"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.
Michael let Claire go. After a quick glance at her, he turned to Shane. "Don't freak out on me," he said. "Don't. This isn't the time, and it isn't the place."
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.