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.'
'But — ' She felt her bra slipping, and quickly grabbed to hold it in place. She felt ridiculous now, and wounded.
He sighed. 'Don't, Claire. It's not like I'm a saint or anything, I'm not, and trust me, for you, a saint would buy a condom and go to confession. But it's not about that. It's about keeping my word, and around here, my word is all I've got.'
She wanted him with a red fury that was all out of character for her, but somehow, the way he said it, the way he looked her straight in the eyes, she felt all that fall away and the fury turn into something pure, hot and silver.
'Besides,' Shane said, 'I'm all out of condoms, and I hate confession.'
He put his arms around her and hooked her bra with an ease that showed he had plenty of practice.
She threw a pillow at him.
###
Somebody was rummaging around outside the house.
Claire woke up with a start, instantly tense, as she heard the distant rattle of metal. She rolled out of bed and peeked out of the blinds. Her bedroom window looked out on the back, a glorious corner vantage point, and she had a clear view of the fence, and the trash cans on the other side.
Somebody was definitely out there, a black shape in the moonlight. Claire could see him moving around, but couldn't tell what he was doing. She reached for her cell phone and dialed 911, and told the operator she needed either Joe Hess or Travis Lowe. Detective Lowe picked up the call, sounding wide awake even at three in the morning, and Claire described what she was seeing in a whisper, as if whoever was across the yard might hear her.
'It's probably Jason,' she said. She heard the scratch of pen on paper on the other end of the phone.
'Why Jason? Can you see his face?'
'No,' she admitted, 'but Jason told me — he practically admitted it. About the dead girl. I think it's Jason, honest.'
'Did he threaten you, Claire?'
The cut on her wrist was still throbbing. 'I guess you could say so,' she said. 'I was going to tell you about it, but I —I had things to do.'
'More important that keeping us in the loop? Never mind. What happened?'
'Shouldn't I tell you when you get here?'
'Patrol car's already en route. Where did you see him today?'
'At the university,' she said, and told the story. He didn't interrupt her, just let her talk, and she could hear him continuing to take notes.
When she paused for breath, Lowe said, 'You know that was stupid, right? Look, next time you see him, you start screaming bloody murder. And put me and Hess on speed dial. Jason's nobody to play around with.'
'But — we were in public. He wouldn't have — '
'Ask Eve about why he ended up in jail in the first place, Claire. Next time, don't hesitate. This isn't about you being strong, this about you living through the day, all right? Trust me.'
She swallowed hard. 'I do.'
'Is he still there?'
'I don't know. I can't see him. He might've gone.'
'The patrol car ought to be there in just a couple of seconds, they're doing a silent approach. You see them yet?'
'No, but my room faces the alley.' Something moved in the yard, and she felt a lurch of pure adrenaline. 'I think — I think he's in the yard now. Coming to the house. To the back.'
'Go wake up Michael and Shane. Make sure Eve's okay. Go now, Claire.'
She wasn't dressed, but she supposed it didn't really matter; the oversized t-shirt she was wearing came to her knees anyway. She unlocked her door and swung it open, and yelled in shock.
Tried to, anyway. She couldn't quite get the sound out, because Oliver's hand clapped over her mouth, spun her around, and dragged her backward over the threshold. She screamed, but it was barely a buzz in her throat. Her bare heels scraped on the wood as she tried to get her feet under her, but he had her helpless and off balance. She dropped the phone.
She could hear Lowe's voice distantly whispering her name, but it was blotted out by Oliver's soft voice in her ear as he bent close and said, 'I only want to talk. Don't make me hurt you, girl. You know I will if you force me.'
She went still, breathing hard. Had he been out there in the yard? How had he gotten up here so fast? Didn't the protections on the house keep him out, anyway?
No. They only work against uninvited humans now, because Michael's —Michael's a vampire. Oliver had some way in and out. Easy access. God.
'Good girl. Stay quiet,' Oliver whispered. He looked up and down the hall, moved the painting next to the doorway, and pressed the hidden switch. The secret doorway across from Eve's room opened with a soft sigh, and he dragged her inside, then shut it. No knob on the inside. The release switch was up a flight of stairs, and he'd never let her get there if she tried to run. When he let her go, Claire stayed where she was.
He let his voice return to normal levels. Not afraid of being overheard, not here. 'I thought it was time we had a talk. You signed an agreement with Amelie. That hurts me, Claire. I thought we had a special friendship, and after all, I did offer first.' Oliver smiled at her, that cold and oddly kind smile that had suckered her in the first few times she'd met him. 'You turned me down. So why, I wonder, did you decide that Amelie would be a better choice?'
He might know about Myrnin, but not what Myrnin did. Amelie had been pretty specific: he could never know that.
'She smells better,' Claire said. 'And she made me cookies.' Somehow, after the day she'd had, Oliver just didn't seem all that terrifying anymore.
Until he bared his fangs, and his eyes went a strange, wide black. 'No games,' he said. 'The room's soundproofed. Amelie used to play with her victims here, you know. It's a killing jar, and you're inside. So perhaps you should be more polite, if you intend to see morning.'
Claire held up her left wrist. The golden bracelet glinted in the light. 'Bite it, Oliver. You can't touch me. You can't touch anybody in this house. I don't know how you got in, but — '
He grabbed her right wrist and ripped away the bandage cover the cut Jason had made. It broke open, and a red trickle ran from it down the interior of her arm.
Oliver licked it off.
'Okay, that's just gross,' Claire said faintly. 'Let go. Let go!'
'You belong to Amelie,' he said, and let her go. 'I can taste it. Smell it on you. You're right, I can't touch you, not anymore. But the others, you're wrong about them. While they're in the house they're safe, but not out there, not in my town. Not for long.'
'I made a deal!'
'Did you? Did you see in writing that your friends would be protected from all attacks? Because I very much doubt that, little Claire. We've been writing agreements for thousands of years, and you're only sixteen years old. You have no idea what kind of deal you've made.' Oliver actually sounded a little sorry for her, and that was scary. He folded his arms and leaned against the door. He was in his usual good-guy disguise tonight: a tie-dyed tee shirt, battered cargo pants, his graying, curling hair pulled back in a ponytail. He'd probably just closed up Common Grounds, she figured. He smelled like coffee. She wondered what Oliver wore on his days off, if he wasn't trying to intimidate. Pajamas? Fuzzy slippers? One thing she'd figured out about the vampires in Morganville, they were never exactly what they seemed to be, even the bad ones.
'Fine,' she said, and backed away from him until her heels hit the first step. She sat down. 'You tell me what
