Bite Club

FIFTEEN

SHANE

He’d been crazy to try it.

When I saw Michael show up at the barn, Vassily and Gloriana had been loading us up in the van to take us to the new place. I don’t know how he found me; I could have sworn nobody at the gym knew anything about where we were, but there he was, Michael effing Glass, walking up in his stupid black vampire coat and hat and gloves, trying to talk to me like we knew each other.

Like he hadn’t stabbed me in the back the second he’d agreed to stop being human.

He’d joined them, the vampires. Our masters, who’d made my dad a loser and let Monica Morrell run wild, doing whatever, which turned out to be fatal for my sister. They’d sent killers after my mom. Michael should have known better. He should have known that no matter what, I couldn’t forgive him, not deep down. They’d taken my family away.

Vassily and Glory had had him grabbed, of course, and stuffed in the other van, the one that held the vamps. They didn’t try to transport us together, not anymore. Too many fights. He kept yelling at me, but I just watched until they had him locked down and then I walked away.

He used to be my friend, and, damn, it still hurt to know he’d done this to us, to me. He’d changed everything. About time he knew how that felt.

Maybe it was the shock of seeing him—I don’t know—but I found I wasn’t feeling quite as pumped up about the upcoming bout as before. My head was hurting and I was tired; sleep hadn’t come easy lately because of all the bruises and cracked bones. When Glory was around, it was better. I didn’t think so much. But now, in the van, I noticed how there was a thick wire mesh between us human fighters and the driver’s seat, like we were vicious dogs or something. When I looked around at the others, I thought maybe that was true. There were four of us in here, and, to be honest, I was probably the toughest. I didn’t look it, though. They looked like my dad’s biker buddies, all sweat and muscles and tats, with shaved heads and goatees. They were ready to tear it up. I guess I was, too, or at least I would be once we got where we were going.

Once Glory smiled at me again.

I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, and instead of seeing Glory’s wicked, cool smile, I saw Claire’s sweet one, the one she gave only me, the one that had made me forget all about being angry or tough or hurt. With her, things were good. I was good. Because of her. It was the exact opposite of what Glory’s presence did; hers made me remember all the bad stuff, boil it up and over, and want to take it out on anybody who was in the way. Claire made me forget all that and realize that I didn’t have to be angry.

No, I was doing this for her. For her. I needed to earn my passage out of town, before it was too late. She’d even said that the other night, before that awful moment at the gym when she’d been so close to Michael, and I’d—I’d thought…

I knew it wasn’t true. I knew Claire wouldn’t hurt me like that.

I opened my eyes and took in a quick breath. I needed Glory. I couldn’t stay tough if I thought about Claire; I missed her, and I hated that it made me feel weak and sick. She’d left me first, hanging out with that bastard Myrnin, sneaking out to be with him. No matter what she said, that was the truth.

But I couldn’t help it. I wanted her. I wanted her with me, and the only way it could be right was away from here. Out of Morganville.

“Hey, Collins, don’t fall asleep on us!” yelled Brett, who had his first match coming up later, after mine. “Gotta get hot, my man!” He punched me in the shoulder, right where I had a big, spreading bruise and swelling. I didn’t wince, but the pain that shot through me made me see waves of red, and it was suddenly tough to breathe. I rode it out and forced myself to grin back at him.

“I get any hotter, I’ll burn you alive,” I said. He howled like a wolf. Some guys didn’t need Glory’s influence to go nuts; Brett was like that. “Hit me again, and I’ll bust you up, man.”

He flexed his fists and grinned, but he took me seriously and sat down against the wall of the van. “You thinking about that girl again?”

“No,” I lied. I was trying not to, because it hurt. It hurt thinking that somewhere out there she might be looking for me. All I could think about was that somewhere she could be alone, afraid, maybe crying. Because of me.

I shut my eyes again and banged my head on the wall of the van, enough to hurt and leave a dent. I wished Glory had ridden with us.

I really, really did.

When I got out of the van, we were at some falling-down old warehouse, another crappy piece of Morganville ancient history that nobody cared about. I saw fading letters on the outside. It must have been some kind of carpet mill. Big brick building, not many windows, and what windows had been there were broken out three stories up by some local kids with good arms. Not a lot of time for sightseeing, but I recognized the area; you don’t grow up in this stupid town without prowling around the places your parents don’t want you to go. Me and Lyss had poked through some of these abandoned warehouses when she was about twelve and I was stupider than usual. We’d gotten away with it, but looking back on it now, I couldn’t believe we’d ever taken that chance.

Now that she was gone, it made me cold to think all the risks I’d let her take. If I could make things right again, make that fire stop, get her out of the house before all the smoke and the flames…then I’d never let her take another risk again. I’d protect her. That’s what a big brother is supposed to do: protect.

But no, I’d been a jackass to her, and I’d fallen asleep on the couch, and by the time I woke up, the house was burning and I couldn’t get her out. I don’t know if she woke up. I hoped not. I hoped she never knew, never felt the kind of screaming fear that I did while trying to get to her.

