Claire pulled her fingers free and walked over to stand next to Michael. “Shane, what are you doing here? Let’s just go home, okay?”

Shane focused on her, but that didn’t make it better. If anything, it made it worse, because there was none of the love and gentleness in him that she expected to see—that she’d seen only an hour ago. He stared at her, then at Michael.

She reached for Michael’s arm for support. Something flared hot in Shane’s eyes. “That how it is? You and Claire?” Shane asked. “Not surprised, man. Every girl I ever knew ended up liking you better than me. It’s almost like you set out to make it happen.”

“That’s so not true!” Claire said, shocked—shocked he would even think it, much less say it—and stepped away from Michael. “You think—You think me and Michael…?”

“Why not? He’s cooler, right? He’s rocking that whole guitar hero thing. Oh, and he’s a vampire—I know how much all you chicks dig that. He could snap his fingers and pull any girl he wanted. Including you. Don’t kid yourself thinking you’ve got a choice.”

He didn’t even say her name. Somehow, that hurt worse than anything else—and it made her angrier, too, which probably wasn’t right, but she couldn’t help it. “No, he couldn’t get me, because I don’t love him. I love you, Shane.”

He gave her a cynical smile. “You don’t have to love somebody to screw them.”

“Shane!” Now she was embarrassed and horrified and sick, and she wished he would just shut up.

“I saw how he looked at you. C’mon, Michael, tell her. Tell her I’m wrong. Tell her you never think about it.”

Michael didn’t say anything. There was an odd light in his eyes, one Claire couldn’t remember seeing before. She punched him in the arm. “Well?” she demanded. “Tell him!”

“Won’t do any good,” Michael said. “He’s not listening to anything I have to say. Or you, for that matter. Come on, Claire. We should go.”

“No! I’m not leaving him here like this, thinking that I’m—”

Shane lunged forward, grabbed her by the shoulders, and put his face very close to hers. Close enough to kiss, but that didn’t seem to be on his mind at all. It was Shane, but…not. Not the Shane she’d always known. Even when he’d lost his memory, there’d been this core of gentleness, of control…and now that was gone.

It was like part of him had died. The best part.

“Let me make it real clear,” he said. “I don’t date fang-bangers. If it’s not him, then it’s that crazy-ass, bloodsucking boss of yours. So, go on. Do what you know you want to do. None of my business anymore. We’re done.”

And he pushed her away, hard. She banged against a steel post, which knocked the breath out of her and brought tears to her eyes from the instant, white-hot pain of bone ringing on metal.

Through the tears, she saw Michael grab Shane’s arm and yank him away from her, unbelievably fast and strong. But Shane had strength and quickness of his own, more than he should have, more than she’d ever seen any human have, and he swung around inside Michael’s defenses and slammed a fist into his stomach, then his chin, snapping Michael’s head back. Then again and again and again, so fast it was a blur.

And Michael went down flat on his back. He rolled over, blinking, and got back to his feet, but his mouth was bleeding, and Eve was yelling and trying to get between him and Shane, and it was all just insane how this was happening. How could it possibly be—

Claire caught sight of a figure standing at a metal railing upstairs, looking down at them. A petite woman, masses of honey-colored wavy hair, a sweet face.

Gloriana. The vampire.

She was smiling—not an evil smile, which Claire could have understood, but a smile of childlike delight. A smile that should have been reserved for puppies and rainbows and true love.

Not for seeing Shane kick Michael in the side with enough force to shatter bone.

The onlookers watched with a kind of strange, hungry approval, and nobody moved in to stop it until a tattooed, muscled guy—Rad, from the car and motorcycle shops—grabbed Shane from behind, winding his arms through and locking his fingers together behind Shane’s neck in a unbreakable restraining hold. He kicked the joints of Shane’s legs and got him down on his knees.

Eve was down next to Michael, helping him sit up, wiping the slightly too-pale blood from his face with a lacy black handkerchief. “My God,” she was saying numbly. “My God, my God…Oh, sweetie…”

Shane was trying to throw off Rad’s hold, but his buddies were moving in now. As if he realized it was useless to try to break Rad’s hold on him, Shane went still.

Eve must have decided Michael was okay, because she looked at Claire and asked her if she was hurt, at increasingly worried volumes. Claire shook off her daze and said, “No, I’m fine. Michael?”

He didn’t answer. He was sitting up and all his attention was on Shane. Just Shane. “Let him go, Rad,” he said.

“Dude,” Rad said. “Don’t think that’s too good an idea. He ain’t givin’ up. He’s just waiting. I can feel it.”

“I said let him go.”

“Your funeral.” Rad released Shane, who turned and shoved him back. Rad held up his hands, signaling surrender.

And Shane turned back toward Michael, who wasn’t showing anything like that. In fact, he was on his feet again, moving Eve—gently—and facing Shane squarely.

“This isn’t you, man. What is causing this?” Michael asked.

“It’s her,” Claire said, and looked up at the railing above them. “She’s screwing with him.”

Only Gloriana was gone. No sign she’d ever been there. Claire looked around, but there were no vampires in view. Not one.

Just Michael.

Shane turned a scorching look on her. “Her who?”

“Gloriana,” Claire said. “She’s doing this to you.”

He laughed. “I don’t do vamps. You ought to remember that.”

“It’s a glamour.”

“No, it’s not,” Michael said, very quietly. “Not exactly. Or not completely. Right, Shane? This is something else.”

“Yeah,” Shane said. “It’s something else. Because there’s a lot of us who are sick as hell of getting our asses kicked by vampires, sick of being your cheap wine bottles with legs, sick of letting you rule this town like lords. It’s not going to happen anymore. Right, guys?”

The gym guys—and girl, too—had gathered around in a circle, and the rest had the same predatory glitter in their eyes, the same barely under-the-surface violence. Rad seemed to be the only muscled-up dude who was in the wrong place and had the wrong motives, and he was looking around now, frowning uneasily.

“Look, maybe you should go,” he said to Michael, and then glanced at Eve and Claire. “All of you. Work this out later.”

Her impulse was to say that she was staying, that no power on earth could make her leave Shane when he was like this, but if she did that, she knew that Michael and Eve would stick it out, too. And that would be bad. Shane seemed especially angry about Michael being here—and, from the look he gave her now, Eve, too.

A big, overmuscled guy dressed in microfiber sweats and gold chains, like some cheesy reality-show reject, gave Eve a really nasty grin. It was mostly a snarl. “You always ran around town, dressing like a wannabe bloodsucker, and now you’re banging one,” he said. Well, he didn’t actually say banging, but Claire’s brain refused to completely translate it. It was too shocking when it was said with that much venom. “I hate fang-bangers worse than the vamps. At least the vamps are just doing what comes natural. Your kind, you’re perverts.”

Eve flinched a little, but then she lifted her chin. “Really? Considering what I hear from the girls you date, Sandro, maybe you ought to think twice about throwing that word around. ’Cause I had to look up half the things you wanted them to do on Urban Dictionary, and it was disgusting.”