She pulled in a deep breath as she realized Claire was awake. “Michael!”

He was there in a flash beside her, kneeling next to Claire. He took hold of her hands and pulled her up into a hug.

He didn’t say anything. Not a thing.

She didn’t want to remember. Her hands fisted behind his back, her whole body shook with the need not to know. Michael was shaking, too. After a moment, he let go and sat back, avoiding her eyes as he wiped his face with an impatient gesture, but not before she saw the tears.

“He’s not dead,” she said. “He’s not. They took him. I saw them take him.”

“Claire—” Michael slowly shook his head. He looked tired, angry, and … just broken. “Myrnin said he was dead.”

“He’s not.”

It was Eve’s turn to put her arms around her. Unlike Michael, she wasn’t crying now. She’d finished, Claire supposed, and how was that fair, that anybody could ever finish crying? Ever?

“If I believed there was a chance, any chance, I’d already be going,” Eve said. “But, sweetheart, he’s gone.”

Claire shoved her back with a burst of white rage. She jumped to her feet. “Myrnin knocked me out,” she spat. “How long?” They didn’t answer her until she kicked at the limp sleeping bag and yelled it again. “How long?”

“Five minutes, maybe,” Eve whispered. “Claire, don’t. We’re not your enemies—don’t do this …. We love him, too.”

“Not fucking enough, you don’t!” she snapped, and left them there. She was walking first, then running. Nobody tried to stop her. She flew through confusing hallways, reversed course, her heart hammering, and tried three different routes before she saw the room at the end with the vampire guards standing sentry.

They stepped out in front of her, right palms outstretched in a clear no way signal. Claire slowed, but she kept coming. “I need to see Oliver,” she said. “Right now.”

“He’s not available.”

“I need to see him!”

“Stop.”

She didn’t. She wasn’t sure what her plan was, because right now there was nothing inside her but the burning, ripping need to do something … probably fifteen minutes had passed since she’d last seen Shane, and he was still alive, she was sure he was. Something had to be done. Someone had to listen. She locked gazes with the vampire on the right—she knew him, he was one of Amelie’s regular crew, and sometimes she caught him looking, well, not human but approachable.

Not now. His expression had set like concrete, and his light brown eyes were cold. “Turn around,” he said. “Now.”

She couldn’t. She couldn’t give up, because Shane wouldn’t have given up on her. He’d have fought like a wildcat, made them put him in a cage or let him go, and she couldn’t do any less for him, could she?

It took about one second for the vampire to reach out, grab her, and carry her back down the hallway. She kicked and screamed but it didn’t do any good, and the fast motion made her dizzy and sick, disoriented, so that when he dumped her off and slammed and locked the door on her she was still too woozy to stand and fight.