Kiss of Death (7 page)

“Stop,” Eve said, and put a hand over his mouth to enforce the order. “Just stop there. Please.”

He looked down at her, and their eyes locked. He took her hand away from his mouth, and then lifted the backs of her fingers to his lips for a long, slow kiss. It was just about the sexiest thing Claire had ever seen, full of sweetness and love and longing. From the expression on Eve’s face, it was just about the sexiest thing
she’d
ever seen, too. “We’ll talk about it on the road,” Michael said. “The passes are good for a week. I’ll make some calls and see when they need me in the studio there.”

Eve nodded. Claire doubted she could put any words together, right at that moment.

“Hey,” Shane said, and tapped Claire on the nose. “Snap out of it.”

“What? What!”

“Seriously. You’ve got this chick flick hit-by-the-romance-hammer look. Stop it.”

“Ass.”

He shrugged. “I’m not one of those romantic guys,” he said. “Hey, date Michael if you want that.”

“No, don’t,” Eve said dreamily. “Mine.”

“And there goes my blood sugar level,” Shane said. “It’s getting late, Claire has school tomorrow, I’ve got a long day of chopping fine barbecue—”

“I think we’ll stay down here,” Michael said. He and Eve still hadn’t blinked or looked away from each other.

“I am
really
not sticking around for that.” Shane took Claire’s hand in his. “Upstairs?”

She nodded, hitched her bag on her other shoulder, and followed him up. Shane opened the door of his room, turned, and lifted her hand up to his lips. He didn’t
quite
kiss it. His dark eyes were wicked with laughter.

“Ass,” she said again, more severely. “You couldn’t be romantic if your life depended on it.”

“You know what’s lucky? Most bad guys don’t ask you to be romantic on command, so that probably won’t matter.”

“Only girlfriends do that.”

“Well, they
can
qualify as supervillains. But only if they have a secret underground base. Wait—you’ve got a mad scientist for a boss, and a lab—”

“Park it,” she said, and smacked his arm. “Are you going to kiss me good night, or what?”

“Romantic on command. See?”

“Fine,” Claire said, and this time she actually
did
feel a little annoyed. “Then don’t. Good night.”

She pulled away from him and walked away the few steps to her own room, opened the door, slammed it, and flopped on her bed without bothering to turn on the lights. After a few seconds she remembered that in Morganville that was never a smart choice, and switched on the bedside Tiffany lamp. Rich colored light threw patterns on the wood, the walls, her skin.

No monsters were hiding in the shadows. She was too tired to check under the bed or in the closet.

“Ass,” she said again, and put her pillow over her face to scream her frustration into it. “Shane Collins is an ass!”

She stopped at the sound of a soft knock on the door. She put the pillow aside and waited, listening.

The knock came again.

“You’re an
ass,”
she yelled.

“I know,” came Shane’s voice through the door. “Let me make it up to you?”

“As if you can.”

“Try me.”

She sighed, slid off the bed, and went to open up.

Shane was standing there, of course. He came inside, closed the door behind him, and said, “Sit down.”

“What are you doing?”

“Just sit down.”

She did, perching on the edge of the bed and already frowning. There was something really different in the way he was acting now—the flip side of how he’d been just a few moments ago, teasing and teen-boy.

This seemed much more ... adult.

“When you were in the hospital, after Dan ... well, you know.” He shrugged. “You were kind of drugged up. I’m not sure what you remember.”

She didn’t remember all that much, really. A boy had abducted her and hurt her pretty badly. She’d lost a lot of blood, and they’d given her something for the night-mares. She remembered everybody coming to see her—Mom, Dad, Eve, Michael, Shane. Even Myrnin. Even Amelie and Oliver.

Shane ... he’d stayed with her. He’d said...

She couldn’t really remember what he’d said.

“Anyway,” Shane said, “I told you this was for later. I guess it’s kind of later, so, anyway.”

He took out a small velvet box from his pocket, and Claire’s heart just ... stopped. She thought she might faint. The top of her head felt very hot, and the rest of her felt very cold, and all she could look at was the box in his hand.

He wasn’t. He
couldn’t.

