His voice came out raspy and deeper than normal. "Thought he was going to kill me," he said. "What the hell did I do to piss him off?"
"Nothing. I don't know." Claire chewed her lip, feeling sick inside. "He told me he had to find you, that someone was after you. I - I told him where you were. God, Shane, I trusted him! I told him where you were!" The enormity of Myrnin's betrayal stunned her, and she felt as if a perfectly sound floor had suddenly broken under her feet, sending her plummeting down a rabbit hole where everything was wrong. "How could he do that? Why?"
Shane put his arm around her and hugged her close. "It's okay," he told her hoarsely. "I'm okay. Not your fault."
It was, though. It was her fault for trusting Myrnin. Shane could have died. Claire could imagine that all too well - arriving too late, seeing Shane's blood drifting through the water in that flooding alley. Red on Myrnin's sharp fingernails. Shane's body facedown in the puddle.
And she could imagine turning on him, on all of them, because if Shane died, if the vampires killed him, she would hunt down every single one of them. Claire knew it wasn't rational, wasn't right, but she didn't care.
If the vampires came after Shane, they came after her, and she'd fight back any way she could.
"Something's wrong," Shane croaked. "Really wrong."
She gulped down tears, and nodded silently. She rested her head against his chest, closed her eyes, and listened to the strong, sure beat of his heart.
The one she'd almost stopped, by trusting Myrnin.
Shane stroked her wet hair, trying to comfort her, her, when he was the one who'd been knocked around. "It was my fault," she managed to say. "Really. I told him. . . . What did he say?"
"To me?" Shane asked. She nodded. "Nothing. I turned around and he was right there, and he didn't say a single word except Sorry." He swallowed and winced. His voice had a raspy burr at the edges. "Look, I've fought before - you know that - but he wasn't fighting. He was there to kill me, plain and simple, no hesitation. Assassination. Like he was under orders."
"Orders," Claire repeated. And whom did Myrnin take orders from? Nobody, really. Nobody except . . . "Amelie." She said it out loud, very softly, and it sounded sad to her own ears. "Amelie ordered it." But that didn't really matter, not as an immediate thing; Claire felt the burn of outrage, but she'd never really been under any illusions about Amelie's loyalty toward her. What really hurt was Myrnin. After all that she'd been through for him, done for him, he'd turned on her. He'd tried to take Shane away.
Didn't he understand how that would tear her apart?
"Hey," Shane said. "Hey, Claire, I'm here. I'm right here." His fingers stroked her wet, cold cheek, and she struggled to focus on his face. "It's all right."
It wasn't. She clung to him fiercely, until they both stopped shivering from the cold, until she felt the warmth of their bodies drying the soaking-wet fabric of their clothes. It wasn't like Shane to just sit like this with her, not when they ought to be getting up, drying off... but he didn't seem to have any more will to move on than she did. Maybe, deep down, he was just as shocked and scared as she felt.
"We need to think about why they'd do this," Shane said. "I know I piss people off, but this is a little much even for vamps."
"It's something we did," Claire replied. "Something we know. Something only we know." But by the time she finished saying it, she'd realized what it was, and so had Shane.
"The boy, out in the desert," he said. "The letter from Blacke. So that's top secret, eyes only? If all it said was run . . ."
"I don't think it's so much what it said," Claire said slowly. "I think . . . I think it's because we know Amelie too well. We know how she thinks, a little. More than any other humans, anyway." She swallowed hard. "I think she wanted to keep us from talking to anybody else about what we'd seen, or thought would happen."
"Me," Shane corrected her. "She wanted to stop me."
That quieted her; obviously, it was true. Myrnin had gone after Shane like an arrow; he'd had the chance to kill her, but he hadn't even tried. Why spare her, if both she and Shane knew the same dangerous things?
You know, some voice deep inside her whispered. You know how Myrnin feels.
Claire shuddered. She didn't. Really, she didn't. And she didn't want to know, either. But if Myrnin - if he'd refused to kill her, he wouldn't have had much problem killing Shane, for exactly the same reason.
Then why had Oliver stepped in to save them, of all people? It made no sense. It left Claire feeling vulnerable and shaken in ways that all her time in Morganville hadn't. If Amelie had turned on them . . .
She wrapped herself more closely around Shane. He made a faint, pleased sound in the back of his throat and pulled her over on his lap. Their lips met gently at first, then more urgently. Shane's mouth tasted of rain and the bittersweet memory of coffee, and Claire found herself whimpering a little, wanting more than this, so much more, wanting to know he was alive and with her. The kiss strengthened, and Shane's hands stroked fire down her skin. Suddenly, she felt stifled by the damp clothes. She wanted them off.
"Hey," he whispered, and grabbed her hands as she reached for the hem of her shirt to yank it off. "Wait."
She stopped and stared at him, stricken. The smile on his damp, kissable lips reassured her. So did the hungry, hot look in his eyes.
"Upstairs," he said. "Got to get you dried off and warmed up properly."
It sounded innocent, but oh, it wasn't. Not at all.
She climbed up to her feet and offered him her hand. He raised his eyebrows, took it, and rose to put his arms around her and kiss her, again.
"He could try it again," Claire said. "If Amelie's turned against you, I swear, Shane, I swear that I'll - "
He shook his head and kissed her, warm and sweet and full of promises. "Don't think about it now," he said in that husky whisper. "Whatever happens, we'll be ready for it, Claire. Both of us."
And then he led her upstairs, into the stillness of her room, where he promised her again. So many things.
Oliver knocked on the door two hours later. They were both up and dressed, and Claire was heating up soup for Shane - it was about the only thing he could get down his bruised throat. Claire opened the door and stared at him - glared, really - and said, "You knew what was going on. You knew about Myrnin. Was it Amelie?"
"May I come in?" Oliver asked. He didn't wait for an answer, just pushed past her and walked down the hall. Claire cursed under her breath and locked up behind him. Around her, the house's energy gathered, protective and menacing, but not quite sure who the enemy might be. It responded to her moods, even more than with the other residents. That might be useful, right about now.
Oliver had stopped at the couch, and was looking down at Shane, who was deliberately ignoring him as he stared at the flickering television. "Are you all right?" Oliver asked. Shane pointed to his throat. "Nothing permanently damaged, I trust."
Shane flipped him off.
"Ah, I see you haven't lost your sense of social decorum and excellent manners." Oliver shot a glance at Claire and raised his eyebrows very slightly. "Is he all right?"
"No thanks to Myrnin." She was so angry right now that she was almost vibrating with it. "What the hell, Oliver?"
"Not entirely Myrnin's fault, I'm sorry to say. There was a fear that having the two of you knowing . . . what you know might be too great a risk. Count your blessings. Myrnin fought to save your life."
"My life. Not Shane's."
Oliver just shrugged. "As you can see, he lives and breathes. No harm done."
Shane silently pointed an index finger at his neck, which was an angry dark red, heading toward purple.
"No permanent harm," Oliver amended. "Let that be an indicator of how serious this situation is, and how very serious we are about keeping even a whisper of it from the general public - and by that, I mean vampires as well as humans. Silence, do you hear me? You were never there, and you never saw anything. Or I promise you, your reprieves will be over."
"But we don't know anything!" Claire almost screamed it at him. She was so angry she wanted to attack him with her bare hands, and it was only the fact that Shane, usually the hair-trigger one, was sitting quietly on the couch that held her back. Well, that and the fact that Oliver wouldn't have had the slightest problem crushing her like a bug. "What are you all so afraid of?"