Black Dawn: The Morganville Vampires (2 page)

A week ago, she’d have laughed something like that off as a bad joke, but then she’d seen them come for Morganville, Texas. Come with the rains that rarely fell in this desert-locked, sunbaked town where the vampires had, finally, made their last stand.

Today she woke up with the blind and panicked knowledge that no matter how bad the world was with vampires in it, a world that held the draug was
vastly
worse. They’d come to Morganville, infiltrated stealthily, built their numbers until they were ready to fight … until they could sing their awful song that somehow, impossibly, was also beautiful and irresistible. To humans as well as to vamps.

The strongest of Morganville’s vampires had gone up against it, and scored a few hits … but not without cost. Amelie, the ice-queen ruler of the town, had been bitten; without her, it was all going to get worse, fast.

Michael was still thrashing and making that terrible
sound
, and it came to Claire gradually that instead of cowering here while her brain caught up, she should go to him. Help him.

And then the lights brightened from dim to dazzling in the big carpeted room, and she saw her boyfriend, Shane Collins, standing in the doorway, looking first at her, then over at Michael, who was still desperately struggling against … nothing.

Against his nightmare.

Claire pulled in a deep breath, shut her eyes for a second, then made the OK sign to Shane; he nodded back and went to their friend’s side. Michael was tangled up in the shredded remains of his sleeping bag, still flailing and, as far as Claire could tell, still dead asleep. Shane crouched down and, after a brief hesitation, reached out and put his hand on Michael’s shoulder.

Michael came awake instantly—vampire speed. In one blurred second he was sitting up, one hand wrapped around Shane’s wrist, eyes open and blazing red, fangs down and catching the light on razor-sharp points and edges.

Shane didn’t move, though he might have rocked back on his heels just a little. That was better than Claire could have done; she’d have fallen backward at the very least, and Michael would probably have broken her wrist—not intentionally, but
sorry
didn’t matter much when it came to shattered bones.

“Easy,” Shane said in a low, calm voice. “Easy, man—you’re safe. You’re safe now. It’s over. Nobody’s going to hurt you here.”

Michael froze. The red died down to embers in his eyes, and when he blinked it was gone, replaced by cool blue. He looked pale, but that was normal for him now. Claire saw his throat work as he swallowed, and then he shakily pulled in a breath and let go of Shane’s wrist. “God,” he whispered, and shook his head. “Sorry, man.”

“No drama,” Shane said. “Bad one, right?”

Michael didn’t respond to that immediately. He was staring off in the middle distance. She didn’t need to wonder what his nightmare had been about …. It would have been about being trapped in the Morganville Civic Pool, anchored to the bottom under that murky, poisoned water … being fed upon by the draug. Drained slowly, and alive, by creatures that found vampires as
delicious as candy. Creatures that were, right now, invading and taking everything they could. Including every juicy vampire snack, straight to the bottom of whatever pool of filthy water they were hiding in.

There were, Claire realized, still tiny red marks all over Michael’s skin, like pinpricks … fading, but not quite gone. He was healing slower than usual—or he’d been hurt far more seriously than it had seemed. “Yeah,” he finally said. “I was dreaming I was still in the pool, and …” He didn’t go on, but he didn’t need to; Claire had been there, seen it. Shane had not only seen but
felt
it—he’d dived in to save lives. Vampire lives, but lives all the same. The draug had attacked him, too, and his skin had the reddish tint of broken capillaries to prove it.

Claire had a vivid, flashback-quality vision of the pool … that insanely creepy underwater garden of trapped vampires, tied down, stunned and helpless as the draug sucked away their strength and life. It had been one of the worst, most horrifying things she’d ever seen, and it had also outraged her on a very deep, primal level.
Nobody
deserved that.
Nobody.

“It was real bad.” Shane nodded in agreement with Michael. “And I wasn’t in there nearly as long. You hang in there, Mikey.” He reached out again and squeezed Michael’s shoulder briefly, then rose to a standing position. “You feel the need to scream like a girl, let it out, dude. No judging.”

Michael groaned and rubbed his hand over his face. “Screw you, Shane. Why do I keep you around, anyway?”

