Lord of Misrule Page 0,2

boy," she said. "Don't worry. I won't accidentally embarrass you."

No, she'd embarrass him completely on purpose, and Shane knew it, from the glare he threw her. He ducked behind the blanket. Claire wasn't tall enough to check him out over the top--not that she wasn't tempted--but when Eve lowered the blanket, bit by bit, Claire grabbed one corner and pulled it back up.

"You're no fun," Eve said.

"Don't mess with him. Not now. He's going out there alone."

Eve's face went still and tight, and for the first time, Claire realized that the shine in her eyes wasn't really humor. It was a tightly controlled kind of panic. "Yeah," she said. "I know. It's just--we're all splitting up, Claire. I wish we didn't have to do that."

On impulse, Claire hugged her. Eve smelled of powder and some kind of darkly floral perfume, with a light undertone of sweat.

"Hey!" Shane's wounded yell was enough to make them both giggle. The blanket had drooped enough to show him zipping up his pants. Fast. "Seriously, girls, not cool. A guy could do serious damage."

He looked more like Shane now. The leather pants had made him unsettlingly hotmodel gorgeous. In jeans and his old, faded Marilyn Manson Tshirt, he was somebody downtoearth, somebody Claire could imagine kissing.

And she did imagine, just like that. It was, as usual, heartracingly delicious.

"Michael's going out, too," Eve said, and now the tension she'd been hiding made her voice tremble. "I have to tell him--"

"Go on," Claire said. "We're right behind you."

Eve dropped the blanket and pushed through the crowd, heading for her boyfriend, and the unofficial head of their strange and screwedup fraternity.

It was easy to spot Michael in any group--he was tall and blond, with a face like an angel. As he caught sight of Eve heading toward him, he smiled, and Claire thought that was maybe the most complicated smile she'd ever seen, full of relief, welcome, love, and worry.

Eve crashed straight into him, hard enough to rock him back on his heels, and their arms went around each other.

Shane held Claire back with a touch on her shoulder. "Give them a minute," he said. "They've got things to say." She turned to look at him. "And so do we."

She swallowed hard and nodded. Shane's hands were on her shoulders, and his eyes had gone still and intense.

"Don't go out there," Shane said.

It was what she'd been intending to say to him. She blinked, surprised.

"You stole my paranoia," she said. "I was going to say, Don't go. But you're going to, no matter what I say, aren't you?"

That threw him off just a little. "Well, yeah, of course I am, but--"

"But nothing. I'll be with Amelie; I'll be okay. You? You're going off with the cast of WWE Raw to fight a cage match or something. It's not the same thing."

"Since when do you ever watch wrestling?"

"Shut up. That's not the point, and you know it. Shane, don't go." Claire put everything she had into it.

It wasn't enough.

Shane smoothed her hair and bent down to kiss her. It was the sweetest, gentlest kiss he'd ever given her, and it melted all the tense muscles of her neck, her shoulders, and her back. It was a promise without words, and when he finally pulled back, he passed his thumb across her lips gently, to seal it all in.

"There's something I really ought to tell you," he said. "I was kind of waiting for the right time."

They were in a room full of people, Morganville was in chaos outside, and they probably didn't have a chance of surviving until sunrise, but Claire felt her heart stutter and then race faster. The whole world seemed to go silent around her. He's going to say it.

Shane leaned in, so close that she felt his lips brush her ear, and whispered, "My dad's coming back to town."

That so wasn't what she was hoping he'd say. Claire jerked back, startled, and Shane put a hand over her mouth. "Don't," he whispered. "Don't say anything. We can't talk about this, Claire. I just wanted you to know."

They couldn't talk about it because Shane's father was Morganville's most wanted, public enemy number one, and any conversation they had--at least here--was in danger of being overheard by unfriendly, undead ears.

Not that Claire was a fan of Shane's father; he was a cold, brutal man who'd used and abused Shane, and she couldn't work up a lot of dread for seeing him behind bars . . . only