Bitter Blood

things and come back here, to me. You’ll make an excellent soldier. Best of all, no one will suspect you. Amelie’s bloodchild? You are a perfect little assassin.”

“Yes,” I said. No, no, no, I was screaming, but I couldn’t do anything at all to stop myself. “What should I do about Shane? And Claire?”

“Shane’s of no consequence, and neither is the girl, except as a tool to be used. I’ve taken Myrnin out of play; without the protection of her black knight, she is no more than a pawn. But…” She tapped pale fingers to her lips, looking momentarily thoughtful. “You make a good point. What of Claire? Even a pawn may take a queen, if played properly….”

She rose to her feet and paced for a moment, arms folded, head down. Hannah and I stared at each other. Her heart was hammering, and I recognized now that it wasn’t fear she felt but rage. She was just as trapped as I was. If Myrnin’s black knight was off the table, Hannah was Naomi’s white castle, hiding secrets. And what was I?

“Ah,” Naomi said, and turned back toward me, eyes shining in unholy delight. “I know how to play Claire. So, this is what you will do, and what you will tell her….”

I listened. I hated her with every fiber of my being and every tiny bit of my soul.

But I knew I’d do what she said, even though it was going to destroy every good thing in my life.

Because I didn’t have a choice.

SEVENTEEN CLAIRE

Michael looked like the walking dead when he arrived back in the waiting room, where Claire was getting coffee for the eleven-millionth time from the machine; it ate her quarters, again, but she’d learned from one of the nurses—not the one who’d threatened Eve, thank God—how to kick the side of the dispenser in just the right spot to get the container to drop and produce about a half cup of oily, disgusting swill that kind of tasted like coffee.

It was better than nothing. But not much better.

She almost dropped the cup when she saw the boys arrive. Shane had a guarded, solemn expression, but Michael looked as though he’d been to the gates of hell and back and returned without the souvenir T-shirt.

“She’s sleeping,” Claire said, before either of them could speak. “Hey, are you all right? Michael?”

“Fine,” he said. His blue eyes looked oddly stark and empty, and there were dark smudges under them, as if he’d been robbed of a week’s sleep in just the past few hours. “I need to see her.”

“Just be careful not to wake her,” Claire said. “She’s pretty woozy, and in some pain. The doctor said she’ll probably be better in the morning. They’re going to let her go then, so we can take her home. She just can’t do much for a while.”

“Good,” he said. He hardly even glanced her way, but he took the coffee cup out of her hand and tossed back the near-boiling contents in a single gulp, crushed the paper, and dropped it on the floor as he stalked off, heading for Eve’s room. Claire bent and picked up the trash.

“Wow,” she said, looking after him. “What the hell, Shane?”

“Wish I knew,” he said. “That was the weirdest couple of hours I’ve ever had. Roy—that was okay, fine, I get it. But then we went to see Cap—” By which she understood Captain Obvious, without it being spelled out. “They made me wait outside toward the end. Whatever they said in there, it was bad. He’s looked like that ever since. Like somebody cut his guts out and made him swallow them.”

“So you know who it is? Cap, I mean?” She kept it in a bare whisper, glancing around at the empty waiting room. Shane nodded. “Who?”

“Better you don’t know,” he said. “Trust me, I wish I didn’t. I’m starting to wish I didn’t know a lot of things.”

They settled into the chairs in the waiting area, and Shane put his arm around her…and they were just getting comfortable when Shane turned his head and said, “Did you hear that?”

“What?” Claire felt drowsy and content nestled against his shoulder, but now that he’d woken her all the way up again, she did hear something—raised voices.

“That’s Eve,” Shane said, and stood up. “Something’s wrong.” Claire sighed and followed him on aching legs down the hall, past the empty nursing station, and arrived just as he pushed the door open.

Eve was crying. Not just crying a little, but crying in shocked, awful, painful sobs, even though she was holding her abdomen with both hands as if it were agony to even try to breathe. Michael was standing at the end of her bed, staring at her without any expression at all on his face. He’d always looked like an angel, Claire thought, but now he looked like one of those cold, remote, vengeful ones, the kind that carried swords.

It was terrifying.

“How can you say that?” Eve said, in between painful gulps for air. Crying was hurting her; Claire could hear it in the little hitching whimpers between the words. “God, Michael, don’t—please—”

“What the hell is going on?” Shane demanded, and got in Michael’s face. “What did you say to her?”

“The truth. Marrying her was a mistake from the beginning,” he said. “And I want it over, Eve. I’ll get the papers done, and you sign them, and we’re finished. It’s better for us both. The two of us together—Captain Obvious is right. Amelie is right. It’s sick, and it shouldn’t be allowed to continue. It’s going to get innocent people killed.”

“Dude, don’t do this,” Shane said, and reached out. Michael batted his hand away before it reached his shoulder. “Maybe you think this is going to keep her safe somehow, but it’s not the right way, okay? And it’s not the right time. I know you don’t want to hurt her. I heard you back there, with Cap. I know you’re just trying to protect her—”

“Do you?” Michael turned that empty look on Shane, and stopped him dead. “You don’t know a damn thing about me, man.”

Shane actually laughed. “You’re kidding, right? I know everything about you. You’re my best friend.”

“Think so?” Michael said, and then before Claire was ready, before she was even aware he was moving, he had turned and grabbed hold of her.

Michael Glass, holding her in his arms.

And bending.

And kissing her.

With tongue.

Expertly.

It took her by so much surprise that Claire could only make a muffled sound of shock and surprise at first, and she didn’t even try to resist; her body reported in sensations in a rush—the cold strength of him, the softness of his lips, the taste, the absolute authority of it…and then her rational brain kicked in and screamed in horror.

Michael Glass was kissing her in front of Shane. And Eve.

And he was doing a damn good job of groping her along with it, with his hands slipping beneath her shirt.

Shane yelled something, and Claire felt him trying to pull her free, but Michael held on with relentless strength. She was suddenly terrified to be between the two of them, like a rag between two possessive pit bulls, and then Michael let go just as fast as he’d grabbed on. That sent her crashing back into Shane, and Shane into the wall, with his arms wrapped around her. Claire’s mouth felt bruised and wet, and her shirt was bunched up just below her bra line; she frantically tugged it down and tried to wipe her lips at the same time, not doing a very good job of either. Michael was watching her, and the look in his eyes was awful. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t anything she could understand at all.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for years,” he said. “Just so you know. Did you see that coming, best friend? Maybe it’s been going on for a while. Maybe ever since she moved in. How do you know?”

“You son of a—” Shane pushed Claire out of the way and came at Michael, but Michael just shoved him back