“Right,” Michael said. He started to say something else, but fell silent.

It felt strangely awkward, suddenly. And Claire’s mixed feelings got even more mixed. She wanted to believe this was the right thing, but why wasn’t Michael more excited about it? Was that a guy thing? Or…God, was he having second thoughts?

Claire tried to fill the silence. “Any date yet or anything? And can I be a bridesmaid? Please let me be a bridesmaid! I’ve never been one.”

“My bridesmaids are totally wearing black,” Eve said. “Are you down with that? Because I’m wearing red.”

“Yes!” Claire gave her an awkward, one-armed hug, and then did the same to Michael. “This is great. This is…Well, it’s great. Isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Michael said. He was smiling again, but she saw his reflection in the glass, and what struck her, in a dreadful rush, was that it wasn’t the right kind of smile. It was sad and brave, not happy and proud. Like he was doing what he thought he should do, but deep down he wasn’t sure.

Oh, no. No.

Claire looked down at her lap. She said, “Well, let me know, okay? When you guys are ready. Because I’ll be there, you know. All the way.”

“I know you will,” Eve said. She wasn’t just smiling; she was glowing with delight. “Thanks, sweetie.”

She turned the car again and pulled it into a parking space. The neon lights of the gym were on, and a sign glowing near the door said open 24 hrs.

They sat in the car as the engine died. Michael and Eve exchanged glances over Claire’s head. “So, we should do this,” Eve said. “Right?”

“Right,” Michael said. “We all go together. If he starts something, get out of the way, both of you. Let him take it out on me. I’m not as breakable.”

Maybe not, but Shane had managed to land a punch on him, which had been unpleasantly surprising. Claire didn’t want to see anybody get hit or hurt, not even a vampire who could bounce back. The sound of Miranda getting punched still haunted her, no matter how it had turned out later.

She’d always admired Shane’s ability to defend himself—and her and his friends—but at the same time, she worried. Maybe there was something to his fear. Maybe his dad’s legacy of abuse was tough to shake; she knew there was a dark core of anger inside of him, and guilt.

But she also knew that Gloriana was in it somehow. She had to be. No matter how much everybody swore she couldn’t be interested in Shane, there was some reason this was happening, and Claire had seen firsthand how easy it was for Gloriana to twist people around.

Like Shane was being twisted.

I saw her, Claire thought. Up in his room, that first night. That was her. It had to be Gloriana.

That was when it had all started. When Shane’s anger had started coming to the surface.

That bitch.

“We stay together,” Claire said. “And I promise, I’ll duck if anybody throws a punch.”

The parking lot was—oddly, for Morganville—spacious and well lit. They didn’t see anyone else on the way in. The same bouncer was at the desk. He looked the three of them over without saying anything. The lights buzzed softly, and Claire felt nerves start tingling right with them.

“We’re looking for Shane Collins,” Michael said. “Is he here?”

The counter guy checked a list, flipping pages. “Yeah, he signed in about half an hour ago. Hasn’t left.”

“We need to see him,” Claire said.

“Ten bucks.”

“We’re not exercising,” Eve said. “Really, you see these clothes? These are not made for sweating.”

“Not my problem. It’s ten bucks to go in that door, whether you exercise or not. Unless you want to buy a membership. Then it’s five hundred.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

“No, you look like a dick who wants thirty dollars to let us talk to our friend,” Michael said, and opened up his wallet. “Here’s forty. The extra ten’s not a tip, so give it back.”

The guy counted out ten ones—even though there was a ten-dollar bill sitting right there in the cash drawer—and slid them over. “Knock yourselves out, kids,” he said.

The buzzer went off, signaling that the door was open. Michael held it for the girls; Claire went first, heading past the busy weight-and exercise-machine area. Everything was full, which was shocking, considering the time of night. The weirdest thing was that Claire didn’t see a single vampire here tonight…just humans. She’d have expected just the opposite.

Shane was in the corner, near the boxing stuff. That wasn’t a surprise; Claire had known in her gut that he’d be here somewhere.

He was punching a heavy bag, which swung back and forth in slow, ponderous arcs as he danced around it, hitting with vicious intensity. He’d taken off his shirt, and he was sweating so much it looked like he’d just come out of the pool, his hair lank and plastered around his face. His skin shone and dripped.

And he was covered with bruises. Covered. She was shocked; she hadn’t seen him like this, not ever. Some were just red spots—fresh ones—and others were old and blue and faded around the edges. The nastiest ones looked black and green. What the hell had he been doing?

Claire started to walk over to him, but Michael stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “No,” he said. “Let me, okay?”

“Okay.” There was something very off about the way Shane was going after that bag, like it had personally tried to kill him. And she could tell that he’d been at it for a while now, ever since he’d walked in, probably.

As Michael came over, Shane grabbed the swinging bag in both gloved hands and stilled it. He was panting for breath, but his wide eyes were fixed on his friend.

Not in a friendly kind of way.

“Hey,” Michael said. “We got worried when you blew out of the house. We wanted to be sure you were okay.”

Shane didn’t say anything. He clung to the bag and panted and watched Michael with that strangely blank stare.

“So,” Michael continued, still moving toward him, more slowly now. More carefully, like he’d have approached a wild animal. “What do you say we blow this off and go get a pizza or something? You must be hungry.”

He must have crossed some kind of invisible line, because Shane bared his teeth, and Michael stopped in his tracks. That was one crazy look, and Claire felt sick inside; it didn’t look like Shane at all. He kept on grinning—if you could call it that—and reached down for a sports bottle sitting off to the side. He guzzled most of it in broad, thirsty gulps, but he still never took his eyes off Michael. Not for a second.

“I’m not hungry,” Shane finally said. “Vassily’s got me on a new diet. Protein shakes.”

Michael tried again. “Bro, this is some unsettling crap going on. What the hell is up with you?”

“Can’t you tell?” Shane asked. His voice sounded lower than normal—deeper in his throat. “Thought you knew everything, being part of the master race and all. Thought we mere mortals could never put anything over on you.”

Claire had thought it was a private conversation, but behind her, she heard laughter—laughter in name only. It was bully laughter, meant to unsettle. There was no real amusement behind it, other than the anticipation of pulling some wings off particularly interesting flies. She risked a glance over her shoulder.

Shane had workout buddies all around them. She’d ignored them at first, thinking they were just people in proximity, but now they were all stopping what they were hitting or lifting or doing, and paying attention.

Big men. Tough. Sweating. A girl, too, but even she looked solid and muscular and ready to kick ass at a second’s notice.

Claire realized that she was holding Eve’s hand, and holding it tightly. She glanced over and saw that Eve, too, was riveted by Shane’s behavior. She looked spooked and very worried.