Oliver blocked him as he turned for the door.
Oliver was still pale, and trembling, but he seemed sane, at least; he'd wiped the excess blood he'd gulped off his mouth, but there were still smears of dark red here and there. He didn't speak, but he held out his arms, and Myrnin, after a brief hesitation, handed Amelie to him.
Oliver shut his eyes for a moment, then nodded and took her outside.
Naomi followed, moving more slowly than Claire had ever seen a vampire move. Myrnin helped her out, which would have looked gallant except for his outfit, which was more like something a crazed beachcomber would wear than a knight in armor, however tarnished.
That accounted for almost all the vampires they'd rescued. Claire got up and walked toward the back. She stopped when she reached Shane, who was lying down on a donation couch. He'd wiped himself clean of the blood, but she could see bleeding pinpricks on his face and hands. He looked terrible, she thought, and wanted to cry in wild, screaming sobs. Somehow, she gulped it back.
He sat up and held out his arms, and she collapsed against him. He kissed her, and even though he still tasted like that pool, like all the nightmares, she sank into the kiss, because underneath it he was Shane, he was alive, he was alive.
And so was she.
He was shaking, she realized, but he was trying to comfort her with soothing strokes down her back, a gentle touch on her face.
Neither one of them tried to speak.
Michael carried Eve past them. There was a thick bandage on her neck, but the bleeding seemed to have stopped, and she seemed okay. She had her arms around him, and her head was lying in the hollow of his shoulder, and Claire thought she'd never seen a look like that on Michael's face, that complicated mixture of fierce love and fear and regret.
He looked almost as frail as Naomi had, but he carried her anyway.
"What are we going to do?" Claire whispered. "Oh God, Shane, what can we do?"
He shook his head and sighed, and pressed his lips against her hair in a gentle kiss. "We're going to win," he said. "That's our only choice. I don't know how, and I don't know what the cost is going to be. But we're going to win."
"Yes." The voice was raw, and quiet, but it was Oliver's. He was standing in the doorway, and Amelie was still in his arms. "There's no option now. We fight them for Morganville. All of us." He looked down at Amelie. "And the cost will be high, Mr. Collins. It will be very high indeed. Come now. It won't be safe out here for long, and the sun is coming up."
Claire didn't want to move, but she did, and helped Shane up. Oliver stared at the two of them for a moment, then shook his head.
"What?" Shane asked.
"I don't understand humans at all," he said. "Why would you do such a thing, for us?"
Shane exchanged a look with Claire, and shrugged. "Had to be done," he said. "And we needed you to stop Amelie from pulling the pin on Morganville. She was going to kill us all."
Oliver sighed. "What makes you think I won't?"
"Because you're a fighter," Shane said. "Like me. And now you're in charge."
"Oh, trust me, you won't enjoy that," Oliver said, with a touch of his old acid tone. "We haven't even begun to fight."
"Good," Shane said. "Because as far as I can tell, we're getting our asses kicked, and I'm tired of that."
Oliver gave him a slow, odd smile. "So am I," he said. He turned to go and said, in an offhand kind of way, "Thank you."
He was gone before Shane could make some kind of smart-ass remark. As, Claire could tell, he'd been about to do.
"Don't," Claire warned him, and put her finger to his lips. "Just enjoy the moment."
"I am," he said. He met her eyes, and in that moment, she could see absolutely everything in them. Everything he felt. All the fear and the anger and the horror and the determination.
And the love. So much of that.
"Sun's up," he said. She blinked and realized that outside the open door of the Bloodmobile there was a pink blush on the horizon. A new day. Maybe the last day.
He took her hand and led her out into it, and despite everything, despite the stillness and the danger and all that she knew, Claire took a deep breath of fresh, clean air and thought, We're going to win. We have to win.
And standing there with the sunrise washing over them, driving away the clouds, she thought that maybe, just maybe, it was possible.
"Wait," Shane said, and pulled her to a stop as she started to follow Michael, who'd already made it to the shadows, down the sidewalk toward the square. "Claire."
"We shouldn't stay out here even if the sun's up. The draug - "
He put his hands on either side of her face, looked down at her, and said, "I want you to understand something. I hate this place. I hate Morganville. I hate the vampires. But I swear to God, I will fight to my last drop of blood for Michael and Eve and you. Do you understand? If you want to run, if you want to go right now, I'll go. But I'm not going without you."
"If we run, what's to stop Oliver from letting everyone die?" she asked him. "From doing just what Amelie would have done?"
"God, Claire - stop thinking about them. Think about you. Just you."
"I am," she said. "I can't face being a coward. Not this time."
"Then we stay," he said. "And when we get out of this . . . and we will get out of this . . . I want you to promise me one thing."
"What?"
He swallowed, and shifted his weight a little uneasily, and then said, very quietly, his lips almost touching hers, "Promise me you'll marry me. Not now. Someday. Because I need to know."
Claire felt a flutter inside, like a bird trying to fly, and a rush of heat that made her dizzy. And something else, something fragile as a soap bubble, and just as beautiful. Joy, in the middle of all this horror and heartbreak.
"Yes," she whispered back. "I promise."
And she kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him, while the sun came up and bathed Morganville in one last, shining day.