Bitter Blood (The Morganville Vampires #13)(119)

“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.

Claire mouthed, What the hell? But Shane just shook his head and looked away. Whatever Myrnin had just said to him, it was…disturbing.

Myrnin didn’t pause for questions. He crawled over to where Amelie was still lying very still, and pulled her into his lap as he kneeled. “My poor, lovely lady,” he said, and gently eased her fallen white-gold hair back from her ivory face. “Would you rather die in fire, or in glory? Dead is dead, of course. But I feel you should choose, now.”

Amelie hadn’t moved at all. It was possible that something had gone wrong; maybe a splinter had broken off in her heart, freezing her in place, or something else had happened. A wooden stake wouldn’t kill her, but it would paralyze her. And they needed her, Claire thought. Too many vampires. Even if the trick worked to loosen the bars, even if they could break them free…

“Something’s happening out there,” Shane said. “Heads up.”

Naomi was moving forward at last, stilling the confused babble of the assembled vampires in the square. She was every bit a queen in her silver and black, and her voice was warm, sweet, and compelling; she didn’t need to bite people to convince them, Claire thought. She was persuasive enough without it. She’d only bothered to control the key players, and only for as long as she needed them. She was cold, but smart.