Shake it off, Collins. Lyss was gone. My mom and dad were gone. I had to focus on getting myself through the next two hours or so without joining them. If I did this right, I’d make a lot of money: enough to buy my way out of town, get lost, make a new life. Forget Claire.

That was what I had to do. Forget. Forget everything.

It was easier when Gloriana prowled over and took my arm. She was a vamp, yeah, but she didn’t feel like one; I didn’t hate her and I didn’t want to hurt her. I wanted to please her, in all kinds of ways—not that she wanted anything from me except to put up a good fight. She went for the fanged boys. Like Michael.

Just another reason to hate him. Like I needed more.

“Are you ready?” she asked me. “Are you going to be my knight in shining armor, Shane, protecting me from all the big, bad men?” She said it with a smile, but I had the feeling she didn’t mean it. She seemed to be making fun of me, but I couldn’t get too upset about it. There was something about her…something that deep down I knew I hated but still couldn’t resist. “Because we have a lot riding on you tonight. We need you to make us a lot of money, very quickly, and we’re going to take that money and pay off some debts. Old debts, to someone we’d rather not owe, if you know what I mean. Then there will be new owners for Immortal Battles, and Vassily and I will be safe. And we can all be out of Morganville forever.”

She was telling me things that I knew she didn’t intend for me to understand, and on some level I did understand…and I knew that something was very wrong. But it was too late for any of that, for caution or thinking or resistance.

I hated her kind, but I’d do anything for Gloriana, and she knew it.

“Now,” she said, and patted my hand the same way she would have patted a dog on the head. “You’re not going to have a problem with your warm-up match, are you?”

“Who am I fighting?”

“Your old friend. Michael.”

Michael. I turned that over in my sluggishly working brain, and I wanted to say no, but I couldn’t quite get it to come out of my mouth. Instead, I said, and I meant it, “Sure, no problem.” Michael and I had fought before. Hell, I’d put him down on the ground a couple of times, even though he was vamp-fast. I could take him.

“I only ask because it would be inconvenient if you had…second thoughts. We’re going to do this live, not on tape, you see. More excitement that way. More money. There will be a live audience as well as one online.”

Didn’t matter to me who was watching or why. “I fight vampires,” I said. “That’s what I’m supposed to do. Doesn’t matter who they are or who they used to be. Right?”

“Right,” she said, and laughed. I tried not to notice the flash of fangs in her mouth. “I love a man who knows what he wants, Shane. Oh, and remember…this fight doesn’t stop until one of you gets carried out. No mercy.”

“No mercy,” I said. I felt weirdly hollow inside, empty where I’d been full of all kinds of stuff before. There was only the hate now, glowing and radiating inside of me, and it was starting to feel like something toxic. Something that was eating me up inside, spawning cancers like black clouds.

But it didn’t matter. None of that mattered when she opened the door and I saw the cage in the middle of the bleachers, and the people getting in their seats.

“That’s yours,” Glory whispered to me. “That’s all yours, Shane. Because you’re going to win tonight, and we’re all going to be free.”

I looked at her, suddenly sure she was lying…but there was something oddly open and honest in her blue eyes.

“You mean it?” I asked. “Free?”

“Free,” she repeated. “I promise you. After tonight, you’ll never have to fight again.”

Then she led me down a hall and sat me in a chair, and Vassily showed up doing his stupid Dracula impression, with cameras that leered at me with empty eyes. And then it was all over and the countdown was up.

Time to fight.

“Paying customers,” Myrnin said. He nodded to the people getting out of cars and walking toward the far door, the safe door, of the warehouse. There were all types—what passed for white-collar in Morganville, moms, college kids, tough guys. A cross section of crazy. There were vampires, too, working the door…Claire recognized one of them, and said so. “Yes,” Myrnin agreed. “He was with Bishop before. One of those Amelie said has been missing. Now we know where he’s been. No doubt Vassily hired many of Bishop’s former employees to staff his little venture.”

“But what does he want?” Eve asked. She was watching the parade of people forking over cash with a baffled and faintly sickened expression. “All this for money?”

“Millions of dollars, which to a vampire means safety and stability,” Myrnin said. “And independence. Our friends who broke away from Amelie to form their little colony in Blacke aren’t the only ones who want out of Morganville; Bishop’s friends and sympathizers fear Amelie. Outside of this town, they could be their own little petty kings and queens.” The way he said it, he seemed bitter and distant, as if he’d considered it before. Or done it before. “In any case, never think money is any less a good motive than passion. You’d be surprised what people will do for money that they wouldn’t do for love.”

“We have to get in,” Eve said.

“No doubt,” Myrnin agreed. “But they will know you immediately. Claire is less recognizable, and hardly anyone knows my face. I suggest you stay here and—”

Eve gave him a withering look and said, “Pass me your hat.”

“Pardon?”

“Your hat. And your coat.”

Myrnin gave her a doubtful look and handed them over. She shook them out, sniffed them, made a face, and then put it on. On Eve, the coat looked even bigger and more ill-fitting than it had on Myrnin, and the hat practically swallowed her head. All that Claire could see of her was a white flash of face.

