I met Claire and Eve coming down. Claire was supporting Eve; she seemed to be limping and cursing a lot. Claire still had her shotgun, but Eve’s hands were empty. Unarmed.

I didn’t think, I just took Eve in my arms and lifted her. The scent and warmth of her wrapped around me, and she leaned her head wearily against my chest. “Hannah found him,” she said. “Shane’s okay. He’s alive.”

I kissed her forehead. “I know. You’re safe now.” She wasn’t bleeding, which was a relief; the limping must have been from a twisted ankle. Tenderness flowed through me, relaxing muscles I hadn’t even known were tense; her fingers crept around my neck, and even though she didn’t lift her lips to mine, she didn’t flinch. “I swear, you’re safe, Eve.”

“They had us,” Claire told me. “The draug had us cornered. But they ran.”

“Yeah. Looks like Hannah threw a bomb in their party pool,” I said.

“Shane—”

“I know, she’s got him. You were right. He’s okay.” I knew, but didn’t say, that he’d lost a lot of blood; she could probably figure that out on her own. The important thing was that Shane had come out of this alive.

We all had, as far as I could tell.

Win.

Claire took a deep breath, racked her shotgun like a professional, and said, “I’ve got your back. You just take care of her.”

I escorted her, or she escorted me and Eve, to the truck. I opened the back to find Shane sitting in the cushy throne chair, covered in painful draug stings, his whole body seeping blood all over the upholstery. He looked paper-pale and shaky, but he raised his hand and said, “Hey, bro.”

“Hey,” I said. It was all I could manage. I realized, looking at him, that we’d been maybe a minute or two away from all this being utterly useless. He couldn’t have held out much longer.

It scared me.

Richard and Monica were standing, though Monica looked mutinous; her expensive shoes were broken, and her dress was smeared with blood. She glared at me as if daring me to make some kind of comment.

“Thanks,” I said to her, and I meant it. “Both of you.”

Richard nodded. Monica frowned, as if she’d never had anyone thank her before and didn’t know exactly how to handle it. That seemed likely.

Claire shoved past me, jumped in, and headed straight for Shane. He put his arms around her when she hugged him, but there was something odd in his face, something … tentative. As if he wasn’t sure all this was real. If she was real.

No time to sort it out. I slammed the back door and jumped in the front with Eve and Hannah, and we got the hell out.

Fast.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CLAIRE

The entire ride back to Founder’s Square, Claire kept telling herself that Shane was all right. His skin was slick with blood from the bites, and he was pale and weak, but he was alive. And anything else could be fixed. Had to be fixed.