For a heart-stopping second Claire thought he was going to peel out and drive away, leaving her there in the dark, but he waited. She opened the passenger door and got in. Shane didn't move.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
He didn't so much as look at her.
He put the car in gear and burned rubber on the way out of the lot.
Chapter Four
Shane went straight to his room, and didn't come down again for the dinner that Eve made - spaghetti with meat sauce, light on the garlic for the sake of the vampire at the table. It was probably delicious, but Claire couldn't taste a thing. She couldn't keep her mind off the white, rigid set of Shane's face, and the panic and loathing in his eyes. She didn't understand what had happened, and she knew he didn't want to be asked. Not now.
"Well?" Eve twirled spaghetti around her fork as she stared at Claire. "How is it?"
"Oh - fantastic," Claire said, with so much enthusiasm she knew nobody was fooled. She sighed. "I'm sorry. It's just - "
Eve pointed above their heads. "The dean of the drama department?"
Michael looked up at her, and for a second Claire saw the blue of his eyes flicker. "He's got his reasons," he said. "Let it go, Eve."
"Pardon me, but that boy can make a paper cut seem like a mortal wound. . . ."
"I said let it go." Michael snapped it this time, and there was unmistakable command in his voice. Eve stopped twirling spaghetti. Stopped doing everything except watching him with narrowed, kohl-rimmed eyes.
"Let's review," she said, and put the fork carefully down on a napkin. "You got all diva and decided you were too busy to go to the store. Next, Shane threw a tantrum and stomped up to his room to put on a one-man pity party. And now you're ordering me around like you own me. Are we under a testosterone storm warning?"
"Eve."
"I'm not finished. You may think that growing a pair of fangs makes you the boss around here, but you'd better check your playlist. You're on the seriously wrong track."
"Eve." Michael leaned forward, and Claire caught her breath. His eyes were all wrong, his movements too fast, and she caught a flash of teeth that were too white, too sharp.
Eve pushed her chair back from the table, picked up her bowl, and walked into the kitchen without a backward glance.
Michael put his head in his hands. "Christ, what just happened?"
Claire swallowed. She tasted nothing but metal, as if she'd tried to chew the fork instead of the food. Her whole body felt cold, aching with the need to do . . . something.
She took Michael's bowl, stacking it with her own. "I'll clean up," she said.
Michael's hand closed around her wrist. She didn't dare look up at him. At close range, she didn't want to see the changes in his eyes, the ones Eve had seen so clearly.
"I wouldn't hurt any of you. You believe me, right?"
She heard the sudden doubt in his voice.
"Sure," she said. "It's just - Michael, I don't think you really know what you are yet. What's changing inside you. Eve thinks that showing you our weakness is a bad idea. I don't think she's wrong about that."
Michael was watching her as if he'd never actually seen her before. As if she'd changed right before his eyes, from a child to an equal.
She swallowed hard. That was a powerful look, and it wasn't the vampire part of him - it was the Michael part. The part she admired, and loved.
"No," he said softly. "I don't think she's wrong, either." He touched Claire's cheek gently. "What happened to Shane?"
"You don't think it was just another pity party, like Eve?"
Michael had never looked so serious, she thought. "No," he said. "And I think he may need help. But I don't think he'd take it from me right now."
"I'm not sure he'll take it from me, either," Claire said.
Michael took the plates from her. "Don't underestimate yourself."
Shane's room was dark, except for the dim glow that came in from the distant streetlights. Claire eased the door open and, in the stripe of warm hallway light, saw his foot and part of his leg. He was lying on the bed. She shut the door, took a slow, calm breath, and walked to sit down next to him.
He didn't move. As her eyes adjusted, she saw that his eyes were open. He was staring at the ceiling.
"You want to talk about it?" she asked. No answer. He blinked; that was all. "She got to you, didn't she? Somehow, she got to you."
For a long few seconds, she thought he was just going to lie there and ignore her, but then he said, "They get inside your head, the really strong ones. They can make you - feel things. Want things you don't really want. Do things you'd never do. Most of them don't bother, but the ones that do - they're the worst."
Claire reached out in the darkness, and his hand met hers midway - cool at first, then growing warm where their skin touched.
"I don't want her, Claire," he said. "But she made me want her. You understand?"
"It doesn't matter."
"It does. Because now that she's done it once, it's going to be easy for her to do it again." His fingers tightened on hers, hard enough to make her wince. "Don't try to stop her. Or me, if it comes to that. I have to handle this myself."
"Handle it how?"
"Any way I can," Shane said. He shifted over on the bed. "You're shivering."
Was she? She honestly hadn't realized, but the room felt cold, cold and full of despair. Shane was the only bright thing in it.
She stretched out facing him. Too close, she thought, for her dad's comfort, if he'd seen them, even though they were only holding hands.