"He went after my mom?" Claire flung herself toward the door of the kitchen, and this time Shane barely managed to hold on.
"Dude, that was not the kind of help I was looking for," Shane said to Michael, and wrapped both arms around Claire to hold her in place. "Easy. Easy, Amelie's in there, and you know she'll keep things under control - "
Claire did. After a second's thought, it made her struggle harder, because Amelie was perfectly capable of seeing Claire's parents as expendable if it served her needs. She saw Claire as expendable, off and on. But Shane didn't let go until she jabbed an elbow back and felt him stagger and release his grip. She didn't realize what she'd done . . . until she saw a thin line of red on his T-shirt, and Shane thumped himself down hard in the nearest available chair.
She'd hit him where he'd been stabbed.
"Dammit!" Eve hissed, and yanked Shane's shirt up to expose his chest and stomach - still bruised - and the white bandages, which were staining fresh with blood. Claire could even smell it . . .
. . . and as if she were in a dream, or a nightmare, she turned to look at Michael.
His eyes weren't vague and unfocused anymore. No, they were wide and intent and very, very scary. His face was still and white, and he wasn't breathing at all.
"Get the bleeding stopped," he whispered. "Hurry."
Michael was right. Shane was bait in a shark tank, and Michael was one of the sharks.
Shane was staring back at him as Eve poked and probed at his bandages, making sure they were tight. "I think it's okay, but you need to be careful," she said. "These bandages need to be changed. You might have popped a stitch or something."
She put her shoulder under Shane's and helped him to his feet. Shane was still watching Michael, and Michael didn't seem to be able to physically look away from the bloody slash of bandage on Shane's stomach.
"Want some?" Shane asked. "Come and get it, bat boy." He was almost as pale as Michael, and his expression was tight and furious.
Michael somehow managed to smile. "You're not my blood type, bro."
"Rejected again." But some of the wildness in Shane's eyes eased. "Sorry."
"No problem." Michael turned toward the closed kitchen door for a moment. "They're talking. Look, I'm going to go in and get your parents, Claire. I want everybody together who's still - "
"Breathing?" Shane asked.
"In danger," Michael said. "Back in a second." He hesitated just a breath, then added, "See if you can fix him up while I'm gone."
And then he was out the door, moving unnaturally fast, as if it was a relief to get away from the smell of Shane's blood. Claire swallowed and exchanged a look with Eve. Eve looked just as shaken as she felt, but she moved quickly on with priorities. "Okay. Where's the first aid kit?"
"Upstairs," Claire said. "In the bathroom."
"Nope, it's down here," Shane said. "I moved it."
"You did? When?"
"Couple of days ago," he said. "Figured it would be better where I could get to it, since I'm the one who's usually getting bandaged. Look under the sink."
Eve did, and hauled out a big white metal box marked with a red cross. She opened it up and pulled out supplies. "Shirt off."
"You only love me for my abs."
"Shut up, loser. Shirt off."
With a glance toward Claire, Shane pulled it over his head and tossed it on the breakfast table next to him. Claire took the shirt to the sink, where she rinsed it in cold water, watching as Shane's blood tinted the water light pink. She didn't like to watch what Eve was doing; seeing the damage that Shane put himself through made her feel sick and frail, because he'd done it - as always - for other people. For her, and Eve.
"Done," Eve pronounced a few minutes later. "You'd better not bleed all over my nice clean bandages, or I'll stick a sale price on you and put you on the corner for the next neck-muncher."
"You're such a bitch," Shane said. "Thanks."
She gave him an air kiss and a wink. "Like most girls wouldn't line up to play nurse with you. Right."
Claire felt an unwelcome, completely surprising surge of jealousy. Eve? No, it was just Eve's usual teasing. Nothing else, right? She wasn't - she wouldn't. She just wouldn't.
Claire wrung out the shirt until her hands ached, then pressed it between two towels to try to get it as dry as possible. She handed it to Shane while Eve was busy putting the unused supplies back in the box, and helped him drag the damp fabric over his head and down his chest. She couldn't help but let her fingers brush down his skin, and to be honest, she didn't really try. In fact, she might have moved a little more slowly than she should have.
"Feels good," Shane said, very quietly, in her ear. "You okay?"
Claire nodded. He touched her lightly under the chin to lift it, and studied her face closely.
"Yeah," he said. "You're okay." He brushed her lips with his and looked past her at the kitchen door as it opened.
Michael, with Claire's parents in tow. The knot in Claire's chest, the one tied tight around her heart, eased a couple of precious notches.
Her parents looked . . . blank. Frowning, as if they'd forgotten something important. When her mother's eyes focused on her, Claire dredged up a smile.
"Weren't we going to have dinner?" her mother asked. "It's getting very late, isn't it? Were you going to cook, or - "
"No," Michael said. "We'll go out." He grabbed his car keys from the hook next to the door. "All of us."