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 was Michael. 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.