Just like a vamp.

“Huh,” Myrnin said, and cocked his head with great interest. “For someone so singular, you can disappear quite effectively.”

“Shut up and get ready,” Eve said. “You’re going to need to move your butt if you don’t want it lightly fried.”

He looked down at himself and frowned. “Won’t do, won’t do. Far too individual. No…” And before Claire could stop him, he stripped off his coat and dumped it on the floor, along with his brocade vest. He left on the crimson shirt and black pants—very piratical. “Better?”

“Sure,” she said. She couldn’t imagine it was. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Eve got out first and hurried toward the door, head down. The vampires got one look at her face and waved her in without a word. Claire followed her, carrying both black bags. They stopped her and asked for admission money, which Myrnin dug out of a pocket and handed over…in gold coins. Probably not all that unusual for the fanged bunch, Claire guessed, because they just shrugged and pocketed the money and gave her and Myrnin plastic strips to wear around their wrists. “You can’t bring blood in,” one of them said as he sealed the wristband. “Concession’s at the back of the room. Ten bucks for a pint.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Myrnin said. “The prices—”

Claire nudged him along. He looked outraged. “Well, it is very high,” he muttered. “Oh. There’s your friend, Even. Ever?”

“Eve,” Claire said. “Here, take your bag. I’ve got mine and Eve’s. I’m going to go find Shane. You and Eve—”

“No need for that,” Myrnin said as the lights dimmed and the door boomed shut at the back of the room. Claire had the distinct impression that it was being locked up, and anyone who arrived after was going to be standing outside enjoying the day, human or vampire. “Here he comes.”

Claire turned around. They were standing on the concrete floor, and the cheap aluminum bleachers extended up for ten rows or so on all four sides of the big, open room. In the center was a platform, and on the platform was an iron cage with an open door. It was about the size of a boxing ring, and there were bright, white-hot lights pointed down into it from all angles to turn it into a blank white canvas.

Vassily walked out into the middle of it, fangs flashing as he smiled and waved at the crowd. The stands were about half full, Claire realized; maybe they hadn’t been able to get the word out quickly enough. Didn’t matter. Their real money came from the Internet betting and memberships.

Vassily was wearing just about the exact same outfit as Myrnin, only on him it looked cheap and stupid. He had a wireless microphone, and now he raised it to his mouth and said, “Welcome, friends, to Immortal Battles, where those with eternal lives gamble to lose them, and those with merely human strength learn what it is to be heroes!” He got some yells and applause. Next to her, Myrnin was standing very still, watching. Claire realized he was gripping her arm, holding her still. She didn’t know why until Vassily said, “And now, meet our mortal hero of the night: Shane ‘The Hammer’ Collins, winner of two previous bouts, survivor, and hunter! Give him a warm, Immortal welcome!”

The crowd cheered. Claire stood there feeling fragile and hot, like she’d been turned to ashes that might be blown away at any second, and watched as Shane, her Shane, walked into the steel cage, arms held high.

He was smiling, but his eyes were dead and haunted by the ghost of the man he’d been. Claire wanted to fall down. Myrnin’s hand was crushingly tight around her arm, but she didn’t feel like doing anything stupid; she wasn’t sure she could move on her own. It felt like a nightmare.

And then, of course, it got worse.

“And the challenger,” Vassily shouted. “Vampire novice, musician, aspiring champion, Michael Glass! This is a grudge match, ladies and gentlemen, years in the making! Now watch as—”

Vassily had miscalculated, Claire saw; he’d thought he could keep on vamping (pun intended) to drive up the betting, but Shane had other ideas. He did a long circle of the cage, and then, with unnatural quickness, he turned around and slammed into Vassily, who was still talking into his microphone. Vassily dropped the mike, but Shane had him by the collar of his fancy coat and threw him in a rolling, flapping heap on the floor. Before Vassily could get up, Shane was on him.

Michael pulled him off and held his arms behind him. “Stop,” he said. Claire could hear him, but she wasn’t sure the crowd could; they were all stomping and yelling, setting up a metal-crashing racket that drowned out most things. Michael wasn’t playing to the crowd. He was talking urgently to Shane. “Bro, stop this. This isn’t you.”

Shane did stop. He went still in Michael’s hold and his eyes closed. But when Michael let go, thinking he’d gotten through, Claire saw the smile twist Shane’s lips, and tried to yell a warning.

She heard Shane clearly when he said, “You’re wrong about that. Bro.”

SHANE

I’d been wanting to take a bite out of Vassily for a while, and hearing him go on and on about Michael, well, that was it. Michael frickin’ Glass. Mr. Perfect. He wasn’t just any vampire, now, was he? No, he came from a long line of human Renfields, all bending over for the vamps. Hell, Sam had even……

No. Something in me shut down when I tried to free-associate Michael’s granddad Sam into that mental rant; Sam, I knew, didn’t deserve it. I’d liked Sam. Hell, everybody had loved Sam.

