And I wanted to kick his ass.
Maybe it was just that something had gotten loose in the gym, something I usually kept locked down inside some dark cave. I mean, it wasMichael.But just now, staring him down, I was reminded that he wasn't actually my friend. Not the one I'd grown up with, the one who'd had my back, anyway. This was Michael's body, but he wasn't the same person inside of that shell. Not at all.
The girls were upset. Claire was trying to talk to me, but I wasn't hearing her, not until she smacked me in the shoulder. It felt like a sharp, stabbing blow, although I knew it wasn't; it was just that all my nerves
were on fire because I was so hyped, and I probably had a bruise there on top of everything. I said something to her, something that probably wasn't very nice, and I felt a particularly nasty impulse race red from my brain to my hand.
My fingers clenched into a solid ball of muscle, bone, and power.
Claire looked up at me, worry and anger on her face, and for the first time, I saw myself reflected in her eyes. I saw what I was doing.
I knew that look. That face. I'd seen it throughout my childhood, when Dad came stumbling home from the bar. I'd seen it heavy-duty industrial strength after Alyssa died, twenty-four/seven.
Oh, God. God.
It was like some curtain got snapped back, flooding my insides with light, and I didn't like what I was seeing in myself, not at all. Fighting was one thing. But this...this was something else. It was me becoming what I never wanted to be.
...But deep down...way deep down, I realized why my dad had been the way he was. It was easy to let go of all those demons, let them roar.
And it felt good.
That was more frightening than anything else I'd ever known.
Claire actually saw something happen inside him, some kind of snap. Shane blinked, and then he was totallyShane --warm, real, and contrite. "Oh, God, I'm sorry," he said, and put his arms around her. "I didn't mean that. I'm so sorry." She felt his body language shift, and guessed he was looking at Michael, even while he was holding her. "Sorry, bro."
"Yeah," Michael said. He didn't sound convinced. "Okay. Just don't take it so seriously next time. It's just a game, man."
"I'll pick up a new controller tomorrow," Shane said. "Really. Sorry." Claire could tell from his tone that he meant it; he wasn't just saying it. And she guessed Michael could tell that, too. "I guess I just got too much adrenaline going."
Eve, who'd been lying on the floor, staring up at them, finally got to her feet. "Men," she said, and shook her head. "I am not picking up plastic shards. Collins, that's your job. Enjoy. I'm bouncing."
"Yeah, but are youleaving ?" Shane asked. It was a weak effort at insult from him, but at least he'd tried. She gave him a quick smile and flipped him off--first time that evening--and headed upstairs. Claire caught herself yawning and checked her watch. Wow, itwas late. And she had an early start in the morning.
She kissed Shane's cheek, and he turned his head and it turned into a much longer, sweeter kiss. Which she broke, regretfully, and said, "I have to get to bed, too."
He made a low, questioning sound in his throat. She blushed, because Michael wasright there . Michael
pretended to be doing something else, which didn't mean anything. Vampire senses. He could probably feel how fast her heart was racing. "No," she whispered, in Shane's ear. "I've got to rest."
"Okay," he whispered back, and kissed her neck, just where it made her shiver. He knew it was her favorite spot, and it made her weak in the knees. "I'll be good. Oh, wait, I'm always good...."
"Stop it." Her voice didn't sound so sure now. "I need torest ."
He let go of her and stepped back, hands up. "Cool," he said. "Go."
She did, reluctantly--and when she looked back, Shane was picking up shards of broken controller from the carpet, and Michael was watching him with a small frown still grooved between his eyebrows, as if he couldn't quite figure out what he was seeing.
Michael looked up at her as she paused on the steps. "Good night," he said.
She waved. "No fighting between the two of you," she said. "Promise?"
He crossed his heart and pretended to drive a stake into it, which made her smile and wince at the same time. "We'll be okay," he said. "Right, Shane?"
Shane looked up. "Right," he said. But there was something odd in his face when he looked at Michael, a kind of wariness that reminded Claire of the old days, when Michael had first turned vamp. Shane hadn't trusted him then, not at all.
And she wasn't sure why he'd suddenly decide not to trust Michael again...but she was almost sure that's what she was seeing.
It was all very confusing, and she was too tired to process it. But once she got in bed, with the moonlight falling cool over the sheets, she couldn't sleep after all. She tossed and turned, watching the black branches scratch at the windows like skeletal hands, and wondered what Shane was doing. She'd half expected him to come knock on her door, but he hadn't.
Finally, she started getting drowsy, and was almost asleep when she had the unmistakable impression that someone was in the room with her,right there , standing beside the bed.
She turned over, heart pounding. The moonlight didn't reach that side of the bed, and the room was dark, but she could make out something...a shadow...
And then the shadow stepped forward, into the light, and it was Myrnin.Not Shane.
He looked...dangerous. His dark hair curled black around his pale face, and his eyes were very wide, very dark. Claire opened her mouth to demand to know what the hell he was doinghere , in herbedroom , but she didn't get the chance. His hand flashed out and covered her mouth with cold flesh.
She tried to scream, but it came out a muffled buzz, not nearly loud enough to alert anybody. Myrnin held a long, slender finger to his lips and bent close.
"So sorry to do this," he whispered. "I realize it's not appropriate. That's right, isn't it? Coming to a lady's boudoir without an invitation is still inappropriate, even in these lax social circles?"
She nodded emphatically. He didn't let go, probably because he could tell she was going to yell the house down if he did.
"Well, so sorry, but this is a bit of an emergency. Get dressed. Amelie wants to see us."
Oh.Well, vampires didn't keep regular people hours, but still.Not cool.
"Please don't scream," he said. "It would look so very bad for me, all things considered."
That, more than anything, made her nod. Myrnin's cold hand moved away, and she pulled in a deep, convulsive breath...but didn't yell. Shedid scoot all the way over in the bed, preparing to eject at a second's notice.
"You could have called," Claire said. Her voice sounded a little higher than usual. "I have a phone."
"I lost mine," he said. Claire couldso believe that. "Stupid things. So small. So easy to put in a pocket and forget them when you wash your clothes...Well. It just seemed easier to come over. Are you dressed?"
"I can'tbelieve you're asking me that. Standing in my bedroom in the middle of the night. Don't you think that's a little creepy? Maybe even perverted?"
"Ah, excellent point. I'll just...wait outside. But hurry. And tell no one."
Claire expected Myrnin to head for the bedroom door, but no, of course, that was toonormal , wasn't it? Instead, he opened the window, the one that overlooked the backyard, and climbed through. He dropped down with all the ease of someone stepping off a curb, only it was twenty feet down, if not more.
Claire didn't even bother to look. Of course he was okay, and she didn't care if he wasn't. Howcould he just show up like this while she wassleeping ......
She was fumbling in the dresser for clean underwear when there was a soft knock at the door. "Claire? You awake?"
Shane. She froze and held her breath. She wanted to open it, fall into his arms, and forget all about Myrnin and his weird behavior, but the truth was that Myrnin didn't show up for nothing. Something was wrong, and he'd said,Tell no one. That included Shane, unfortunately. She watched the doorknob, but it didn't turn, and after another quiet knock, she heard his footsteps moving away, toward his room.
Claire let out her breath, shook her head, and muttered, "And again, I hate you, Myrnin."
Dressed, if not exactly stylish, Claire stuck her head out of her bedroom window. As expected, Myrnin was pacing there, hands behind his back, head down. He was wearing some kind of neon-bright shirt that was probably a holdover from the eighties, and was back to his shorts and comfortable sandals. These were leather, at least, and looked kind of like something a guy would wear. If pushed.