Bitter Blood

“If the lock’s pure silver instead of just plated, it’s soft,” Shane said. “We could use one of these stakes as a lever, maybe.”

“And that will sacrifice our element of surprise,” Myrnin pointed out. “You always seem to have something secreted about your person of a dangerous nature…. Have you nothing to contribute?”

“They took it,” Shane said, “including everything out of my pockets and my belt. Just like jail.”

“Not like jail,” Claire said thoughtfully. “They left you your shoes.”

“And? I’m pretty sure a battered-up pair of kicks isn’t going to get us anywhere….” Shane’s voice faded at the look on her face. “What?”

“Laces,” she said, and bent forward to untie her own shoes and began to pull the cords out. “Give them to me.”

“I hardly think we should consider hanging ourselves, Claire,” Myrnin said, looking a little worried. “And it wouldn’t kill me, you know.”

Claire grabbed the laces from Shane as he held them out, tied them end to end, and began quickly braiding them together with those from her own shoes in a rough twisted rope, which she wrapped around the center of the bars at the back. “Cover me,” she said to Myrnin. He watched her for a few long seconds, then nodded and moved toward the front of the cage, shoving the limp body of Oliver out of the way, and began to loudly sing something in French. It sounded rude.

Claire began twisting the rope as fast as she could, rapidly getting it to the tension point. “I need something to use as a fulcrum,” she said to Shane. “Something that won’t break easily.”

“Only thing in here is one of the stakes,” he said. “Once we pull those, I’m guessing Hannah’s got orders not to wait around for the official barbecue.”

God, all she needed was a stick.…Claire cast her eyes about, frantic to find something, anything she could adapt to the purpose, and her gaze fell on, of all things, the headband that Amelie was wearing to keep her long, loose hair back from her face. It was a nice, wide one, not made of plastic but covered in fabric.

Maybe.

Claire edged over, leaving the rope in Shane’s hand, and pulled the headband from the vampire’s head. She thought Amelie’s eyes flickered, just a little, but the Founder didn’t move. She looked…dead.

Claire flexed the headband in her grip. It had a metal core that bent side to side, but not back to front. And best of all, it didn’t break.

She scooted back, slipped it into the rope, and began using it to twist the strands tighter and tighter around the bars. By the fifth round, she felt the tension; by the tenth, she saw the bars actually starting to bend in the middle, yielding to the slow but inevitable force.

I love you, physics.

“Hey,” Shane said as she muscled another turn out of the makeshift device. “I probably should tell you that after thinking it over, I’m an ass. And I’m—sorry.”

“That must have been hard,” Claire said. It was getting really difficult to turn the thing. The edges of the headband were digging into her hand deeply. She gritted her teeth and turned it again.

“Let me,” he said, and took hold of the headband. For him, the next three turns were pretty effortless, and the bars bent slowly, steadily inward around the rope. “Damn, this really works. No wonder they don’t let you have shoelaces in jail.”

“This isn’t why.”

“I hurt you,” he said, in the same tone of voice, without looking at her. “I swore I’d never do that again, and I did. I fell right for Naomi’s easiest trick, turning us against each other. I should have trusted you, trusted him, and I didn’t. So I’m sorry. And you have every right not to—” He was still turning the headband as he talked, but just then he broke off with a hissing gasp, and Claire saw the flash of red in his hand. Blood soaked quickly through the white fabric of Amelie’s headband, but after a second’s pause, he turned it again. “Not to trust me, or forgive me. But I hope you do.”

“Let me see.”

“It’s just a cut, and if I let go, we’re dead,” he said. “It’s fine.” He kept turning the ever-tighter knot of cloth, and now Claire could hear the creaking of the bars. They were bowing strongly in the middle, and the gap was widening fast. Not only that, but she thought the welds at the top of one of the bars had weakened. This can work, she thought. It’s going to work.

Then, with a sharp, snapping sound, the headband came apart in Shane’s hands as he tried to crank it again. “Damn,” he whispered, and looked at her. “Is it enough?”

“Let me see your hand.”

He held it out, and there was a deep cut across the palm, one that made her ache to see it. Claire grabbed the tail of her shirt and pressed it against the cut, then fished around for the broken edge of the headband. The sheared metal in it was sharp, and she frayed enough of the cloth to rip a piece free to wrap around his hand. As she tied it in place, she looked up into his face.

“Do you forgive me?” he asked her. His eyes were warm and steady, and he had a little, tentative hint of a smile.

“No,” she said. It made her sick to have to hurt him like this…but it was also right. It was necessary. “I want to, I really do, but you didn’t trust me, Shane. You didn’t believe me when I needed it. And that hurt me, Shane. It really did. It’s going to take a little time and a lot of work for me to forgive you for that.”

The breath went out of him as if she’d punched him, and his eyes widened. He’d just assumed she’d forgive him, she realized; she’d done that so many times before without any thought or hesitation that she’d made him think it was automatic.

But it wasn’t. Not this time. Much as she wanted things to go back to normal, she needed him to understand that he’d hurt her.

From the look on his face, he did.

In the next second, he dropped his gaze and took a deep breath. “I know,” he said. “I deserve it. If we get out of here, I promise, I’ll make it up to you.”

“Take the rope off the bars,” she said, and reached forward to tip his chin up and kiss him, very lightly. She wanted to fall into his arms, but it wasn’t the time, and it wasn’t the message she wanted to send him. “And be ready for anything.”

“Always.” The cocky grin he flashed her was almost right. Almost. But there was a scared, tentative look in his eyes, and she wondered if he was thinking, as she was, We could die here, right now, and not be right with each other.

But she couldn’t help that. She needed him to understand what he’d done to her, and to himself.

It was the toughest thing in the world, but she turned away from him. Myrnin was still belting out an endless chorus of whatever obnoxious song he was performing; no one was paying attention, but it was annoying enough that they were likely not paying much attention to her and Shane. When she tapped him on the shoulder, he coughed and broke off to say, “Are the two of you quite done with your sweet nothings? Because I might vomit.”

“That would be perfect,” Claire said. “It’s been just a great day so far.” She reached up, grabbed his pointed chin, and turned it to show him the bent bars at the rear of the cage. His eyebrows went sharply up. “Maybe you should rest a minute.”

“Perhaps I should,” he agreed. “Your shirt is torn. And you’re wearing a lovely perfume, by the way.”

“It’s blood,” she said. “Thanks. That’s ever so comforting.”

Myrnin crawled to the back of the cage, coming close to Shane as he did so. The two of them exchanged a look that made the hair rise on the back of Claire’s neck; they were like two tigers sizing each other up, with Myrnin then leaning past her boyfriend to inspect the state of the bars. He made a soft hmmm sound and nodded, then—to Claire’s surprise—pulled Shane close and gave him an utterly unexpected kiss on the cheek.

“Hey!” Shane said, and tried to wriggle free, but then he paused, because Myrnin was whispering to him. Shane’s gaze darted for Claire’s, then quickly away, and when Myrnin finished, Shane nodded. When Myrnin let him go, Shane moved back—way back.