Was he?

Shane was looking at the box, too. He turned it in his fingers restlessly. “It’s not what you think,” he said. “It’s not—look, it’s a ring, but I don’t want you to think—” He opened the box and showed her what was inside.

It was a beautiful little ring, silver, with a red stone in the shape of a heart, and hands holding it on either side. “It’s a claddagh ring,” he said. “It belonged to my sister, Alyssa. My mom gave it to her. It was in Alyssa’s locker at school when she—when the house burned.” When Alyssa died. When Shane’s life completely collapsed around him.

Tears burned in Claire’s eyes. The ring glittered, silver and red, and she couldn’t look at Shane’s face. She thought that might destroy her. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “But you’re not asking—”

“No, Claire.” He suddenly sank to his knees, as if the strength had just gone out of him. “I suck, I know, but I can’t do something like that, not yet. I’m ... Look, family doesn’t mean to me what it means to you. Mine fell apart. My sister, my mom—and I can’t even think about my dad. But I love you, Claire. That’s what this means. That I love you. Okay?”

She looked up at him then, and felt tears break free to run hot down her cheeks. “I love you, too,” she said. “I can’t take the ring. It means—it means too much to you. It’s all you have left of them.”

“That’s why it’s better if you have it,” he said, and held out the box, cupped in one hand. “Because you can make it a better memory. I can barely look at this thing without seeing the past. I don’t want to see the past anymore. I want to see the future.” He didn’t blink, and she felt the breath leave her body. “You’re the future, Claire.”

Her head felt light and empty, her whole body hot and cold, shaking and strong.

She reached out and took the velvet box. She pulled the ring out and looked at it. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “Are you sure—”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

He took the ring from her and tried it on her right hand. It fit perfectly on the third finger.

Then he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, and it was
definitely
better than Michael had done it,
definitely
sexier, and Claire dropped to her knees with him; then he was kissing her, his mouth hot and hungry, and they fell back together to the throw rug next to the bed, and stayed there, locked in each other’s arms, until the chill finally drove them up to the bed.

O
f all the mornings Claire didn’t want to get up, the next one was the worst. She woke up warm and drowsy, cuddled like a spoon against Shane, their hands clasped even in sleep. She felt
great.
Better than any day, ever, in her whole life.

In the still hush of early morning, she tried to freeze the moment, the sound of his soft, steady breathing, the feel of him relaxed and solid next to her.

I want this,
she thought.
Every day. For life. Forever.

And then her alarm clock went off, shrieking.

Claire flailed and slapped at it, then succeeded in knocking it to the floor. She dived for it and finally got it switched off, feeling like a complete fool that she’d ever left it on in the first place. She twisted around and saw Shane had opened his eyes, but hadn’t otherwise moved. He looked drowsy and sweet and lazy, hair mussed, and she leaned back down to kiss him, sweet and slow.

His arms went around her, and it felt so natural, so perfect, that she felt that glow again, that feeling of absolute
rightness.

“Hey,” he said. “You’re cute when you’re panicked.”

“Just when I’m panicked?”

“Ouch. Yeah, that didn’t come out as absolutely complimentary as I’d planned. And you hang around Eve
way
too much.” His fingers drew lazy circles on her back, which felt like trails of sunlight. “What’s the plan for today? Because I’m in favor of nothing but this.”

She so wanted that, too. But there was a reason her alarm had gone off. “I have class,” she said with a sigh.

“Skip it.” He kissed her bare shoulder.

“I—you’ve got work! Remember? Sharp pointy knives and beef to chop?”

“Fun as that is, this is better.”

Well, his arguments were persuasive.
Really
persuasive. For about another thirty minutes, and then Claire forced herself to get up, grab the shower before Shane could get to it, and try to get her mind off the fact that he was lying in her bed.

And he still was when she came back in to grab her backpack. His hands were behind his head, and he looked ridiculously satisfied with the world—and with himself.

She smacked his bare foot, which was sticking out from under the sheet. “Get up, Lord of the Barbecue.”

“Ha. Don’t have to yet. You’re the one who had the bad idea to sign up for seven a.m. classes. Me, I go to work at a sensible hour.”

