"You made a deal with Amelie without talking to anyone, and then you covered it up. Look, the only reason you even came clean was because I saw the bracelet. If I hadn't you'd still be lying to us. That doesn't exactly make you the ideal housemate." Michael paused for a second. "And then there's Shane."
"How am I to blame for Shane?"
"You're not. But I can't deal with both of you, not now. So just straighten up, Claire. No more lying, and no more risk-taking, all right? I'll convince Amelie to let you out of these sessions with Myrnin. You're too young to be doing this, she ought to know that."
No more lying. No more risk-taking. Claire shifted and felt the bottle in her pocket, and had a flash of that perfect clarity again. She wondered what Michael would have to say about her letting Myrnin give her the crystals. Probably nothing. He was talking about throwing her out of the house, right? So he probably didn't care at all.
The car slowed and turned, bumped down a rutted drive. Home.
Claire bolted before Michael could say anything else to her.
Shane was in the kitchen, pouring himself a beer. He toasted her silently, took a sip and nodded toward a pot on the stove. "Chili," he said. "Extra garlic."
Michael was closing the kitchen door, and he sighed. "When is this going to stop?"
"When you quit sucking blood?"
"Shane -- "
"Don't get pissy. I made yours garlic-free." Shane looked at her again, and frowned a little. "You okay?"
"Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"
"Just -- I don't know. Whatever." He slung an arm over her shoulders and kissed her on the forehead. "Bad day, probably."
Let's see, she'd been threatened by Eve's brother, had her wrist cut, and then played keep-away with Myrnin for hours. Did that qualify as a bad day in Morganville? Probably not. No body count.
Not yet, anyway.
Michael pushed past them and through the door into the living room. Claire pulled free of Shane's arm and went to the stove to ladle herself a bowl of chili. It smelled hot and delicious. But mostly hot. She tasted a drop and nearly choked; was it usually this molten-lava wicked spicy? Everything felt raw to her right now. She supposed that was a side effect of the crystals.
"I thought I heard you," Shane said. "Weirdest thing, I heard your voice today. Right out of the air. I thought you -- I kept thinking about Michael, how he used to be during the daytime ..."
When he was a ghost. "You thought I was -- ?"
"I thought maybe something happened," he said. "I called your cell number, the new one."
She'd left it in her backpack. Claire reached down and unzipped the pocket, then checked the phone. Three calls, all from Shane. With voicemails. "Sorry," she said. "I didn't hear it. Guess I need to turn the ringer up."
He looked at her very steadily, and she felt the cold spot in the center of her, the place that had chilled while she'd been with Myrnin, slowly warm. "You worry me," he said, and put his hand on her cheek. "You know that, right?"
She nodded, and hugged him. Unlike Myrnin, he was warm and solid and his body just molded right into hers, perfect and sweet. When he kissed her she tasted beer and chili, but only for a second. After that, it was pure Shane, and she forgot all about Myrnin, and any kind of physics except friction. Shane backed up her against the stove. She felt the low heat of the burner at her back, but she was too preoccupied to worry much about bursting into flames from outside sources. Shane just had that effect on her.
"I missed you," he whispered, brushing her damp lips with his. "Want to go upstairs?"
"What about my chili?"
"Get it to go."
There were good things about the way she felt tonight, she decided; her nerves might be raw, but that only made his touch all the sweeter. She would have felt awkward, usually, and uncertain, and scared, but it seemed like the afternoon that had started with Jason and ended with Myrnin's snarl had burned all that out of her.
"Not hungry," she said breathlessly. "Come on."
She felt as wild and free as a little kid, running up the steps with Shane in hot pursuit, and when he grabbed her around the waist and spun her around into his room and kicked the door shut, she squealed in delight. And wiggled to fit herself against his warm, hard body as she kissed him again, breathless and flying.
He kissed like their lives depended on it. Like it was an Olympic event and he intended to earn a medal. Somewhere in the back of her head she was chattering to herself, warning that this was going to go too far, that she was just making things worse for both of them, but she couldn't help it. Before long they were stretched out together on Shane's bed, and his big, warm hands were teasing under the hem of her shirt, stroking the fluttering skin of her stomach and stealing her breath. She lost it all when he spread his fingers out, pressing his palm flat against her, and she felt an almost irresistible impulse to feel those hands all over. Everywhere. Her heart was hammering hard enough to make her dizzy, and it was all just so ...
Perfect.
She reached down and pulled up her shirt. Slowly, feeling the cool air slip over tender skin.
Up, to the bottom line of her bra. Then up.
Shane stopped.
"I want to," she whispered against his mouth. "Please, Shane. I want to." She sat up and reached for the clasp on her bra, and unhooked it. "Please."
He pulled back from her and sat up, head down. When he looked up he licked his lips, and his eyes were wide and dark and she could fall into them, fall forever.
"I know," he said. "Me too. But I made promises, and I'm going to keep them. Especially the one to your parents, because your dad said he'd hunt me down like a dog." Shane gave her a wild, bitter smile. "Sucks to be me."