Like everybody loved Michael. Mr. Perfect.

I jumped Vassily, and that felt good. It felt good to think with my body instead of the confusing tangle of hate and guilt and fear that was inside of me—to just be something, do something, without the higher brain getting in the way. I kicked him, but with the hardest angle of my foot. You don’t kick with the toes, not with bare feet; you use the side or the heel. I chose the heel, and put some momentum behind it, and felt Vassily’s ribs creak when the blow landed.

Nice.

Then Michael was pulling me off, and, dammit, he had me from behind. He had leverage and strength. Vassily got up and retrieved his microphone and scrambled out of the cage, slamming it shut behind him.

Michael said urgently, “Stop. Bro, stop this. This isn’t you.”

I closed my eyes and let my tense muscles go loose in his hold. Only an idiot would fall for that, but Michael liked to believe he could do anything. And he didn’t think I was very smart, anyway.

When I felt him release me, I was smiling so much it hurt. “You’re wrong about that. Bro.”

He probably had warning, hearing that, but I didn’t dive forward to get away from him. Oh no. I launched myself backward, pile-driving into him, and slammed us both down on the springy, booming canvas floor. The crowd was screaming; it sounded like thunder in my ears. The lights pounded down on my skin, and I could feel Glory in my head like a searchlight.

She wanted me to win. Win at all costs.

I twisted around. Michael was pinned under me and he was fighting to get up. This time I had the weight and leverage, and as long as I stopped him from getting organized, I could hurt him.

I wanted to hurt him.

“Shane!” he was yelling. I saw him but I didn’t see him, not clearly; he was a shape, a voice, an opponent, and who he was didn’t matter. He wasn’t a person; he was a thing, and I hit him full force in the face. Again and again. Every time, pain jolted up my arm and nausea followed with it, like I was drunk and tipping over into the throwing-up stage, but then it would recede and I’d hit him again.

I hit him with special force, and I felt a bone snap in my hand. One of the little ones—no big deal—but the high, bright snap felt like a flash of red strobe light going through me, and for a second or two after, my head was crystal clear.

And I saw a girl yanking on the cage door, trying to get it open. A tall girl in a ratty, torn raincoat and a stupid, giant hat that fell off as she fought with the door’s padlock, revealing shiny, close-bobbed black hair and a face as pale as any vamp’s.

“God, Shane, stop!” Eve was screaming, and pounding on the bars hard enough to make them ring. “Stop it! What are you doing?”

It was shocking, like seeing Alyssa standing there, and for a second I thought I did see Lyss, the way I’d last seen her, looking so pretty and smart and ready for anything, ready to die, and I couldn’t save her because I was a loser and I’d been weak, so weak. I should have opened the door even though it was hot, so hot, and I’d been passing out from the smoke.

I looked down.

I’d done some damage to Michael’s face, but it was healing. There was blood on the canvas and on my hands and dripping down his cheeks. Any human dude would have been ready for the hospital.

I realized that he wasn’t fighting back.

Easy money.

I pulled back my fist for another punch, and he didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away, either. He just said, “It’s not your fault, man. I don’t blame you.”

For some reason, that was the first thing he’d said that I really heard. It was almost like I was hearing my father’s voice again, saying something that I’d needed to hear every day since Lyss disappeared from our lives.

That it wasn’t my fault.

That I couldn’t have stopped it.

The truth was, the fire hadn’t been my fault. Nobody could have gotten to my sister to save her.

But this—this was my fault.

I sat back, staring down at him. His blue eyes were bloodshot, flickering with red, but he wasn’t going vamp on me even though I’d hurt him badly. He was just going to take it.

“It’s Glory,” he said. “You know that, right? Not your fault.”

Glory. I looked around but I didn’t see her. It was just a sea of faces now, screaming faces that didn’t care about me or Michael or anything but their own entertainment. Except for Eve, looking so stricken and horrified on the other side of the bars. She cared. Too much, probably.

“Bishop’s here,” Michael said. “They’re going to put him in here with you once I wear you down. I can’t let that happen. I have to stay in here with you. It’s going to take us both to get him. You understand? We have to stand up together, Shane.”

I did. I’d been right before; this was some kind of nightmare, some weird spell that was going to snap any moment now, and things would be okay, all okay. None of this was…real….

Then I saw Claire.

She was standing outside the cage by the bleachers, and Myrnin was holding her arm like he was trying to keep her from going full-out Eve and running for the cage, but I didn’t think she was trying. Like me, she was paralyzed, trapped in her nightmare, and those dark eyes were looking at me, seeing me, and I saw myself, too. Sweating, bruised, feral, angry, cruel.

It made me sick.

I rolled away from Michael and curled into a ball, facing Claire, staring back. Maybe it was the pain from my hand still tearing through me; maybe it was, finally, my own brain waking up and screaming.

Maybe it was seeing that horrified look on her face. I didn’t even care that she was with Myrnin; I was glad she had someone to protect her here. And I knew he would. He’d better. Him, I would kill if he let anything happen to her, and he knew it.

