Black Dawn

without a trace about two weeks later—escaped from town, rumor said, but I knew most of those rumors were bull. She’d probably gotten drained by Carly’s vamp Protector out of sheer annoyance that he had to mediate high school girls. These things happened. “Hey, whatever happened to Jamie, anyway?” Because Michael was on the other side now. He’d know.

“She left town,” Michael said.

“Is that code for …” I mimed fangs in the neck. He raised his eyebrows and said nothing. So that was a yes, then. “Damn.”

“You already knew.”

I had, kinda. But still. Thinking back on our class, I wondered how many of them had survived; most, sure, but a few would have fallen off the radar, gotten bitten, tried to run, or just had the proverbial fatal accident. Morganville’s rate of missing was pretty high, and most of them weren’t missing at all.

“So,” I said, and turned to Michael. “Enough reminiscing. I guess it’s just us around here.”

“Private,” he replied.

“As much as we ever get. And … there’s not a lot to do right now.”

“No.” He was playing along with me, waiting for me to get to the point.

So I did. “We need to talk about things.”

That was not where he had expected the next turn to go. I knew that, but it was his fault for letting me drive the metaphorical conversation bus. But to his credit, I caught only a small flash of impatience and disappointment, quickly submerged. “Okay,” he said. Not as if he really wanted to have the heart- to-not-beating-heart, but as if he knew there was no getting around it. “You want to do it here?”

I shrugged. “Shane’s in our room with Claire, I think. They’ve been tense since he got back. Better let them have some time.” I led Michael over to a set of chairs and pulled two of them together.

And then I felt oddly weird about starting the conversation. There had been a moment, when I’d run away from Naomi and into his arms, when all that had happened between us had vanished, but now … now here it was again, big and bad and getting bigger with every moment we didn’t deal with it. Or rather, I didn’t. He was trying.

So I looked up and said what was in my heart. “I love you.”

He met my eyes squarely, and my God, he was beautiful. It always surprised me, a bit, how everything just worked with him—his eyes, and his hair, and his cheekbones, and his mouth, and … everything. Living art, so gorgeous that sometimes, like now, it hurt. But if his looks burned a little, the expression on his face soothed it; he was intent on me, as if I was the only thing in the world. Nothing in his eyes but open, honest feeling.

“I love you, too,” he said. “What are we going to do about this?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I thought I did, but … it’s a little like being in a relationship with Superman. You sometimes don’t know your own strength.”

He smiled, and it made his dimples come out. “I think I’m more Batman,” he said. “You know, what with all the bats and nighttime activities. And Batman is much cooler.”

“Geek.”

His smile widened. “You say the nicest things. Haven’t you heard? Geeks run the world now.”

“Yeah, what Goths allow them to run.” This felt so good … so much like the old days, when we were friends, and before everything got so complicated. So dangerous. “You’re avoiding the conversation.”

He looked down at his hands, then back up as if willing himself to do it. “Yeah, I guess I am. I hurt you. I could do it again, if the conditions were right; I don’t really know what could trigger me to do it, Eve. Wish to hell I did. I just … lost myself. And I can’t promise you it won’t happen again.” There was something tentative about the way he was watching me now. Afraid, I realized. Afraid I was going to reject him, and knowing it would hurt, but just … holding still for it all the same.

“That makes jumping into getting married sound a little crazy,” I said. “Doesn’t it?”

He nodded. This time, when he looked down, he didn’t try to meet my eyes again.

“Michael.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. It came out half a whisper, and a little unsteady. “It’s not your fault, it’s mine …”

“Michael. Look at me.” He did, finally, bracing himself for impact. “I said getting married sounds crazy. I do crazy for a living.”

For a blank few seconds, he didn’t seem to understand me; I think he must have run that through his head at high speed a dozen times before he finally got the translation. “You mean you’re okay. We’re okay.”

“Yes, Michael, you fool, we’re very okay. But what I said before still stands. You’d better not think of me as a victim, even if something does happen. I’m no weak little flower, and if I need to defend myself, I will. Just—try not to make that happen. I really don’t want to have to hurt you. Okay?”

His smile was bright and sweet and hot enough to melt solid steel. “Is this the part where I kiss you?”

“If you like.”

“Oh,” he said, “I like.” And he leaned forward, gripping the arms of my chair, and slowly, slowly, sweetly brought that mouth to me. It was a long, lovely kiss, the kind that melts your spine and fills you with sunlight and steals your breath away. The kind that, as far as I knew, only Michael Glass could give me, because he knew, he just knew that kissing me with those gentle little butterfly-soft presses would make my toes curl, and the way that the teasing sank into something deeper, darker, more intensely needy. His tongue stroked my lips, and I let them part, hungry for him, for the taste of him.

I had missed him so, so, so much. Missed this.

Missed us.

“Eve?” He kept his lips close, punctuating his words with small little electric brushes of our skin. My own mouth felt swollen, tingling, intensely and darkly aware. “I think … we should … find some … privacy. Right now.”

I was one hundred and ten percent in favor of this idea. In fact, parts of me were redlining at one-twenty. “Yes, please,” I said. I kept my mouth just as close, teasing him right back. “Does this mean we actually have to stop kissing?”

“I’m afraid it might.”

“Wait … not sure about that, then …”

He pulled me up to my feet and put his arms around me, pressed his lips to mine and began guiding me around the chairs. I giggled into his mouth as we bumped awkwardly into walls, tables, a large vase … and then suddenly he let go of me and turned away, just as I heard Shane say, “Where’s Claire?”

“What?” Michael sounded blank, and just a little bit frustrated. I could understand that, because I was struggling to tamp down the furnace he’d ignited inside me and reconnect with the rest of the world. “What are you talking about? I thought she was with you.”

“Was,” Shane said. He was pulling a shirt over his head, and looked better and more focused than he had before. I was glad to see that. I’d have just been happier to see it in say, an hour. Or two. “She got a call from Myrnin.”

Of course. Nothing strange about that, although I was a little surprised she’d gone. He must have made it seem important. Well, with all that was going on, it probably was important. I made sure my clothes were on relatively straight, and stepped out from behind Michael. “I didn’t see Myrnin earlier,” I said. “Did you?”

Michael shook his head. “He wasn’t with Naomi’s crew.”

“Maybe he’s with Oliver, then.”

“Oliver wasn’t letting anyone near Amelie. No reason to take Claire in there, even if Myrnin got pulled in.” Michael bumped fists with Shane. “You look better, man.”

“I feel better,” Shane said. “Or I would if I could figure out where Batty McCrackula took my girlfriend.”

“Oooh, good one. I’m writing that down. Lab?” I suggested. “I mean, the one he set up here?”

The boys thought it was a good idea, too, so we tried it. There was trial and error involved, what with all the hallways and doors; the more rooms we opened, the more it seemed obvious that this place was deserted. We found Theo in the infirmary; he had a couple of human patients in the beds, and his hulking friend Harold as his nurse.