Part 11 (1/2)

”No!” Claire yelled. ”Shane, stop!”

He didn't, but he also didn't have to. Michael flashed across the room and got in his way, wrapping Shane in a bear hug and bringing him to a sudden halt.

”Let go!” Shane's voice was ragged, splitting and tearing under the strain of his anger. ”Screw you, Michael; let go!”

He tried to break free. Michael didn't let him. He pushed him back, all the way to the wall, and held him there. Claire couldn't see Michael's face, but she could see part of Shane's, and she saw something change in it. Shane stopped fighting, as if he'd received some message she hadn't seen.

”I am a good master,” Bishop said, as if none of that had happened. ”You asked me for a birthday favor, Claire. I granted you a visit. Today, I have decided that it was a poor gift. I will give you what you want. Shane will be free to go.”

Claire didn't dare to breathe, blink, move. She knew this was a trick, a cruel way to crush her hopes, and Shane's, too. ”Why?”

she finally said. Her lips felt numb. ”Why now?”

”Because I intend to teach you both what it means to defy me, once and for all, and let you carry the tale for me,” Bishop said.

”Michael. Hold them, but make sure the two of them see everything. I won't have my students failing their lessons.”

Bishop's control let go, and Claire stumbled backward into Michael. His arm went around her waist, and she felt the pressure of his lips close to her ear. ”Stay still,” he whispered. ”No matter what happens, just stay still. Please. I'll protect you.”

On Michael's other side, Shane was very, very quiet. He wasn't looking at Bishop. He was looking across at Claire, and he was scared-scared that something was going to happen to her, she realized. She tried for a smile, but wasn't sure how it came out.

Shane opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, a vampire guard came in, bringing a thin, scraggly man with a mess of graying, curling hair and a nasty scar down his face.

Shane's dad. He looked older, thinner, and even more vulnerable than he had back in his cell-nothing like the big, scary monster who'd terrified her when she'd first met him.

”Are you watching, Shane?” Bishop asked. ”I want you to learn, so that you don't make the same mistakes again.”

”Dad,” Shane said. ”Dad?”

Frank Collins put his hand out to stop Shane from trying to break free. ”It's all right. Nothing he can do to me now.” He faced Bishop straight on. ”Been there, done that, not scared of anything you can bring to this party, bloodsucker. So just kill me and get it over with.”

Bishop slowly rose from his chair, staying behind the desk.

”But, Mr. Collins, you mistake me. I'm not going to kill you. I'd never do such a thing. You're far too valuable to me.”

His pale hands flashed out, grabbed Shane's dad, and jerked him forward over the desk. Claire shut her eyes as the fangs came out, and Bishop's eyes flashed red. She didn't see the actual biting, but she heard Shane screaming.

It was over in about thirty seconds. Shane never stopped fighting to get free of Michael's hold.

Claire didn't fight at all. She just couldn't.

She heard a thud as Mr. Collins's body hit the floor, and when she opened her eyes she realized that she'd been wrong about everything. Very wrong.

Bishop wasn't finished.

He gnawed at his wrist, pried open Frank Collins's mouth, and poured blood into it as he spread his other hand over the top of the man's head. Claire had seen this before-Amelie had done it to Michael-but Amelie had found it difficult and exhausting to make a new vampire.

For Bishop, it seemed easy.

”No,” Shane said. ”No, stop.”

Right there, right in front of them, Frank Collins coughed, choked, and came back to life. It looked painful, and it seemed to take forever for the thras.h.i.+ng and screaming to stop.

When it did, he wasn't Frank Collins. Not anymore.

He opened his eyes, and they were red.

”You see?” Bishop said, and wiped excess blood from his wrist on his black jacket. ”I am not cruel. You'll never lose your father, Shane. Never again.”

Claire could hear Shane's breath coming fast and ragged-more sobbing than gasping-but she couldn't look at him. She knew him; she knew he wouldn't want her to see him like this. That's Shane. Always trying to protect me.

Michael let Claire go. After a quick glance at her, he turned to Shane. ”Don't freak out on me,” he said. ”Don't. This isn't the time, and it isn't the place.”

Shane wasn't even looking at him. He was looking at his dad.

Frank Collins, standing next to Bishop, kept staring back at his son, and Claire didn't think that look was concern.

More like hunger.

”I hope everyone learned something today,” Mr. Bishop said. ”First, I know everything that goes on in Morganville. Second, I don't tolerate foolish attempts at rebellion. Third . . . well. I am so kind and merciful that no one else will die for it today. No, not even the Goldmans, before you bleat the question at me. They have been confined somewhere safe, for now, until I decide on a fitting punishment.” He flicked his fingers at Michael. ”See your friends home, boy. It would be a dreadful irony if they should be drained along the way by some pa.s.sing stranger. Or relative.”

Emphasis on the dreadful, Claire thought. She grabbed Shane's cold, shaking hand and forced him to look at her.

”Let's go,” she said. ”We have to go, Shane. Right now.”

She wasn't really sure he understood her, but Michael helped nudge him along when he slowed down.

It was a long ten seconds until they were on the other side of the closed door, being eyed by Bishop's vampire guards. Claire felt like the last sandwich on the lunch counter.

Shane broke out of his trance when they got into the elevator.

Unfortunately.

Michael was pus.h.i.+ng the garage b.u.t.ton on the elevator panel, and he didn't quite see it coming. Shane got in a lucky shot to his face, fast and vicious, as Michael turned. It was hard enough that Michael, even with vampire strength, felt it, and crashed back against the wall, denting it in an uneven outline of his shoulders.

When Shane tried to follow up with a second punch, Michael caught his fist in an open palm. ”There was nothing I could do, Shane,” he said, but there was something behind the words. Something far kinder. ”Let's wait to do the cage match when Claire isn't trapped in the middle, all right?”

She wasn't exactly in the middle, but close enough. No way could she come out of it unbruised if Shane and Michael decided to really go at it in a small, enclosed s.p.a.ce.

Shane stopped, and, as if he'd forgotten that she was there at all, he turned to look at her. For a second there was no expression on his face, and then it all flooded in-pain, fury, relief.

And then horror.

He lowered his fist, gave Michael a look that pretty clearly said, Later, and turned toward Claire. There were two feet of s.p.a.ce between them, and about a mile of separation.

”I'm so sorry,” she whispered. ”G.o.d, Shane, I am so sorry.”

He shuddered and stepped forward to put his arms around her. As hugs went, it was everything wrapped together in a tangled mess-tight, a little desperate, filled with need. He needed her. He really did.

He didn't say anything as the elevator slowly descended. She listened to his breathing, and finally, he made a faint, wordless sound of pain, and pulled away from her. She held on to his hand.