I saw her lips shape my name. Shane. I couldn’t hear her, but I knew how it would sound, how heartbroken and disappointed and scared. I’d let all this get away from me. I’d hurt her and she’d hurt me, and we had to fix it. We had to. Because I couldn’t let this destroy the people I loved.

That included Michael, the jackass. I flopped over on my back, breathing fast, and saw him sitting up. Too-pale-to-be-normal blood ran down his chin and dripped on his bare chest. Without a shirt he looked buff but very, very pale, almost ghostly. Still Michael, though.

Still my friend.

Always my friend, even when I was the biggest dick on the planet.

He was looking at me with a frown, checking out whether I was still in that other, scary place, and I nodded to him and wiped sweat off my face. I felt cold now, not burning hot like I’d been. When I flexed my hand, the pain from the broken bone sliced through me like a clean red knife, driving away all the lingering ghosts of anger.

“You didn’t fight,” I said. “Jesus, man, I could have killed you.”

“Don’t think you could have, not for a long time,” he said. “Anyway, you didn’t.” He looked around and saw Eve. His smile was real and full of delight, but there was something else mixed up in there, too. Something almost scared. “I’m okay, Eve. No permanent damage.”

She was clinging to the bars like she intended to force her way inside with sheer fury. “Shane, if you hurt him, I’ll kill you!”

I waved at her wearily. “Yeah, thanks. I’m the one with a broken bone.”

I exchanged a quick look with Michael, who was making plans. “Get away from the door,” he said.

“Why?”

Michael stood up. “Because I’m kicking it open.”

It took seven sustained, vampire-strength kicks to snap the lock and send the thing flying back; Eve moved off, but not far. I was watching the outside, the crowd. Vassily had, no surprise, disappeared. He’d never intended to be around for long, just long enough to grab the betting receipts and catch his ride. But I wasn’t worried about him. He was a greedy ass hat; no big deal.

I was worried about Gloriana, because I could still feel that subtle gray tension inside me that meant she was around. Not focused on me, not right now, but definitely……

I saw her a second before she grabbed Eve by the throat and yanked her backward, holding her tight like a Gothic human shield. Eve’s weird hat got crushed in the chaos—and now it was chaos, because the people in the stands were figuring out that things weren’t going according to the standard fight-club plan, and they wanted out. Only there wasn’t any way out of here. The doors were locked. Most of the vamps had already bolted, leaving Myrnin and Michael and Gloriana behind.

Glory’s blue eyes met mine over Eve’s shoulder, and I froze in the act of getting up. My mind clicked over and blanked into a perfect, smooth whiteness, and I felt that fury boiling up again, hot and crazy and perfect. She knew me. She knew just where to push, and what would cause me the most pain. I didn’t even have to think about it consciously anymore for it to hurt.

Hurt. Of course……

I slammed my right fist down into the floor and sent another jolt of agony through my body. The fury shattered and melted away, and I gave Gloriana a smile. A nice, big one. “Guess not,” I said. “You wanted to make me kill Michael, didn’t you? Kind of an if-I-can’t-have-him-nobody-can stalker thing, right? I’m just your weapon. Man, girl, get therapy.”

She smirked at me. “That’s all you’re good for, Collins—being a weapon,” she said. “That’s all you’ll ever be good for. Taking out enemies.”

“Good enough for me,” I said. “But you just made the top slot on my enemies list. Too bad for you. Don’t you think?”

She squeezed. Eve’s eyes got huge and she gave me a pleading look, then cut it toward Michael, who was coming down the stairs out of the cage, heading for her and Glory.

I felt Glory’s power, her glamour, slam into him like a freight train, and he slowed down…and stopped. He reached out for Eve, moving like he was underwater…and Gloriana laughed a little, one of those sweet, innocent little laughs that had seemed so pretty before, and said, “I hate it when you look at her that way, you know. Such a waste. She doesn’t deserve you, Michael.” And I knew right then that she was going to kill Eve in front of him.

And there was no way Michael would be able to stop her.

He didn’t have to. Eve was fumbling at the pocket on the side of her über-Goth dress, and I saw a flash of silver a second before she plunged it under her arm, across her own body, and into Gloriana’s chest.

“Damn,” I said. Because she must have gotten it right, first try—no easy thing, even when you’re facing a vampire and able to see your target.

Gloriana went down, dragging Eve with her. Her mouth was open in a silent scream, and her eyes were bright and red and running over with fury. She was still trying to close her hand and crush Eve’s windpipe.

Michael lunged forward and slammed the silver stake down harder into Glory’s chest, all the way in, for all I know, all the way into the cement floor beneath her. Then he dragged Eve away and put his arms around her and held on like the world might be coming apart, but the two of them never would.

It was kind of beautiful.

And I watched Gloriana—the prettiest vampire I’d ever seen, and the most dangerous—go still and quiet as the silver began to burn and discolor her body, killing her from the inside out.

She was all done.