“Hey, you need somebody to keep you humble, rock star. Always have.”

Claire smiled then, because Michael was starting to sound like his old self again. Shane could always do that, to any of them—a flip remark, a casual insult, and it was all okay again. Normal life.

Even when nothing at all was normal. Nothing.

Now that her panic was receding, she wondered what time it was—the room gave no real hint of whether it was day or night. They had evacuated to the Elders’ Council building, which—like most vampire buildings—didn’t much favor windows. What it
did
have was plenty of sleeping bags, a few rollaway beds, and lots of empty space; the vampires, apparently, were all about disaster planning, which didn’t surprise her at all, really. They’d had thousands of years in which to learn how to anticipate trouble and what to have together to meet (or avoid) it.

Right now, she, Michael, and Shane were the only ones sleeping in the room, which could have held at least thirty without feeling crowded.

There was no sign of their fourth housemate, Michael’s girlfriend, Eve. Her sleeping bag, which had been near Michael’s, was kicked off to the side.

“Shane,” Claire said, her fear getting another kick start. “Eve’s missing.”

“Yeah, I know. She’s up,” he said, “organizing coffee, believe it or not. You can take the barista out of the shop, but …”

That was, again, a tremendous feeling of relief. Shane made a profession of taking care of himself (and everybody else). Michael was a vampire, with all the fun advantages that came along with that in terms of self-defense. Claire was small, and not exactly a bodybuilder, but she defended herself pretty well … at least in being smart, careful, and having all the friends she could manage on her side.

Eve was … Well, Eve liked to live on the edge, but she wasn’t exactly Buffy reincarnated. And in some ways her hard edges made her the most fragile of all of them. So Claire tended to worry at times like these. A lot.

“Coffee?” Michael asked, still rubbing his head. His hair should have looked crazy, but he was one of those people who had a natural immunity to bed-head; his blond hair just fell exactly the way it should, in careless surfer-style curls. Claire averted her eyes when he threw the sleeping bag back and reached for his shirt, because although he was always good to look at, he was seriously spoken for, and besides, Shane was standing right there.

Shane.

It came back to her in a dizzy rush, how he’d stopped her on the way into this place, in the faint dawn light.
“I want you to promise me one thing. Promise me you’ll marry me. Not now. Someday.”

And she had promised, even if it was just their private little secret. She felt that shivery, fragile, butterfly-flutter feeling in her chest again. It was a fierce ball of light, a tangle of joy and terror and excitement and, most of all, love.

Shane looked back at her with an intense, warm focus that made her suddenly feel like the only person in the world. She watched him walk toward her with a diffuse glow of pleasure. Michael was hot, no denying that, but Shane just … melted her. It was everything about him—his strength, his intensity, the off-center smile, the hunger in his eyes. There was something rare and fragile at the center of all that armor, and she felt lucky and privileged that he allowed her to see it.

“You doing all right?” Shane asked her, and she looked up at him. His dark gaze had turned serious, and it saw … too much. She couldn’t hide how scared she was, not from him, but he was the last one to think it was a sign of weakness. He smiled a little and rested his forehead against hers for a second. “Yeah. You’re doing just fine, tough girl.”

She shoved the fear back, took a deep breath, and nodded. “Damn right.” She ran her fingers through her tangled shoulder-length
auburn hair—unlike Michael’s, hers had suffered from a night on the hard pillows—and looked down at her T-shirt and jeans. At least they didn’t wrinkle much … or if they did, it didn’t much matter. They were clean, even if they weren’t her own. It turned out there was a storehouse of clothing in the Elders’ Council building basement, neatly packed in boxes, labeled with sizes. Some of it dated back to the Victorian age … hoop skirts and corsets and hats stowed carefully away in scented paper and cedar chests.

Claire wasn’t sure she really wanted to know where all that clothing had come from, but she had her sinking suspicions. Sure, the older clothes looked like things the vampires themselves might have saved, but there were a lot of newer, more current styles that didn’t seem to fit that explanation. Claire couldn’t see Amelie, for instance, wearing a Train concert shirt, so she was trying hard not to think about whether they’d been scavenged from … other sources. Victim-y sources.

