand to her face. "I love you."
Somehow, she managed not to cry, although she knew he'd see the glitter of tears in her eyes. "You said it first this time."
He looked relieved. "Yeah. Finally, huh?"
"Finally," she whispered. "I love you, too."
His arms pulled her against him, and she felt small and breathless and utterly secure. It was just a hug, a hug like all the other hugs . . . but it was different, too.
"God, you're beautiful," he said, and she felt his fingers press on her back. Oh - he was working the hooks on her bra. He'd had practice, some part of her noticed; the rest was too busy screaming in utter joy.
Then she wasn't able to think about much at all.
It wasn't like in the movies. In the movies, it was all graceful, pretty people and hot camera angles; in real life, it was a weird mix of tremendously exciting and totally awkward. Shane still had condoms in the wallet that he retrieved from his jeans. That was something they never showed in the movies (at least the ones Claire watched). He was kind of embarrassed about it, too. It made it feel real to her - a lot more real than all her old fantasies.
Shane asked a lot of questions, which felt odd at first, but then she realized that he was nervous, just as nervous as she was, and that was all right. He wanted to make her happy.
He did make her happy.
Despite what Eve had told her, the pain still came as a shock, leaping in an electric current through her entire body. If Shane hadn't held her and helped her through it, Claire didn't know how she would have felt about it later . . . but he did, and it got better.
And then it was all right.
And then it was amazing. She cried a little, and she didn't even know why, except that the emotions were just too big for her. Too overwhelming.
"It's different," Claire whispered to him in the dark, as they lay there wrapped up together, warm and content. "It's different from what I thought."
"Different how?" He sounded suddenly worried. Claire kissed him.
"Good different. Different like it means something. Like right now - it doesn't feel like we're naked at all, does it?" She didn't know why she said that, but it was true; she didn't feel exposed with him. Just . . . accepted. "I'm not afraid with you. You know what I mean?"
He made a lazy uh-huh sound that meant he might possibly not be listening. "So it was okay."
"Okay?" She rose up on one elbow to look down on him. "Is this you fishing for compliments on your hotness?"
"Why? Did I catch one?"
"Idiot." She flopped back down and cuddled up against him. His hand caressed the small of her back in tiny circles. "I won't lie to you: that was intense. And it hurt. But . . . yeah. It was . . . amazing."
"I hate that it hurt," he said. "Next time - "
"I know. It wasn't so bad, though. Don't worry." The warm cushion of his arm under her head felt like the best pillow in the world. "I feel different. Do I look different?"
Shane brushed hair back from her face. "It's pretty dark in here, but yeah, I can see it."
She felt her eyes widen. "You can?"
"Sure." He traced a finger over her forehead. "Claire is not a virgin. Says so right there."
She felt her cheeks and forehead heat up, and smacked his arm. "You are awful."
"Ah, the truth comes out."
"Seriously. I just feel . . . I do feel different. I feel like I'm someone else than I was before. You know?"
"Yeah," he said somberly. "I know. But I feel like that every day I wake up in Morganville."
She kissed him, and tasted the sadness in him. His sigh seemed to come all the way from his toes. "God, I needed you," he murmured. "I can't even tell you how many times I thought about this. The funny thing is, I don't need you any less now. I think I need you more."
That, Claire thought, was a pretty good definition of love: needing someone even after you got what you thought you wanted.
After a long moment, he said, "Your dad is going to kill me. And he's probably got a right to."
She hadn't thought about her parents, but now it flooded in with a vengeance. This was going to get messy. And complicated. "It'll be okay," she whispered, and spread her hand out over his chest. He put his own hand over hers. "We'll be okay."
They fell asleep in each other's arms, and woke up late in the morning to the sound of birds.
Not grackles.
Songbirds.