I let just a little bit of the rage back out. Just a little, and felt it evaporate into a warm, scary satisfaction.

And God, it felt good.

“Shane?”

Claire hadn’t seen what had happened for the past few seconds—too many running, screaming people, and she’d lost sight of Eve. When the chaos thinned a little she saw Eve sitting on Michael’s lap on the concrete. And Gloriana lying next to them, staked half into the floor. Silver, Claire realized. She was well on her way to totally deceased.

And Claire decided she couldn’t care too much about that. What she did care about was that Michael and Eve were okay, and that Shane was still standing inside the cage, staring out at Glory’s dying body. He looked…blank, except for his eyes. They were full of something hot and wild and strange, and then…peaceful.

Myrnin was still hanging on to her. “Hey!” she said, and shook her arm to try to throw him off. “Let go already! I’m fine!”

He was frowning and trying to look everywhere at once. “I think we should leave,” he said. “I can easily break a hole in the bricks over there. Yes, we should go now. See, your boy is fine. Everything’s fine. Except Glory, obviously—that’s definitely not fine—but honestly, do any of us care? I certainly don’t.”

“Let go!”

“No,” Myrnin said. “You’re my responsibility. And this is dangerous. I don’t know where Bishop is, and until we find him, I don’t want you on your own.”

Claire threw down the black bag she was holding, reached in, and came out with a thin, silver-plated knife. “You know what’s dangerous?” she asked. “Me. If you don’t let go.”

He sighed, rolled his eyes, and released her. She snatched up the bag and ran for the cage, bouncing off panicking strangers and a few people she actually knew who’d come to bet on her boyfriend dying in a cage—God, she wanted to hit them—and then made it to the steps that led up to the big, square cage. The fight cage.

With Shane.

Shane looked over as she pounded up the risers and flew like a bird into his arms. It felt like the best thing she’d ever done, putting her arms around him, feeling his warm, damp skin pressed against her.

He let out a long, wordless breath and collapsed against her, hugging her like the world was ending, like he never wanted to let her go again. “I’m a fool,” he said. “And an asshole. You ought to run as far away from me as you can. I am so sorry.”

“If I run, you run with me,” she said. “Are you all right?”

He held up his right hand. It looked red and a little swollen. “Broken bone,” he said. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

She took his hand in both of hers, cradling it, and put it gent ly to her cheek. He was staring at her with a hungry expression, one that seemed to her to be more about hope than anything else.

“Just like that,” he said. “Just like that, you’re going to let it go. All the things I did. What I said. God, Claire…”

“Uh, no, idiot,” Claire said. “You’re going to have to work for forgiveness. But this…this you get for free. Because I love you.”

He smiled a little and then he kissed her, and for a few long, sweet, breathless seconds, it was all okay again.

And then Claire heard the sirens.

“The hell?” Shane said, because it wasn’t just a siren. It was a chorus of them, wailing over each other in waves. Every siren in town, it sounded like, all heading toward them.

Claire felt a sick surge of understanding, which became even more clear when Myrnin came up the stairs to join them inside the cage, took her by the upper arm, and said, “And now we are going. No arguments. Amelie and Oliver are coming, and they’re bringing as much overwhelming force as is available to them. If you want to maintain your body, soul, and freedom, stop dwithering and come. No one in this room will be safe once they arrive. They’re very much in a shoot-first, ask-questions-never mood.”

“Dwithering?” Claire repeated blankly. “What is—?”

“Must we argue word choice? Now?”

“Nope,” Shane said. “We’re with you. And we’re going.”

And they would have been, except that as Myrnin turned and headed for the open iron gate, someone else came up the steps and blocked the opening.

Bishop. Impossibly, he looked even younger than he had on the video, like he was aging in reverse. There was fresh blood on his mouth and smeared on the collar of his shirt. His eyes were ancient and vicious and pretty much crazy, Claire thought, as he smiled with his fangs out and said, “Let them come. My daughter thought she could starve me, wall me up, make an example of me. I’ll make such an example of this roomful of people—no, this entire town—that no one will ever say its name again without shuddering. The nightmare is coming now. Wake up and enjoy it.”

Myrnin stared at Bishop in outright horror and backed up fast. He let go of Claire. In fact, he put her and Shane in the way.

“What’s the matter, my old friend?” Bishop asked. He calmly reached back, grabbed the door, and slammed it closed behind him with a rattle and boom of metal. Then he bent the frame so that it wouldn’t open—more effective than a lock. “No clever plans? No silly games? Because you know I haven’t forgotten what you did when you betrayed me. You know I’ll take you apart one piece at a time…fingers and toes first, then working my way in. And your little humans here, they’re only a moment’s work. By the time Amelie and her court reach us, I’ll be drinking their blood out of your skull.”

“You could still run,” Claire said. She couldn’t believe she had enough strength to talk, but she did. She was scared, but not that scared. Somehow, after everything she’d seen, Bishop wasn’t the worst anymore. “You could break out of a wall and disappear in the confusion. You know if Amelie catches you, she’ll kill you.”

