by Rachel Caine
Or your friends will pay the price.
Claire swallowed, stuffed the contract back into the envelope, and shoved it in her pocket just as Eve came around the corner and said, “Roses! Jeez, who died?’”
“Nobody,’” Claire said hoarsely. “They’re for you. From Michael.’”
Michael looked surprised, but his back was to Eve, and if he had any sense at all, he’d play along.
Claire went upstairs to take a shower.
Being clean made it better. Not a whole lot better, but some. She sat for a while, staring at the white envelope with her name on it, wishing she could talk to Shane about it, or Eve, or Michael, but not daring to do any of that because this was her choice. Not theirs. And she knew what they’d say, anyway.
Not enough no in the world, that’s what they’d say.
It was after dark when Shane finally knocked on her door. She opened it and stood there looking at him. Just looking, because somehow she didn’t think she’d ever see enough of him. He looked tired, and rumpled, and sleep creased.
And he was so beautiful she felt her heart break into a million little sharp-edged pieces.
He shifted uncertainly. “Can I come in? Or do you just want me to—?’” He pointed back down the hall. She stepped back and let him inside, then shut the door behind him. “I freaked about Michael.’”
“Yeah, you think?’”
“Why didn’t you tell me?’”
“Well, it didn’t exactly seem like the right time,’” she said tiredly, and sat down on the bed, back to the head-board. “Come on, Shane. We were running for our lives.’”
He granted that argument with a shrug. “How did this happen?’”
“You mean, who? Amelie. She was here, and Michael asked.’” Claire looked at him for a long second before she added the coup de graĉe. “He asked because he wanted to be able to leave the house.’”
Shane looked stricken. He lowered himself down on the corner of the bed, staring at her with those wounded, vulnerable eyes. The ones that made her heart break all over again. “No,’” he said. “Not because of me. Tell me it wasn’t—’”
“He said it wasn’t. Not, you know, completely, anyway. He had to do this, Shane. He couldn’t live like this, not forever.’”
Shane looked away. “Christ. I mean, he knows how I feel about vampires. Now I’m living with one. Now I’m best friends with one. That’s not good.’”
“Doesn’t have to be bad, either,’” she said. “Shane—don’t be angry, okay? He did what he thought he had to do.’”
“Don’t we all?’” He flopped back on the bed, hands under his head. Staring up at the ceiling. “Long day.’”
“Yeah.’”
“So,’” he said. “You got plans for tonight? Because suddenly I’m free.’”
He made her laugh, even though she thought she didn’t have any of that left. Shane rolled up on one elbow, and the gentleness in the way he smiled at her made her breath catch in her throat.
He reached out and tugged at her hair, smiling. “You’re all wild today,’” he said. “Hero.’”
“Me? No way.’”
“Yeah, you. You saved lives, Claire. Granted, some people I’d just as soon see gone, but…still. I think you even saved my dad. If he’d blown up that building, killed all those people…he couldn’t have walked away from it. I couldn’t have let him.’” They just looked at each other, and Claire felt tension coiling up between them, pulling them closer. She saw him leaning toward her, drawn by the same thing. He reached out and traced one hand slowly along her bare foot. “So. What’s the plan, hero? Want to watch a movie?’”
She felt odd. Crazy and strange and full of uncertainty. “No.’”
“Kill some video zombies?’”
“No.’”
“If we get down to canasta, I’m jumping…off…the…what are you doing?’”
She stretched out across the bed on her side, facing him. “Nothing. What do you want to do?’”
“Oh, let’s not go there.’”
“Why not?’”
“Don’t you have school tomorrow?’”
She kissed him. It wasn’t an innocent kiss—anything but. She felt like those roses downstairs, dark and red and full of passion, and it was new to her, so new, but she couldn’t stop the feeling that she had to do this, now, because she’d almost lost him, and—
Shane leaned his forehead against hers and broke the kiss with a gasp, like a drowning man. “Hang on,’” he said. “Slow down. I’m not going anywhere. You know that, right? You don’t have to put out to keep me here. Well, as long as you eventually—’”
“Shut up.’”
He did, mainly by pressing his lips back to hers. A slower kiss this time, warm and then hot. She thought she’d never get enough of the taste of him; it just jolted through her like raw current and lit her up inside. Lit her up in ways she knew weren’t good, or at least weren’t completely legal.
“Want to play baseball?’” she asked. Shane’s eyes opened, and he stopped stroking her hair.
“What?’”
“First base,’” she said. “You’re already there.’”
“I’m not running the bases.’”
“Well, you could at least steal second.’”
