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"Maybe we don't go forward. Maybe we wait."
"One thing I do know, Claire: you can't stay in the same place, not even for a day. You keep on moving. Maybe it's the right direction, maybe not, but you still move. Every second things change, like it or not."
She studied his face intently. "Is your dad here? Now?"
He grimaced. "Truthfully? No idea. I wouldn't be surprised. He'd know that it was time to move in and take command, if he could. And Manetti's a running buddy from way back. This kind of feels like Dad's behind it."
"But if he does take over, what happens to Michael? To Myrnin? To any other vampire out there?"
"Do you really need me to tell you?"
Claire shook her head. "He'll tell people they have to kill all the vampires, and then, he'll come after the Morrells, and anybody else he thinks is responsible for what happened to your family. Right?"
"Probably," Shane sighed.
"And you're going to let all that happen."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't say you weren't, either. Don't tell me it's complicated, because it isn't. Either you stand up for something, or you lie down for it. You said that to me one time, and you were right." Claire burrowed closer into his arms. "Shane, you were right then. Be right now."
He touched her face. His fingers traced down her cheek, across her lips, and his eyes--she'd never seen that look in his eyes. In anyone's, really.
"In this whole screwedup town, you're the only thing that's always been right to me," he whispered. "I love you, Claire." She saw something that might have been just a flash of panic go across his expression, but then he steadied again. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I do. I love you."
He said something else, but the world had narrowed around her. Shane's lips kept moving, but all she heard were the same words echoing over and over inside her head like the tolling of a giant brass bell: I love you.
He sounded like it had taken him completely by surprise--not in a bad way, but more as if he hadn't really understood what he was feeling until that instant.
She blinked. It was as if she'd never really seen him before, and he was beautiful. More beautiful than any man she'd ever seen in her entire life, ever.
Whatever he was saying, she stopped it by kissing him. A lot. And for a very long time. When he finally backed up, he didn't go far, and this look in his eyes, this intense and overwhelming need--that was new, too.
And she liked it.
"I love you," he said, and kissed her so hard he took her breath away. There was more to it than before--more passion, more urgency, more . . . everything. It was as if she were caught in a tide, carried away, and she thought that if she never touched the shore again, it would be good to drown like this, just swim forever in all this richness.
Red flag, some part of her screamed, come on, red flag. What are you doing?
She wished it would just shut up.
"I love you, too," she whispered to him. Her voice was shaking, and so were her hands where they rested on his chest. Under the soft Tshirt, his muscles were tensed, and she could feel every deep breath he took. "I'd do anything for you."
She meant it to be an invitation, but that was the thing that shocked sense back into him. He blinked. "Anything," he repeated, and squeezed his eyes shut.
"Yeah. I'm getting that. Bad idea, Claire. Very, very bad."
"Today?" She laughed a little wildly. "Everything's crazy today. Why can't we be? Just once?"
"Because I made promises," he said. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, and she felt a groan shake his whole body. "To your parents, to myself, to Michael. To you, Claire. I can't break my word. It's pretty much all I've got these days."
"But . . . what if--"
"Don't," he whispered in her ear. "Please don't. This is tough enough already."
He kissed her again, long and sweetly, and somehow, it tasted like tears this time. Like some kind of goodbye.
"I really do love you," he said, and smoothed away the damp streaks on her cheeks. "But I can't do this. Not now."
Before she could stop him, he slid out of bed, put on his shoes, and walked quickly to the door. She sat up, holding the covers close as if she were naked underneath, instead of fully clothed, and he hesitated there, one hand gripping the doorknob.
"Please stay," she said. "Shane--"
He shook his head. "If I stay, things are going to happen. You know it, and I know it, and we just can't do this. I know things are falling apart, but--" He hitched in a deep, painful breath. "No."
The sound of the door softly closing behind him went through her like a knife.
Claire rolled over, wretchedly hugging the pillow that smelled of his hair, sharing the warm place in the bed where his body had been, and thought about crying herself to sleep.
And then she thought of the dawning wonder in his eyes when he'd said, I love you.
No. It was no time to be crying.
When she did finally sleep, she felt safe.
8
Three hours later, they didn't know much more, except that nothing they tried to do to keep the vampires from leaving seemed to work, apart from tranquilizing them and locking them up in sturdy cells. Tracking those who did leave wasn't much good, either. Claire and Hannah ended up at the Glass House, which seemed like the best place to gather--central to most things, and close to City Hall in an emergency.
Richard Morrell arrived, along with a few others, and set up shop in the kitchen. Claire was trying to figure out what to do to feed everybody, when there was another knock at the door.
It was Gramma Day. The old woman, straightbacked and proud, leaned on her cane and stared at Claire from age faded eyes. "I ain't staying with my daughter," she said. "I don't want any part of that."
Claire quickly moved aside to let her in, and the old lady shuffled inside. As Claire locked the door behind her, she asked, "How did you get here?"
"Walked," Gramma said. "I know how to use my feet just fine. Nobody bothered me." Nobody would dare, Claire thought. "Young Mr. Richard! Are you in here?"
"Ma'am?" Richard Morrell came out of the kitchen, looking very much younger than Claire had ever seen him. Gramma Day had that effect on people. "What are you doing here?"
"My fool daughter's off her head," Gramma said. "I'm not having any of it. Move out of the way, boy. I'm making you some lunch." And she tapped her cane right past him, into the kitchen, and clucked and fretted over the state of the kitchen while Claire stood by, caught between giggles and horror. She was just a pair of hands, getting ordered around, but at the end of it there was a plate full of sandwiches and a big jug of iced tea, and everybody was seated around the kitchen table, except for Gramma, who'd gone off into the other room to rest. Claire had hesitantly taken a chair, at Richard's nod. Detectives Joe Hess and Travis Lowe were also present, and they were gratefully scarfing down food and drink. Claire felt exhausted, but they looked a whole lot worse. Tall, thin Joe Hess had his left arm in a sling--broken, apparently, from the brace on it--and both he and his rounder, heavier partner had cuts and bruises to prove they'd been in a fight or two.