“Indeed, I think Oliver’s quite convinced her that making an example of me is bad strategy,” Bishop said. He paced side to side, but every turn closed the distance between them. “I expect she’ll execute me instantly. Or try. But I’m better at this than they are, either of them or all of them. I am the best killer who ever lived.”

“Yeah, you don’t seem too worried,” Shane said.

“I had a great deal of time to consider my place in this world, while she had me sealed up in that tiny, airless hell. Nothing to eat. Nothing to hear or feel or touch. Just endless, dark eternity. Do you know what I decided?”

Shane shook his head. Claire realized she was still holding the small, silver-coated knife, and now she nudged the black bag closer to Shane, who glanced down at it.

“I realized that if I can survive that, survive being starved down to bones, I can survive Amelie’s worst,” Bishop said. “I don’t need Vassily and Gloriana. I thought I needed an army to take this town, and they were making me one—humans like you, Shane, who’d take out vampires without flinching. But I don’t need them. Or you. Any of you.” His eyes flared blood red. “Except as fuel.”

Shane crouched down and reached inside the bag, pulling out a crossbow, but it wasn’t set. It would take seconds to cock and load, and Bishop wasn’t going to give it to them.

Bishop smashed the crossbow into splinters with one blow, and threw Shane headfirst into the bars.

Claire screamed, because it should have killed him…and probably would have, if he hadn’t been dosed up with that drugged sports drink Vassily had given the fighters. Instead, it only stunned him. Shane collapsed to the floor, moaning, and tried to get up. Bishop kicked him twice: once in the stomach, once in the head.

Claire didn’t think. She threw herself at him, and when his strong, pale hands reached for her to rip her open, she slashed with the silver knife she held. She didn’t know what she cut off, but Bishop howled and backed away from her. Then he came for her.

Shane couldn’t get up, but he could roll, and he did, right in front of Bishop’s feet as he moved. Bishop fell, twisted, and grabbed Shane’s head in his mangled hands.

Claire tried to stop him, but couldn’t get close enough. She slashed with the knife and delayed him from snapping Shane’s neck, but it was useless; she couldn’t get to him, not without getting killed, too.

That was what Bishop wanted. To kill one of them while the other watched.

“Hey!” Eve shouted, just on the other side of the bars. She had something in her hand, something long and thin and sharp. “Heads up, CB!” It came flying at her, and Claire grabbed it.

It was a sword. One of those things Eve had used against Oliver. She’d gotten a touch on him with it.

This one had a point, not a button, and the edges were sharp on all three sides of the triangular blade.

Claire grabbed the handle and threw herself into a lunge. It probably wasn’t a good lunge, probably wasn’t steady, but it was fast.

And she stuck the point straight into Bishop’s throat.

He let go of Shane and clawed at the sword. Claire dropped it and grabbed Shane’s ankle, and dragged him back to the other side of the cage. She raced forward, but Bishop got the blade before she did. Shane tried to get up, but failed.

Claire was the only one still standing up.

Myrnin. What the hell was he doing? He was down on the floor, rummaging around in his bag, ignoring her, ignoring their mortal danger. Stupid, cowardly idiot……

Claire couldn’t even look at him—she didn’t have time, because Bishop swished the blade through the air with a noise like tearing silk, and he gave Claire a long, slow smile.

“This will take approximately ten seconds,” he said. “I’d like to make it last, but, alas, my daughter awaits. I have a whole town to destroy. I can’t take as much time with you as I’d prefer.”

He took a step toward her.

“Claire,” Myrnin said from behind her. He sounded preoccupied and actually quite calm. “Please fall down now, if you don’t mind.”

She had absolutely no reason to trust him, but she did. She just…did.

She hit the canvas and looked up. Myrnin stood over both her and Shane, straight and tall, and there was a wild-looking shotgun kind of thing in his hands, and his Nike bag lay on its side at his feet. He was pointing the gun directly at Bishop.

“Now,” he said, “you appear to have brought the wrong weapon, Bishop. Surrender?”

Bishop buried the sword in Myrnin’s chest in a move so incredibly fast, Claire didn’t even see it happen.

Myrnin didn’t flinch. He pulled both triggers.

The heavy boom rattled the bars of the cage around them, and for a second Claire thought that something had gone wrong, very wrong, because the air was thick with smoke and glitter and Bishop was still there.

He fell, clawed fingers tearing long furrows in the canvas only an inch or so from Shane’s face. He was burning, burning fast, all over. It looked like he’d been hit with napalm, and he screamed and rolled and kept on burning while Myrnin calmly reached down, pulled the sword out of his chest, and reloaded the shotgun.

“That hurt,” he said. “But not, I imagine, as much as this will.” He aimed and then stopped himself. He looked at Claire. “Perhaps it would be best if you took your boyfriend outside for this.”

Claire swallowed. “It’s locked.”

Myrnin walked over and slammed his booted foot into the cage door. The hinges bent and cracked. His second kick sent it flying off the hinges to crash down five feet away, with a sound like tin cans dropping off a roof.

