Bitter Blood

Square. Shane was forced to leave the gun, but he grabbed Claire’s backpack and filled it with a selection of the handiest possible weapons.

“We’re not going to be able to fight our way in, or out again,” Myrnin said. “You might keep that in mind during your packing frenzy.”

“Shut up.” Shane put the backpack over his shoulder, and for the first time, looked at Claire directly. “He’s your responsibility. Keep him from doing anything too crazy.”

“I’ll try,” she said. It was the first real conversation—brief and businesslike as it was—that they’d had in hours, and it made her feel just a tiny bit less awful…until he turned his back on her in the elevator, in preference to watching the numbers flicker until they’d arrived at the right floor. Myrnin led the way, which was a good thing, because the first intersection brought them face-to-face with two of Amelie’s black-uniformed guards.

“We were told you left,” one of them said to Myrnin.

“You were ill-informed, then,” Myrnin said loftily, and drips of filthy water ran down his feet to leave stains on the carpet. “I’m here to see the Founder.”

“Like that?” The guard gave him an up-and-down look, eyebrows raised.

“Would you like me to shower and change before warning her of potential disaster? Because of course one wouldn’t like to deliver that news in a less-than-pristine state.”

The guard accepted that, but then he turned the analysis on Claire and Shane. “And them?”

“With me,” he said. “Entourage. You know.”

“Backpack,” the second guard said to Shane, and gestured. He hesitated. “Now.”

“Oh, give it up. I told you we couldn’t use those anyway,” Myrnin said. “Do it. Quickly. We have little time left, for heaven’s sake.”

The guards were ignoring him now, focused on Shane and the potentially lethal contents of his bag, and as soon as they’d turned away from him, Myrnin reached out, grabbed each of the guards by the side of the head, and knocked them together, hard. Claire shuddered at the sound of bone crunching. Both men dropped to the carpet, twitching.

“Come on,” Myrnin said. “They won’t be down for long. But don’t worry, their brains aren’t complicated enough to be damaged.”

“But—”

“Claire, we do not have time.” He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her along at a run, past closed doorways, painted portraits, flickering lights…

And into an open doorway.

Amelie’s assistant rose to her feet in alarm at the sight of them and bared her teeth, and Myrnin bared his in turn. “Announce me,” he said, and then shook his head. “Never mind; I’ll do it myself.”

He lowered his shoulder and ran at the inner door. The lock broke, and the door swung open…

On Amelie, held in Oliver’s arms. Not as a hostage, as Claire originally thought, but in a position that could only be called, ah, intimate. That was one hell of a kiss in progress, and there were fewer clothes than might be strictly formal.

The kiss broke off as Myrnin came to a sliding halt in the remains of the door, with Shane and Claire close behind, and said, “Well, this is awkward. Beg pardon, but I believe Claire has something to tell you.”

Then he shoved her forward as Oliver stepped away from the embrace and began buttoning up his shirt. Amelie glared at Claire, then at Myrnin, then at Shane, as if deciding which of them to kill first.

Myrnin seriously wasn’t going to do anything, Claire realized. He was standing back, watching. She wasn’t sure what he was watching for, but he’d left her deliberately hanging there, wriggling like a worm on a hook.

“Well?” Amelie’s voice was a crack of sound, like a sheet of ice snapping. “What could possibly be so vital that you intrude here on my privacy, like some assassin?” She grabbed Shane by the collar and dragged him close, ripped the backpack from his hands, and shredded it open, spilling weapons across the floor. “You come to use these, then? Are you in league with your father again? I warn you, this time, the cage won’t go unused. You’ll burn for this, you little fool.”

“Shane’s just trying to protect us! Oliver’s betraying you,” Claire blurted. “He’s working with—”

She didn’t have time for more. Oliver was right on her, hand gripping her throat as he lifted her effortlessly off the carpet until her feet dangled and kicked uselessly. She clawed at his hand, but he wasn’t going to let her breathe. Panic blinded her, smothered her, and all she knew for a few seconds was that she was going to die before she could make things right again with Shane.

Myrnin reached down, grabbed the silver-tipped bat, and hit Oliver right between the shoulder blades, hard enough to knock him off-balance. Claire was dropped to the carpet, where she whooped in a breath.

“Enough!” Amelie said. There was pale color high in her cheeks, and a furious red glitter in her eyes. “I’ve had enough of your foolish chatter and your betrayals. You come here unasked; you threaten my consort. I am done with you all. I’ve coddled you too long. I’ll start with you, Collins.”

She grabbed Shane by the shirt when he tried to dart out of her way, and pulled back her other hand, claws sharp and extended. In one more second, she’d do it. She’d kill him.

“No!” Claire shouted through her agonizingly sore throat. “He’s working with Naomi; Oliver’s going to kill you!”

The Founder froze, and for a second her eyes went entirely back to gray as she stared into Claire’s face, reading what Claire hoped was utterly the truth as she knew it.

And then Amelie let go of Shane and started to turn toward Oliver.

Oliver grabbed the bat out of Myrnin’s hands and swung it at the Founder’s head with deadly, blurring speed; even for a vampire, that blow would have been fatal if it had connected…but Amelie moved like water, flowing out of the way and taking Oliver’s arm as it passed, then twisting until the bat flew out of his grip. It shattered the windows beyond in an earsplitting crash, sending glass flying out into the night. The baseball bat whipped end over end to land almost a hundred feet away on the grass of the park below.

Amelie shoved Oliver face-first into the wall, pinned his arm behind him, and said, “Tell me why. Why?” She didn’t doubt it; Claire saw that. Oliver’s attempt to kill her had been clear enough. He cried out, and she twisted harder, though it was obvious from the expression on her face that she was hurting herself by hurting him. “Oliver, why do you betray me?”

He laughed. It was an awful, empty sound. “I don’t,” he said. “I was never loyal to you, you foolish woman. I’ve made a lifetime of toppling rulers. You’re only the latest, and the most rewarding.”

Amelie turned her head toward Claire and Myrnin. “He cannot be working with Naomi,” she said. “She’s dead.”

“Sadly, and convincingly, not,” Myrnin said. “I saw her with my own eyes. I am fairly certain Claire has her facts straight.”

“And where in God’s name have you been, then?”

“At the bottom of a pit,” he said. “Which accounts for my current state of dress. Although Shane assures me it is not so odd.”

Shane hadn’t made a sound, and he hadn’t moved; he’d probably judged, very rightly, that it was time to make himself a smaller target. From the way his lips tightened, he wished Myrnin hadn’t mentioned him at all.

But Amelie didn’t seem to care. She bent, picked up a silver-coated stake, and pressed it against the skin of Oliver’s neck, just above the spine—just enough to tint the skin and start it burning. “So go traitors,” she said. “In the old days, your head would have ended up as a decoration for a spike. I suppose I will have to settle for something less…satisfying.” There were tears in her eyes, then tears coursing down her pale, still face. “I trusted you, you traitor. I suppose I should have known better. I’ve never been lucky in love.”

“I never loved you,” he said. “Kill me. It changes nothing.”

“It changes everything,” she hissed. “You’ll not die yet. Not until you help me find my wayward sister. Then I will allow you to die. But not yet. Not yet.”

“Why wait?” said a low, sweet voice from the doorway, and they all turned—even Oliver—to see Naomi standing there, with Michael behind her. And Hannah Moses, carrying a crossbow with a heavy wooden bolt already in place. And more, behind her—humans and vampires alike. “Thank you, Claire. Sometimes a pawn is the very thing to use as a sacrifice to lure the queen from hiding.”