“Did you have nightmares, too?” she asked Shane. His arm tightened around her, just for a moment.

“Nothing I can’t handle. I’m kind of an expert at this whole bad dreams thing, anyway,” he said. And oh God, he really was. Claire knew only a little of how many bad things he’d seen, but even that was enough to spark a lifetime’s worth of therapy. “Still, yesterday was dire, and that’s not a word I bust out, generally. Maybe it’ll look better this morning.”

“Is it morning?” Claire peered at her watch.

“That depends on your definition. It’s after noon, so I guess technically not really. We slept for about five hours, I suppose. Or you did. Eve bounced about an hour ago, and I got up because …” He shook his head. “Hell. This place creeps me out. I can’t sleep too well here.”

“It creeps you out more than what’s happening out
there
?”

“Valid point,” he said. Because the world out there—Morganville, anyway—was no longer the semi-safe place it had been just a few days ago. Sure, there had been vampires in charge of the town. Sure, they’d been predatory and kind of evil—a cross between old-school royalty and the Mafia—but at least they’d lived by rules. It hadn’t been so much about ethics and morals as about practicality …. If they wanted to have a thriving blood supply, they couldn’t just randomly kill people
all
the time.

Though the hunting licenses were alarming.

But now … now the vampires were in the food chain. They’d always been careful about human threats, but that wasn’t the issue, not anymore. The
real
vampire enemy had finally shown its incredibly disturbing face: the draug. All that Claire knew about them was that they lived in water and they could call vampires (and humans) with their singing, right to their deaths. For humans, it was fairly quick … but not for vampires. Vampires trapped at the bottom of that cold pool could live and live and live until the draug had drained every bit of energy from them.

Live, and
know
it was happening. Eaten alive.

The draug were the one thing vampires feared, really and truly. Humans they treated with casual contempt, but their response to the draug had been immediate mass evacuation, except for the few who’d chosen to stay and try to save the vampires already being consumed.

They’d
all
tried—vampires and humans, working together. Even the rebellious human townies, who
hated
vamps, had taken a drive-by run at the draug. It had been a heart-stopping military operation of a battle, the most intense experience of Claire’s life, and she still couldn’t quite believe she’d survived it … or that
anyone
had.

Even with all that effort, they’d saved only three vampires from the mildewed, abandoned pool—Michael, the elegant (and probably deadly) Naomi, and the very
definitely
deadly Oliver. Then things had gone from terrible to awful, and they’d had to leave everyone else.

Except Amelie. They’d saved Amelie, the Founder of Morganville … sort of. And Claire was trying not to think about that, either.

“Hey,” Shane said, and nudged her. “Coffee, remember? Eve’ll be all sad, emo Goth face if you don’t drink some.”

Again, Shane was the practical one, and Claire had to smile because he was completely right. No one needed sad, emo Goth Eve today. Especially Eve. “I could kill for a cup of coffee. If there’s, you know, cream. And sugar.”

“Yes and yes.”

“And chocolate?”

“Don’t push it.”

Michael had, by this time, gotten up and joined them. He still looked pale—paler than usual—and there was something a little wild in his eyes, as if he was afraid that he was still in the pool. Drowning.

Claire took his hand. As always, it felt a little cooler than room temperature, but not
cold
… living flesh, but running on a much lower setting. Almost as tall as Shane, he looked down at her and smiled the rock-star smile that made all the girls melt in their shoes. She, however, was immune. Almost. She only melted a little, secretly. “What?” he asked her, and she shook her head.

“Nothing,” she said. “You’re not alone, Michael. We won’t let that happen again. I promise.”

The smile disappeared, and he studied her with a strange kind of intensity, almost as if he was seeing her for the first time. Or
seeing something new in her. “I know,” he said. “Hey, remember when I almost didn’t let you into the house that first day you came?”

She’d shown up on his doorstep desperate, bruised, scared, and way too young to be facing Morganville. He’d been right to have his doubts. “Yep.”

“Well, I was dead wrong,” he said. “Maybe I never said that out loud before, but I mean it, Claire. All that’s happened since … We wouldn’t have made it. Not me, not Shane, not Eve. Not without you.”