Black Dawn

“News flash, preschool, nobody’s okay right now, and most of us didn’t have that happen.” She stood up suddenly, her expression hardening, and tugged at her dress. “I came back here to get help, not to get dragged off to rescue your lame, limp ass, Collins. So you could be a little grateful.”

Shane slowly raised one hand, and … flipped her off. It was weak, but it was so very him that Claire almost cried.

Monica almost smiled. Almost. “Yeah,” she said. “That’s what I thought. Truce over, asshole. Next time I see you bleeding on the side of the road, I back up and run you over again.”

“Monica,” Richard said, in a tone that said he’d had enough. More than enough. She shut up and pressed herself against the wall of the armored truck as it bumped and shuddered along. “Claire, is he still bleeding?”

“Some,” she said. She could feel the slow trickle of it soaking through her clothes. “But not as bad.” That might have been wishful thinking, which was the only kind of thinking she could do right now. “Thank you. If you hadn’t come with us …” I’d be dead. And Eve. And Shane. Maybe Michael, too, because he’d have tried to get us all back.

Richard nodded, not refusing the thanks but not making a big deal out of it, either; he just let it roll off him without really registering. “He’s strong, Claire,” he said. “He held on. That means a lot.”

“I never should have left him,” she said. “Oh God, this is my fault, my fault.” She started crying, heavy, aching tears that pushed up from the core of her body. They tasted as salty as Shane’s blood when she kissed his cheek and buried her face in the hollow of his neck.

She felt Richard’s gentle touch on her back. “Sometimes things just happen,” he said. “It’s not right. It’s not fair. But it’s nobody’s fault, Claire. So don’t do that. Don’t take it all on yourself. I promise you, it’s the last thing he wants you to do.”

She nodded, but she didn’t really feel it.

“About my sister,” he said. “She was a sweet kid, you know. When she was little. Used to come home crying every day in first grade. Everybody hated her, because her dad was the mayor. So by second grade, she gave it right back. She started fighting back when nobody was coming at her.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

He shrugged. “I thought you should know she wasn’t always … what she is. She was made that way. Not born. She can change. I’m hoping she will.”

“Yeah,” Claire said. “Me too.”

Richard patted her on the shoulder again, and withdrew over to the wall of the truck.

Shane held on to her with desperate strength, all the way to Founder’s Square.

Shane needed a transfusion.

When Theo told her, Claire burst into tears again, frantic ones. Eve hugged her from one side, Michael from the other, until she calmed down enough to listen to what Dr. Goldman had to say.

“He did lose a lot of blood,” Theo said very gently, and captured her bloodstained right hand in both of his as he stood in front of her. She, Eve, and Michael were sitting in some antique white chairs in the anteroom of what had become Theo’s makeshift hospital; as waiting rooms went, it was fancy, but cold. “The transfusion will help replace that volume quickly, and it will take about four hours; I doubt there will be any ill effects, though he may continue to have some weakness as his body recovers. I tested him, since the draug carry diseases at times, but it appears he is clear of that, which is a lucky thing. All he needs is blood for now, and rest. He should be better very soon, I promise you.” He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Has anyone told you how much of a miracle that is? That he, a human, survived?”

“He’s strong,” Claire whispered. She’d been saying it from the beginning, and had been confident, so blindly confident. But seeing him so pale and weak and shaking … that had terrified her.

“Yes, strong indeed,” Theo said, and patted her hand before he let it go. “A fighter, as he always has been. Today that served him very well, but you must understand that he will require more than physical strength. Michael can tell you that, to a point, but there may be … other factors, for Shane. What little we know of draug encounters with humans tells us the humans are forced into a dream world … or nightmares. I do not know which Shane experienced. So be patient with him, and watch for signs of any … odd behavior. All of you.”

They all nodded. Eve’s grip on Claire’s hand was almost painfully tight, but she took a deep breath and eased up as Theo rose and walked away. “That’s good news,” she said, with forced cheer. “See? Transfusion fixes him right up. He’s going to be fine, CB. Honestly.”

Eve was saying that as much to cheer herself up as to hearten Claire. Claire looked, instead, toward Michael. “How bad is it?” she asked. “Really.”

He didn’t flinch from the question, but she’d seen his nightmares, and he knew it. “Bad,” he said. “But vampires don’t react the same way to the chemicals the draug secrete; we don’t get the dream state that Theo was talking about. So we’re awake, and aware, the whole time. Humans … I don’t know what he was dreaming about, Claire. It could have been good. I hope it was good.”

“Have you talked about what it was like? To anyone?” She glanced at Eve, who looked away, lips compressed. Of course he hadn’t. Eve would have been his listener, but there was a gap between them now that they had to shout across. Maybe it was smaller than it had been, but it was still there. “You should, Michael. It must have been horrible.”

“It’s over,” he said. “And I’m dealing. Shane will, too.” Because that’s the guy code, Claire thought in mild disgust. Deal until you break into a million little pieces. “Come on. Let’s go see him.”

She was almost … reluctant, somehow. Not to see Shane, but to see him so weak. But she was relieved to see, as they entered Theo’s ward room with its neat camp beds and sheets hung between, that Shane was one of two patients, and he looked … better. Theo, or someone, had cleaned him up, so he didn’t look like he’d bathed in his own blood anymore. Even his hair was clean, though still damp.

There was a needle in his arm, and an IV stand with blood bags. Claire winced. She knew how much he hated needles.

She held his hand as she sank down in the chair next to him. “Hey,” she said, and leaned over to brush his messy hair off his forehead. His skin was still ivory pale beneath the tan, but no longer that scary paper white. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes.” He didn’t open his eyes, but he smiled, a little. His hand squeezed hers a little. “You’re here, aren’t you?” That sounded like a blow-off question, but it wasn’t, she realized. There was something else behind it.

“Yes, I’m here, I’m right here,” she said, and kissed his cheek. His face didn’t have the pinprick stings of the draug on it, but she’d seen them on his neck and chest—they’d suspended him in the water with his face up, the better to keep him alive while they … No, she really couldn’t think about it. Not now. “Michael said you—you might have felt what they were doing to you. Did you? Feel it?”

He took a little too long to answer. It might have been weariness, or it might have been a lie. Very hard to tell. “Not so much,” he said. “It was more like I was … dreaming. Or they were making me dream.”

“What kind of dreams?”

“I don’t think—” He opened his eyes and looked at her, just for a second, then closed them again. “Claire, I don’t think I can talk about it right now.”

That … hurt. It hurt a lot. She had a sudden dread that he was going to tell her something awful, like I dreamed I was in love with Monica Morrell and I liked that better. Or maybe … maybe just that he’d had some happy dream that didn’t include her at all. Because she knew, oh yes, that Shane could do better than her; there were taller girls, prettier girls, girls who knew how to flirt and tease and dress for maximum success. She didn’t fool herself about that. She didn’t know why Shane loved her, really.

What if the dream had shown him that he really didn’t need her, after all?

Michael leaned over to her and whispered, “We’re going to leave you two alone, Claire. If you need us, you know we’ll be close.”

She nodded and watched them go; Eve seemed reluctant, and she made a little call me gesture on her way out the door. Claire swallowed through a suddenly desert-dry throat and asked, “Why don’t you want to tell me about it, Shane?”

“It might scare you,” he said. His voice sounded thin, and a little shaky. “Scares the hell out of me.” After a