“Jeez, Claire. I used to distract myself with sports stats at times like these, but now you’ve gone and ruined it.’” Another damp, hot kiss, and his hands trailed down her neck, featherlight. Over her shoulders, brushing skin her thin jersey nightshirt left bare. Down…
“Dammit.’” He rolled over on his back, breathing hard, staring at the ceiling again.
“What?’” she asked. “Shane?’”
“You could have died,’” he said. “You’re sixteen, Claire.’”
“Nearly seventeen.’” She moved up against his side, cuddling close.
“Yeah, that makes it all better. Look—’”
“You want to wait?’”
“Yeah,’” he said. “Well, obviously, not my first choice, but I’m all about second thoughts right now. But the thing is…I don’t want to leave you.’” His arm was around her, and there was nothing in the world to her but the warmth of his body against her, and his whisper, and the utterly vulnerable need in his eyes. “But it’s not going to be easy for me to say no. So help me out here.’”
Her heart was pounding. “You want to stay?’”
“Yes. I—’” He opened his mouth, then closed it, then tried again. “I need to stay. I need you.’”
She kissed him, very gently. “Then stay.’”
“Okay, but so far as baseball goes, second base is as far as I go.’”
“You’re sure about that?’”
“I swear.’”
And somehow, he kept his word, no matter how hard she tried to convince him.
Shane was still asleep, curled in a heap among the pillows, snoring lightly. She’d gotten his shirt off at some point, and Claire lay in the soft glow of the rising sun, watching the light gleaming on the strong muscles of his back. She wanted to touch him…but she didn’t want him to wake up. He needed to sleep, and she had something she had to do.
Something he wasn’t going to like.
Claire eased out of bed, moving very carefully, and found her blue jeans crumpled on the floor. The envelope was still in the back pocket. She opened it and slipped out the stiff, formal paper, unfolded it, and read the note again.
She put the contract on the desk, looked at Shane, and thought about the risk of losing him. Of Eve and Michael, too.
I, Claire Elizabeth Danvers, swear my life, my blood, and my service…
Shane had said she was a hero, but she didn’t feel like one. She felt like a scared teenager with a whole lot to lose. I can’t watch him get hurt, she thought. Not if there’s anything I can do to stop it. Michael—Eve—I can’t take the risk.
How bad could it be?
Claire opened the drawer and found a pen.
&
nbsp; Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
About the Author
Praise for The Morganville Vampire Novels
‘‘An electrifying, enthralling coming-of-age supernatural tale.’’ —The Best Reviews
‘‘A solid, utterly compelling story that you will find addictive and hypnotic. If Rachel Caine is not on your auto-buy list, put her there immediately, if not sooner.’’ —The Eternal Night
‘‘Rachel Caine brings her brilliant ability to blend witty dialogue, engaging characters, and an intriguing plot.’’ —Romance Reviews Today
‘‘A rousing horror thriller that adds a new dimension to the vampire mythos.’’ —Midwest Book Review
Praise for Rachel Caine’s Weather Warden Series
‘‘You’ll never watch the Weather Channel the same way again.’’ —Jim Butcher
‘‘The Weather Warden series is fun reading . . . more engaging than most TV.’’ —Booklist
‘‘A kick-butt heroine who will appeal strongly to fans of Tanya Huff, Kelley Armstrong, and Charlaine Harris.’’ —Romantic Times
‘‘Hugely entertaining.’’ —SF Crowsnest
‘‘A fast-paced thrill ride [that] brings new meaning to stormy weather.’’ —Locus
‘‘An appealing heroine with a wry sense of humor that enlivens even the darkest encounters.’’ —SF Site
‘‘I dare you to put this book down.’’
—University City Review (Philadelphia)
‘‘Rachel Caine takes the Weather Wardens to places the Weather Channel never imagined!’’
—Mary Jo Putney
‘‘A spellbinding . . . thought-provoking, action-packed thriller.’’ —Midwest Book Review
THE MORGANVILLE VAMPIRE NOVELS
Glass Houses
The Dead Girls’ Dance
Midnight Alley
NAL Jam
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,
Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2,
Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)
Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124,
Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)
Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park,
New Delhi - 110 017, India
Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632,
New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue,
Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:
80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
First published by NAL Jam, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, October 2007
Copyright © Roxanne Longstreet Conrad, 2007
All rights reserved
NAL JAM and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
http://us.penguingroup.com
For the people who got me through my own personal Morganville years: Elizabeth Sandlin, Andy Sealy, Mona Fluitt, Bruce Tinsley, Luis Hernandez, Gary Wiley, Scott Chase, Marsha McNeill, Rachel Scarbrough, and many more who made the days bright. Also to the memory of sitting next to Stevie Ray Vaughn, hearing him make magic when few people were even listening.