“Out,” he said, and stepped aside as Claire grabbed Shane and the two of them jumped over Bishop’s convulsing body.

Outside, Claire turned to look. Myrnin went back to Bishop and aimed at the center of the downed vampire’s chest.

Bishop bared his bloody teeth. He was disintegrating, pieces of him melting off in a horrible mess. The pain must have been extreme.

“You don’t have the courage,” he spat, and then coughed up rivers of too-pale blood. “You never have, shadow hugger. Get the little girl to do your work for you. She’s braver than you ever were.”

Myrnin raised his eyebrows and stared down at him, then flipped the shotgun up and rested it against his shoulder. “Oh, I think that’s probably true,” he said. “And I think I’d like to tell Amelie you went slowly and in pain. Die on your own, you evil old animal.”

It took a long, agonizing minute. Bishop never screamed. He left behind a skeleton that slowly collapsed into ash in the middle of the cage.

Myrnin sagged and leaned against the bars, head down. Claire came back up the steps and reached through to touch his shoulder. “Why didn’t you?” she asked.

For answer, Myrnin aimed the gun at Bishop’s disintegrating bones and fired both barrels.

Nothing happened. Just a dry, empty click.

“I realized that I never loaded the pellets into the cartridges,” he said. “Those should have been round, silver buckshot.”

“But you knew that first thing would work.”

“Actually,” Myrnin said in a low, confidential voice, “I thought I’d forgotten to load those shells, too. See how it all worked out?”

There was a massive banging on the outer doors, sending the people running around into a freak-out panic. Myrnin sighed, pushed away from the bars, and followed Claire down the stairs. She grabbed hold of Shane’s unbroken hand and held tight, and the three of them found Eve and Michael, still sitting next to Glory’s badly burned body. Only her golden hair was left, and even that was flecked with ash and slowly crisping.

“Follow me,” Myrnin said. “And do stay together. And by the way, this is the last time I go anywhere with you people. You are all insane.”

He picked up an iron bar and slammed it into the wall about half a dozen times in the space of seconds, and the bricks flew out in a haze of dust and splinters.

Claire and Shane stepped through the hole together, and froze as guns turned toward them. A whole lot of cops were yelling for them to freeze, and they did, putting up their hands and leaning up against the wall to be searched and handcuffed.

Claire looked back. Amelie and Oliver were in the next row, behind the cops, along with ranks and ranks of vampires. Amelie was staring straight ahead with a blank, empty expression; Oliver, on the other hand, was smiling. He was giving orders, sending one set of vamps that way, one up top, one around the side…the general deploying his troops, while the queen waited in icy isolation for victory.

Myrnin stepped out of the hole in the wall, glared balefully at the police, and waved to Amelie with demented excitement. “Hello! Your dear father is unfortunately very dead,” he called. “And you said my dispersal system would never work!”

Amelie blinked and focused on him. “What did you say?” she called.

“Dead,” he said, clearly and distinctly. “Your esteemed forebear is no more. He is dust and angel tears, though I shouldn’t think any of us will be mourning him for long. You may see for yourself, but I will swear to you that it is, indeed, your unlamented Mr. Bishop. Now could you please ask these idiots to stop pointing their bullets at me? It’s terribly wasteful.”

Claire tried to keep from laughing, but it turned into a choking cough, and then Shane started laughing, too, and suddenly it was all right.

Amelie swept past them, making for the hole they’d come out of; Oliver hurried to dart in front of her, holding what looked like an actual old-fashioned broadsword. Claire supposed that in the world of vampire wars, a sword could be pretty useful, especially with a silver edge. Beheading always worked.

Michael and Eve came out after a few more seconds, and Eve looked around and saw Shane and Claire in their almost-arrested poses. She snorted. “Leave it to you two,” she said. “What is it with you and cages, Shane?” It must have occurred to Eve a second later that maybe that might not have been cool to say at the moment. But Shane just shrugged.

“If Amelie wants to throw me back in jail, it’s okay. I did sign on for the fighting. I did beat a couple of vamps pretty bad. And I could have hurt Michael.”

Michael leaned against the wall next to him, arms folded. He was wearing the stupid hat—now at least fifty percent stupider, thanks to being crushed by running feet—and the ratty trench coat, but under the shade, his smile was full-on smug. “Sorry. What did you say? You could have hurt me?”

“Dude, I was kicking your ass.” It occurred to Shane, Claire guessed, that maybe he shouldn’t have been quite so proud of it. “Which is why I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t even trying, Shane.”

“Yeah, I know. But…” Shane fell silent.

Now Michael stopped smiling and looked at him for a long few seconds. He nodded and stepped away. “We’ll talk about it later,” he said. “And, yeah, you will be sorry. You know that.”

“Oh, I know,” Shane said. “You have no idea how sorry I already am.”

But Claire did. She saw the look in his eyes and the shine of tears.

And the shame.

She hugged him and whispered, “We’ll get through this. We will.”

He took in a deep, shaking breath, and relaxed against her.