“Well, you’re not lying around in my bed all day, so get up. I don’t trust you alone in here.”

His smile was wicked and really, really dangerous. “Probably a good idea,” he said. “Not that you can exactly trust me in here when you’re with me.”

Oh, she was
not
going to climb back in bed with him. She was not. She had things to do. After gulping in a few deep breaths, she leaned over, gave him a quick kiss, avoided his grabby hands, and dashed to the door. “Out of my bed,” she said. “I mean it.”

He yawned. She grinned and shut the door on her way out.

Downstairs, the coffeepot was already brewing, and Michael was sitting at the table, a laptop computer open in front of him. She was a little surprised; Michael wasn’t really the computer type. He had one, and she supposed he had e-mail and stuff, but he wasn’t always on it or anything. Not like most people their age. (Not like her, honestly.)

He looked up at her, then down at the screen, and then back up, to stare at her as if he’d never seen her before.

“What?” she asked. “Don’t tell me some of Kim’s skanky home video made YouTube.” That was something she really didn’t ever want to think about again. Kim and her little sneaky spying habits. Kim and her plans to make herself a star with all her hidden video cameras recording every aspect of life in Morganville.

Yeah, that hadn’t gone so well for Kim, in the end.

He shook his head and went back to the computer. “I’ve been checking about the studio, the recording session, you know? They’re serious, Claire. They want me in there on Thursday.”

“Really?” She grabbed a cup of coffee and slid into a chair across from him, then doctored up her drink with milk and sugar. “So we have to leave Thursday morning?”

“No, I’m thinking we leave tonight. Just in case. And besides, it gives us some time to get used to Dallas, and I don’t want to travel during the day.” Right. Vampires. Road trip. Sunlight. Probably not the best idea.

“We can’t take your car, can we? I mean, the tinting’s not legal outside of Morganville.”

“Yeah. Which is another reason for night driving. I figure we can take Eve’s car. It’s roomy and it’s got a big trunk, in case.”

In case they got caught in the sun, he meant. Claire tapped her fingers on the coffee cup, thinking. “What about supplies?” she said. “You know.”

“I’ll stop at the blood bank and pick up a cooler,” he said. “To go.”

“Seriously? They do that?”

“You’d be surprised. We can even put Cokes in there, too.”

That didn’t seem too sanitary, somehow. Claire tried not to think about it. “How long are we going to be gone?”

“If we leave tonight and I do the demo on Thursday during the day, we could be back on Friday night. Or Saturday, depending on what kind of stuff you guys want to do. I’m easy.”

That made Claire remember something. “Uh—you know we’re going to have an escort, right?”

“Escort?” Michael frowned. “What kind of escort?” Claire mimed fangs. Michael rolled his eyes. “Perfect. Who?”

“No idea. All I know is Amelie’s letter said we had to clear our departure time with Oliver.”

Michael kept on frowning. He reached for his cell phone and dialed as he sipped more coffee. “It’s Michael,” he said. “I hear we have to clear leaving town with you. We’re planning on going tonight, around dusk.”

His face went entirely blank as he listened to whatever Oliver said on the other end. Michael didn’t say anything at all.

Finally, he put the coffee cup down and said, “Do we have a choice?” Pause. “I didn’t think so. We’ll meet you there.”

He hung up, carefully laid the cell phone down on the table next to his coffee, and sank back in his chair, eyes closed. He looked—indescribable, Claire decided. It was as if there were so many things inside him fighting to come out that he couldn’t decide which one to let off the leash first.

“What?” she finally asked, half afraid to even try.

Eyes still shut, Michael said, “We’ve got an escort, all right.”

“Who?”

“Oliver.”

Claire set down her own coffee cup with a thump that slopped brown liquid over the rim.
“What?”

“I know.”

“We have to be trapped in a car with
Oliver?”

“I
know.”

“So much for the fun. Fun all gone.”

He sighed and finally opened his eyes. She knew that look; she remembered it from when she’d first met him. Bitter and guarded. Hurt. Trapped. Then, he’d been a ghost, unable to leave this house, caught between human and vampire.