Shane winced and closed his eyes as Myrnin’s mouth closed over his skin, and she could see the cell-deep urge to pull away boiling up in him. Somehow, he controlled it, though he looked like it took everything he had to stay patiently still. Myrnin, for his part, was polite enough to stop after less than thirty seconds, and even put pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding before stepping back. Not a drop had escaped him, and his mask-like expression never shifted at all. ‘Thank you,’ he said, with perfect courtesy – or at least, it would have been courteous if you didn’t know how he usually said such things. Like his face, his tone was perfectly blank.

Shane, on the other hand, was so easy to read he was practically a flashing neon sign. And what it spelt out wasn’t good, but he nodded in return. Bare politeness minimum, and they both took giant steps back to put space between them.

Guys.

Claire shook her head, went to Oliver, and presented her wrist.

He gave her a long, narrow look and said, ‘No, thank you.’

‘I’m not good enough for you?’

‘Don’t be a git, blood is blood. But I’m not presently in quite that much need. Don’t worry, I’m sure there will be a further catastrophic disaster for which we will be woefully unprepared, if our luck holds.’

‘Damn, Oliver, that is some industrial strength sarcasm,’ Shane said. ‘I’m surprised. I thought you were saving it for something special, like the Apocalypse, or at least tea time.’

‘I can easily avoid tea time. It’s a perk of being vampire. No one asked you.’

Myrnin held up his hand. ‘I did.’

‘And we won’t ever discuss that again,’ Oliver said. ‘Feeling better?’

‘Pish, I only lost part of my brain. It wasn’t even the most important part.’ Clearly, Myrnin did not want to say anything the least complimentary about Shane, or his blood. ‘Yes. I’m restored. Now, let’s go rescue Lady Grey.’

‘Your inability to comprehend the vaguest notion of priorities has always astounded me,’ Oliver said. ‘We attempted a frontal assault last time, as you recall. This time, we shall send a scout to examine the situation, instead of stumbling onward like drunken fools into a cathouse.’

Wow. Oliver really was busting out the weapons-grade sarcasm. Which meant, Claire thought, that he was also seriously rattled by events – and maybe by Jesse’s capture, since he didn’t seem to despise her nearly as much as he did most other people. ‘I’ll go,’ Claire said.