Claire didn’t really have time to gawk. Shane let go of her hand and pointed off down one aisle; she split off toward the meat section. Choosing hamburger was mainly a decision about poundage, and Eve hadn’t said how much to get. Claire settled for two packages, and headed for the aisle where Shane had disappeared. The snack aisle, what a shock.

The song on the store’s speakers changed to an annoying and slightly creepy song from the 1970s, something about seasons in the sun, and she was thinking about how ironic that was when she rounded the endcap display and found Shane backed up against the shelves, with a woman pressed right up against him.

It was the female vamp Bishop had brought to town. She was wearing a tight-fitting pair of blue jeans, a formfitting maroon knit shirt, and a black leather jacket. Black ankle boots, with buckles. Feminine, but dangerous. Her dark hair flowed over her shoulders in luxurious, glossy waves, and her skin was the color of fine porcelain, just a tiny hit of blush in her cheeks.

Her eyes were fixed on Shane’s. He was crushing a bag of chips in one hand, but he’d clearly forgotten all about it.

The vampire leaned forward and took in a deep breath from around Shane’s neck. Shane closed his eyes and didn’t move.

“Mmmmm,” she said in that slow, sweet voice. “You smell like desire. I can feel it curling off your skin. Poor little thing, all frustrated and wanting. I could help you with that.”

Shane didn’t open his eyes. “Get away from me.”

The vampire’s hand shot out to slam hard against the shelves next to Shane’s head. The entire structure rocked unsteadily, but didn’t quite go over. “Don’t be rude, Shane Collins. Yes, I know who you are. You’ve been looking us up, so I did a little reading all on my own. You’ve got daddy problems, don’t you? I understand. I have those, too. I could tell you all about it, if you come with me. It’d be nice to have a strong man to tell my troubles to.”

As quickly as it had come, her anger was gone, and she was back to the vampire sex kitten she’d been back at the Glass House, running her pale fingers down Shane’s collarbone, over his chest. . . .

“I said go away,” Shane said, and opened his eyes to stare at her face. “Not interested, leech.”

“My name’s Ysandre, honey. Not leech, bitch, or bloodsucker. And if you want to survive my visit to this cesspool of a town, you’ll learn to call me by my name, Shane.” Her pale lips curled into a smile. “Or if you want other people to survive it. Now, let’s be friends.”

She leaned forward and brushed her lips lightly against Shane’s, and Claire saw him shudder and go completely still. Ysandre laughed, reached past him, and plucked a bag of baked chips from the rack.

“Mmmm,” she said. “Salty. Tell your girlfriend I like the taste of her lip gloss.”

She walked away. Shane and Claire stayed frozen where they were until she was out of sight, and then Claire rushed to him. When she put her hand on him, he flinched, just a little.

“Don’t touch me,” he said. His voice was hoarse, and the vein in his throat was beating very, very fast. “I don’t want—”

“Shane—it’s me, it’s Claire—”

He reached out for her then, like a drowning man clutching a life raft, and his strength shocked her as he pulled her in. His head bent, and she felt the weight of it resting on her shoulder. The feverish, damp heat of his forehead against her neck.

She felt the shudder go through him, just one, just enough to tell her how horribly wrong he felt.

“God,” she whispered, and gently stroked his hair. It was wet underneath, matted with sweat. “What did she do to you?”

He shook his head without raising it from her shoulder. He couldn’t, or wouldn’t, say it. His chest rose and fell, taking in breaths that felt like gasps but were too deep for that, and after what seemed like a full minute, Shane’s body began to relax, uncoiling from that awful tension.

When he pulled back, she expected to get a look at his expression, but he turned away so fast it was just a blur—wounded dark eyes in a stark, pale mask. He looked down at the chips he was holding, and dropped them on the floor as he walked away.

Claire quickly put them back on the shelf and followed. He kept going, right past the registers. She shelled out cash to the impatient cashier for the hamburger, grabbed the plastic bag, and hurried out into the lamplit darkness after her boyfriend.

He was already unlocking the car and getting in. She was still at least a dozen feet away when he started the car with a roar, and she saw the flare of brake lights as he shifted into gear.

For a heart-stopping second Claire thought he was going to peel out and drive away, leaving her there in the dark, but he waited. She opened the passenger door and got in. Shane didn’t move.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

He didn’t so much as look at her.

He put the car in gear and burned rubber on the way out of the lot.

Shane went straight to his room, and didn’t come down again for the dinner that Eve made— spaghetti with meat sauce, light on the garlic for the sake of the vampire at the table. It was probably delicious, but Claire couldn’t taste a thing. She couldn’t keep her mind off the white, rigid set of Shane’s face, and the panic and loathing in his eyes. She didn’t understand what had happened, and she knew he didn’t want to be asked. Not now.

“Well?” Eve twirled spaghetti around her fork as she stared at Claire. “How is it?”

“Oh—fantastic,” Claire said, with so much enthusiasm she knew nobody was fooled. She sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s just—”

Eve pointed above their heads. “The dean of the drama department?”

Michael looked up at her, and for a second Claire saw the blue of his eyes flicker. “He’s got his reasons,” he said. “Let it go, Eve.”

“Pardon me, but that boy can make a paper cut seem like a mortal wound. . . .”

“I said let it go.” Michael snapped it this time, and there was unmistakable command in his voice. Eve stopped twirling spaghetti. Stopped doing everything except watching him with narrowed, kohl-rimmed eyes.

“Let’s review,” she said, and put the fork carefully down on a napkin. “You got all diva and decided you were too busy to go to the store. Next, Shane threw a tantrum and stomped up to his room to put on a one-man pity party. And now you’re ordering me around like you own me. Are we under a testosterone storm warning?”

“Eve.”

“I’m not finished. You may think that growing a pair of fangs makes you the boss around here, but you’d better check your playlist. You’re on the seriously wrong track.”

“Eve.” Michael leaned forward, and Claire caught her breath. His eyes were all wrong, his movements too fast, and she caught a flash of teeth that were too white, too sharp.

Eve pushed her chair back from the table, picked up her bowl, and walked into the kitchen without a backward glance.

Michael put his head in his hands. “Christ, what just happened?”

Claire swallowed. She tasted nothing but metal, as if she’d tried to chew the fork instead of the food. Her whole body felt cold, aching with the need to do . . . something.

She took Michael’s bowl, stacking it with her own. “I’ll clean up,” she said.

Michael’s hand closed around her wrist. She didn’t dare look up at him. At close range, she didn’t want to see the changes in his eyes, the ones Eve had seen so clearly.

“I wouldn’t hurt any of you. You believe me, right?”

She heard the sudden doubt in his voice.

“Sure,” she said. “It’s just—Michael, I don’t think you really know what you are yet. What’s changing inside you. Eve thinks that showing you our weakness is a bad idea. I don’t think she’s wrong about that.”

Michael was watching her as if he’d never actually seen her before. As if she’d changed right before his eyes, from a child to an equal.