For the people who are getting me through these Morganville years: Cat Conrad, Kelley Walters, Marla Stair, Katy Hendricks, Claire Wilkins and Baby Griff, Becky Rocha, Laurie Andrews and her lovely girls, P. N. Elrod, Jackie Leaf, Bill Leaf, Joanne Madge, Irene Ferris, Ter Matthies, the Alphas, ORAC, Douglas Joseph, Sharon Sams and her son Boardman, Ann Jackson and her son Trey, and literally too many LiveJournal and MySpace friends to even attempt to list. Every one of them a special, undeserved gift.
And to Charles Armitage and Kevin Cleary, for making Morganville an even more exciting place.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Fast turnaround reading and commenting from a select group of people, including (but probably not limited to) Jackie, Sharon, Donna, and Lisa. Especially Donna, who reminded me that if you put a knife on the table in the first act, you’d better not switch it to a gun in the third . . . thanks, Donna!
1
The instant the phone rang at the Glass House, Claire knew with a psychic flash that it had to be her mother.
Well, it wasn’t so much a psychic flash as simple logic. She’d told Mom that she would call days ago, which she hadn’t, and now, of course, it could only be her mother calling at the most inopportune moment.
Hence: had to be a call from Mom.
‘‘Don’t,’’ her boyfriend—she couldn’t believe she could actually call him that, boyfriend, not a boy friend—Shane murmured without taking his mouth off of hers. ‘‘Michael will get it.’’ And he was giving her a very good argument in favor of ignoring the phone, too. But somewhere in the back of her mind that little voice just wouldn’t shut up.
She slid off of his lap with a regretful sigh, licked her damp, tingling lips, and dashed off in the direction of the kitchen door.
Michael was just rising from the kitchen table to head for the phone. She beat him to it, mouthing a silent apology, and said, ‘‘Hello?’’
‘‘Claire! Oh my goodness, I’ve been worried sick, honey. We’ve been trying to call you on your cell for days, and—’’
Crap. Claire rubbed her forehead in frustration. ‘‘Mom, I sent you guys an e-mail, remember? My cell got lost; I’m still working on getting another one.’’ Best not to mention how it had gotten lost. Best not to mention anything about how dangerous her life had become since she’d moved to Morganville, Texas.
‘‘Oh,’’ Mom said, and then, more slowly, ‘‘Oh. Well, your father forgot to tell me about that. You know, he’s the one who checks the e-mail. I don’t like computers.’’
‘‘Yes, Mom, I know.’’ Mom really wasn’t that bad, but she was notoriously nervous with computers, and for good reason; they had a tendency to short out around her.
Mom was still talking. ‘‘Is everything going
all right? How are classes? Interesting?’’
Claire opened the refrigerator door and retrieved a can of Coke, which she popped open and chugged to give herself time to think what, if anything, to tell her parents. Mom, there was a little trouble. See, my boyfriend’s dad came to town with some bikers and killed people, and nearly killed us, too. Oh, and the vampires are angry about it. So to save my friends, I had to sign a contract, so now I’m basically the slave of the most badass vampire in town.
Yeah, that wouldn’t go over well.
Besides, even if she said it, Mom wouldn’t understand it. Mom had been to Morganville, but she hadn’t really seen. People usually didn’t. And if they did, they either never left town or had their memories wiped on the way out.
And if by some chance they started to remember, bad things could happen to them. Terminally bad things.
So instead, Claire said, ‘‘Classes are great, Mom. I aced all my exams last week.’’
‘‘Of course you did. Don’t you always?’’
Yeah, but last week I had to take my exams while worrying that somebody was going to stick a knife in my back. It could have had an effect on my GPA. Stupid to be proud of that . . . ‘‘Everything’s fine here. I’ll let you know when I get the new cell phone, okay?’’ Claire hesitated, then asked, ‘‘How are you? How’s Dad?’’
‘‘Oh, we’re fine, honey. We miss you is all. But your father’s still not happy about your living in that place, off campus, with those older kids. . . .’’
Of all the things for Mom to remember, she had to remember that. And of course Claire couldn’t tell her why she was living off campus with eighteen-year-olds, especially when two of them were boys. Mom hadn’t gotten around to mentioning the boys yet, but it was just a matter of time.
‘‘Mom, I told you how mean the girls were to me in the dorm. It’s better here. They’re my friends. And really, they’re great.’’
