Morganville - 10 - Bite Club (8 page)

Well, technically, it was juice, Claire supposed. People juice.

"I'll get it," Michael said. "Thanks. Shane, Claire -- Cokes?"

"Yes!" Claire yelled, at the same time Shane did. He walked over to put his arm around her and bent to kiss her.

"Jinx," he whispered.

"I like this version of jinxies better than the one I did in grade school," she said. He tasted like salt and metal, but it still seemed sexy -- and so did the way his damp Tshirt clung to his shoulders and chest.

She'd never thought sweaty was all that sexy before, but Shane...well. Shane rocked it.

"So, what did you do at the gym?" he asked. "I thought I saw you on the stair machine."

Oops. Busted. "I was on it for a while," she said. "Then Eve took me to teach me how to fence."

"Not so much how to fence as how to hold a sword and not drop it," Eve said. "And then I fought Oliver to a draw."

Shane fluttered his hands. "Oh, and then we were all elected as ice princesses and asked to go to Disneyland!" He rolled his eyes.

"Laugh all you want. I'm going to look way better in full skirts than you," Eve said.

"And besides, I'm not lying. I got a mortal touch on Oliver. Ask your girlfriend."

"She hit him with her sword," Claire said, when both Michael and Shane looked at her. "I saw it."

"And then, to make sure I knew my place, he practically rammed his epee through my heart, but, you know, details. Hence the bruise." She dragged down the neckline of her shirt to show off the top of it.

Shane whistled appreciatively -- not at her assets, Claire felt sure. The bruise. That was Shane, through and through.

"I didn't know fencing was a contact sport," he said. "I thought it was more, you know, a pretend sport. Like golf. Or competitive eating."

"Hey, golf is hard." Eve shrugged. "Anytime you want me to whip your lame ass on eighteen holes, let me know."

"I got whipped enough, thanks." Shane flopped down in his chair and pulled the plate toward him. "I could eat road kill, I'm so hungry. Without hot sauce."

"Well, you're in luck, because I have no idea what's really in these burgers," Eve said. Michael came out of the kitchen and put three cold cans of Coke on the table, and one sports bottle that might have possibly held juice. Warm juice. Claire was glad it was opaque. "Dinner together. Wow. This is an event."

It was, recently. They'd all been doing their own thing so much, it had been more like two of them eating together, or maybe three. Having all four at the table was great for a change. Eve chattered on about work, and how awesome the fencing room (the salle?) was at the new gym. Michael put in a few tidbits about what was happening with his music, which was still up in the air after their road trip to Dallas to get his demo recorded. It was sounding positive, but Michael was all about the caution and pessimism.

Claire almost blurted out the whole Myrnin/Frank face-off, but realized that she couldn't, because Shane was there, and Shane still didn't know his father had survived...at least, in the form of a brain in a jar, hooked up to a computer. Shane thought Frank was dead, and he was at peace with that, kind of. Claire didn't know how he was going to feel about the rest of it, and she couldn't stand to hurt him.

There was no reason he had to know.

Or so she kept telling herself, anyway.

It was a nice time together, and it felt like home. The laughter made her warm, and the occasional glances and smiles from Shane made her tingle all over. After dinner, she and Eve did the dishes (but only because it was their turn) while Michael and Shane claimed the couch and loaded up the new game.

Turned out it was -- no surprise -- another zombie game. Blood and guts ensued.

Claire curled up between them on the couch with a textbook, while Eve stretched out on the floor and flipped through a magazine.

A normal night. Very, very normal.

Until Shane lost the game.

"Damn it!" he yelled, and threw the controller at the screen. Like, really threw it. It hit the edge of the frame, instead of the softer LCD part, and pieces of the controller broke off and went everywhere. Eve yelped and rolled over, brushing off pieces of plastic. Claire flinched.

"Jesus, Shane, get a grip," Michael said. "You lost. BFD, man. It's not the first time."

"Shut up," Shane said. He stood up, grabbed the controller, and glared at it. "Piece of crap."

"Don't blame the equipment. It was working fine before you scrapped it."

"How the hell do you know? Were you playing it?"

"I know you owe me for a new controller."

"Screw you, bro." Shane threw the broken controller at Michael this time. Not that it was a risk; Michael calmly reached up and caught it, so smoothly it might have been some kind of special effect.

"Maybe you should chill out."

"Maybe you should stop with the vampire reflexes in game!"

Michael frowned. He didn't usually let Shane get to him, but Claire could see the anger forming. "I played you fair."

"Fair?" Shane barked out a laugh. "Man, you have no idea what you're talking about anymore, do you? You don't even know when you're screwing us."

"Hey!" Claire said, and stood up between them, as Michael got to his feet. The air felt thick and ominous now, the house's reflection of the feelings of its owners. "You guys, stop! It's just a game!"

"No, it's not just a game. Get the hell out of the way!"

"Stop!" she said sharply, and punched Shane in the shoulder. "Jeez. Didn't you get enough fighting in for the day? What is this? Michael's right. You don't get to destroy stuff just because you lost a game. You're not three years old, Shane!"

His dark eyes focused on her, and she felt a very real, very cold chill go through her.

That was not the Shane she knew. That was the other Shane. "Don't hit me," he said.

"I don't like it."

Claire let her hands drop to her sides and took a deep breath. "Sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I just wanted to get your attention."

Well, she'd gotten it, all right. She wished she hadn't. But at least it had broken the momentum of whatever was going on between Shane and Michael.

Now it was just between her and Shane.

"Claire," Michael said. She held out a hand without looking at him, and he fell silent.

And she waited for Shane to say something.

SHANE

I hate losing. I mean, really, a lot. I usually try to cover it up and pretend like I don't, but there's something inside me that gets twisted up and desperate. Because losing means that you're at someone else's mercy, even if it's just a game. Even if it's not supposed to mean anything.

I'd had too much of that in my life, being in someone else's power. First my dad's.

Then the vampires'.

There was always somebody looming, somebody faster and stronger and crueler than me, and it made me feel like a scared kid inside all the time.

I wasn't lying. The game controller had flaked out on me. The buttons stuck. It wasn't my fault that I lost; it was the tool's. I wasn't going to lose, not to Michael.

Not anymore. Yeah, losing my temper was stupid -- I mean, it was my favorite game controller I'd busted -- but thinking that it wasn't fair, that he'd cheated, that he'd used those vampire reflexes to win and didn't deserve it...It burned me, okay?

Burned me bad.

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 totally Shane -- 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 you leaving ?" 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, it was 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 was right 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 to rest."

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 doing here, in her bedroom, 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. She did 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."