Kiss of Death

should feel quite secure.”

“Well, I’m sorry, I don’t,” she said. “You’re just—”

“Too overwhelmingly dashing and attractive?” Morley grinned. “A common problem women face with me. It’ll pass. You seem like the no-nonsense sort. I like that.”

Claire smiled at the look on Mrs. Grant’s face, reflected in the white LED light of the lantern she was holding. “You are really—odd,” the older woman said, as if she couldn’t quite believe she was even having the conversation.

Morley put his hand over his heart and bowed from the waist, a gesture that somehow reminded Claire of Myrnin. It reminded her she missed him, too, which was just wrong. She should not be missing Morganville, or anyone in it. Especially not the crazy boss vampire who’d put fang marks in her neck that would never, ever go away. She was doomed to high-necked shirts because of him.

But she did miss him. She even missed Amelie’s dry, cool sense of power and stability. She wondered if this was a kind of vacation for Amelie, too, not worrying about Oliver, or Claire, or Eve, or any of them.

Probably. She couldn’t imagine Amelie was losing any sleep over them—presuming she slept, which Claire really wasn’t sure was the case, anyway.

“Hey.” Shane’s hip nudged her chair, and he bent over, putting his mouth very close to her ear. “What are you doing?”

“Thinking.”

“Stop.”

“Stop thinking?”

“You’re doing way too much of it. It’ll make you go blind.”

She laughed and turned her face toward his. “I think you’re thinking of something else.”

“I’m definitely thinking of something else,” he said, and bent over to kiss her. It was a long, sweet, slow kiss, full of gentle strokes of his tongue over her lips, which parted for him even though she was sure she hadn’t exactly told them to do that. Warmth swept over her, making her oddly shivery, and she grabbed the neck of his shirt when he tried to pull away and kissed him some more.

When she let go, neither of them moved far. Shane sat down in the chair next to her, but scooted it over and leaned in so they were as close together as possible. There weren’t many lights here in the corner, where Claire had retreated to eat her cup of stew and think, and it felt wildly romantic sitting together by candlelight. Shane’s skin looked golden in the glow, his eyes dark, with only a hint of shimmering amber when the light hit them just right. His chin was a little dark and rough, and she felt it with her palm, then smiled.

“You need a shave,” she said.

“I thought you liked me scruffy.”

“Scruffy is for good dogs and bad rockers.”

“Oh yeah? And which am I, again?” He was so close to her, and in this little bubble of candlelight it felt as if everything happening around them, all the craziness, all the bad things, was taking place a world away. There was something about Shane that just made it all okay, for as long as she was with him, for as long as he was looking at her with that wonderful, fascinated glow in his eyes.

He moved a little strand of hair back from her face. “Some road trip, eh?”

“I’ve had worse,” Claire said. His expression was priceless. “No, really. I have. I went on a trip with my parents all the way to Canada once. A week in the car, with my folks, having educational experiences. I thought I’d go nuts.”

“I thought you liked educational experiences.”

“Bet you could teach me a few things.”

He kissed her again, hungrily, and there was such focus in him that it took her breath away. She wanted— yeah, she knew what she wanted. She knew what he wanted, too. And she knew it wasn’t going to happen, not here, not tonight—too bad, because if she got killed before getting some privacy with Shane again, she was going to be really upset with Oliver.

Somebody coughed out in the shadows, at the edges of their candle, and Shane sat back. Claire licked her damp lips, tasting him all over again, and struggled to try to focus on something else, such as whoever was interrupting them. “What?” That came out a little harsh.

“Sorry.” That was Jason, and he didn’t sound sorry at all. He sounded kind of amused. “If you want to go on with the porn show, please. I’ll wait.”

“Shut up,” Shane growled.

“You know, we could get into this make-me-no-you-make-me kind of thing, but I think we have better things to do,” Jason said. “I’m not talking to you, anyway. I need Claire.”

She needed a lot of things, all from Shane, and she couldn’t think of a blessed thing right now that she needed from Jason Rosser. It made her voice go even colder. “Why?”

He rolled his eyes, just like his sister, which was creepy. She didn’t even like to think they came from the same gene pool, much less shared things she thought were cute and funny in Eve. “Because Oliver wants you, and what Oliver wants, Oliver gets, right? So get your sweet little butt up already.”

“Hey,” Shane said, and stood up. “I’m not telling you again, Jase. Stop.”

“What, because I said she had a sweet little butt? You don’t think she does? Hard to believe, since you spend so much time staring at it.”

Shane’s hands closed into fists, and Claire remembered Jason on the street in the dark outside Common Grounds, coming after them—after her and Eve, specifically, at least that was what he’d said to Shane.

Shane didn’t forget.

“You and me, man, one of these days, we’re going to finish this,” he said softly. “Until that day, you stay the hell away from my girl. You understand?”

“Big tough guy,” Jason said, and laughed. “Yeah, I understand. Personally, she’s too skinny for me, anyway.”

He walked off, and Claire saw a tremor go through Shane, something she figured was an impulse to slam into Jason and knock him flat, and then pound him.

But Shane didn’t move. He let out a slow breath and turned back to face her. “That guy,” he said, “is not normal; I don’t care what Eve says. And I don’t like him around you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, I know.” He forced a smile. “It’s just that—” This time, he shrugged and let it go. “Oliver, huh?”

“I guess.” Claire picked up the candle and headed through the stacks for the unofficial—or official?—command desk, where Oliver was now sitting, talking to a couple of vampires whose faces glowed blue-white in the light of the fluorescent lamp.

“About time,” Oliver said. “I need you to see if you can get a message out on this thing.” He nodded to the computer, which sat there dead and unresponsive.

“There’s no electricity.”

“They’ve been trying to use this,” he said, and pointed toward the pedal generator. “They tell me it should work, but there’s some problem with the computer. Fix it.”

“Just like that.”

“Yes,” Oliver said. “Just like that. Whine about it quietly, to yourself.”

She seethed, but Shane just shrugged and looked at the pedal generator, which was sort of like an exercise bike. “This thing could be a real workout,” he said. “Tell you what: I’ll pedal; you do the magic. Sound fair?”

She liked that he was willing to help. Their fingers intertwined, and he kissed her again, lightly.

“Sounds fair,” she agreed.

She turned the laptop over and took a look at it. Nothing obviously wrong jumped out—nothing cracked or broken, anyway. Shane climbed on the seat and started turning the pedals—which must have been harder than it seemed, because even he seemed to be working at it. The resistance built up energy, which translated into electricity, which went into a power strip with some kind of backup battery built into it. Immediately, the battery began beeping and flickering a red light. “Right, that’s working,” Claire said. “It’ll probably take a while to recharge the backup, though.”

“How much time are we talking?” Shane asked.