Michael studied Ronan’s face. He is serious; he isn’t asking hypothetically or in terms of fantasy. Oh, don’t be ridiculous; of course he is; he has to be. And yet there was something in his eyes, something that made Michael believe Ronan really was asking a serious question. That is one of the reasons I love him, Michael thought. He’s so completely different, so unpredictable. Filled with romantic notions and unusual concepts, his mind is just as attractive as the rest of him.
“Would you accept such a gift?” Ronan asked, pressing him further.
For many reasons, some understood, some unknown, Michael was compelled to give an honest answer. He took a moment, not that he needed one. He knew the answer before he was even asked the question. “If it meant I could spend every day with you,” Michael replied, “then yes.” The idea, the absolutely incredible idea, filled Michael with unspeakable joy. “Yes, Ronan, I would embrace immortality with my heart and soul.”
Once again the cathedral was flooded with sunshine, glorious sunshine that announced a new day, a new beginning. Ronan had the answer he was looking for. “Then so be it.”
His face, awash with the glow of the sun and his own happiness, looked from one statue to another of saint and archangel and deity, and silently Ronan told them that soon they would be able to add one more to their group. Michael was lost in his own thoughts, trying to imagine what it would be like to spend eternity with Ronan. In one of the small inlays built into the side of the cathedral, he saw a statute of St. Michael. In his mind he called out to him, What’s it like to never die? A few hours later, Michael was asking much less complicated questions.
“Are you sure they’re okay with this?”
Walking past Michael with a box of Nakano’s personal things, Ronan kissed him quickly on his cheek. “They both agreed. You and Nakano should switch rooms so we can be together.”
Still a bit doubtful, Michael hesitated to start unpacking the suitcase he had plopped onto Ronan’s bed. “And Nakano really doesn’t mind moving in with Ciaran?”
Ronan grabbed Michael’s hand and made him sit next to him on the bed. Looking at him now, beautiful and breathless, Ronan couldn’t wait for tonight. “Believe it or not, it was Nakano’s idea. He can be a wise laddie when he wants to be, and he figured you’d be spending a lot more nights here so he decided the practical thing was for you and him to switch rooms.”
Living with my boyfriend, life couldn’t really get any more perfect, any more different from what it used to be, Michael thought, unless it was somehow against the rules. “What if Hawksbry finds out? Doesn’t the academy have a rule against this sort of thing?”
Despite the recent tragedy, laughter came so easily now, now that he’d made the decision for them. “You mean this sort of thing?” Ronan knocked Michael over onto his side and then crawled on top of him, ravishing his lips and neck with kisses, tickling the sides of his stomach. “Fraternization among the students.” Squirming underneath Ronan, Michael was giggling so hard he could hardly catch his breath, let alone speak.
Soon laughter turned into passion, so Michael gave up trying to protest, trying to explain himself more fully, knowing it was no use. He wanted to be here on Ronan’s bed, in Ronan’s room, in Ronan’s life, just as much as Ronan wanted him to be. Maybe it was Penry’s sudden death, affirmation that the future was unreliable, that made them want to be together as much as possible. Michael didn’t really know, but he wasn’t going to fight it.
After their need to kiss waned, they silently shifted position so they were spooning, Ronan behind Michael, their legs bent, hands clasped, Ronan’s arm underneath Michael’s head, his biceps doubling as a pillow. Breathing in Ronan’s scent, Michael realized he no longer needed dreams; his had come true. Just before he fell asleep in his boyfriend’s arms, he made special thanks to Nakano for understanding that Michael and Ronan were meant to be and that he would have to move on.
Michael had no idea that moving on was the furthest thing from Nakano’s mind.
Brania’s heels clicked against the damp concrete floor as she paced, every few steps or so turning to study the boy. She could not believe that he had triumphed where she had failed. He had come up with a solution, a good one in fact, for this pesky fog nuisance, before she even had any ideas. She was not pleased with herself. She had gotten too caught up with the thought of dealing with Edwige head-on instead of the problem itself, but her father was pleased and therefore so was she. She would give recompense where it was due, learn from this mistake, and reap the benefits from its successful implementation. It was, in the words of today’s crass younger set, all good.
For once, Nakano waited patiently for her to speak. He didn’t try to interrupt her thoughts or barrage her with questions; he remained quiet and waited for the praise that was sure to come.
“I’m impressed,” Brania declared. “Yesterday I thought you were a complete idiot, but today you show promise.”
Just what I thought, but then Nakano heard the full meaning of her words. “Hey, wait a minute.”
Interrupting him, Brania continued, “This really is an excellent plan. Allow them to live together, allow them to think that you support their cohabitation, their coming together, and give them a false sense of security.”
“Why did you think I was an idiot?!”
It was as if Nakano never spoke. Brania just kept pacing and thinking out loud. “This fog you mentioned has only appeared outside. Now that you’ve given up your home so Michael and Ronan can have their own little love nest, they have no reason to meet outdoors. The fog should no longer be a factor.” Abruptly stopping, Brania pointed her finger at Nakano. “You need to remember this day.”
Nakano couldn’t resist. “For what? Not being an idiot?”
For the first time in quite a while, Brania laughed. The booming sound bounced off the stone walls and echoed throughout the room. She reminded herself that she should try and stop being so harsh with the underlings; yesterday she loathed his words, today they amused her. What a godsend that her immortality was still capable of being filled with new lessons. “It’s the day you made Father forever grateful.”
Unable to feel humility, Nakano thought it was about time that someone, even someone as powerful as Brania’s father, recognized his superiority. “Sounds like we should celebrate,” Nakano suggested.
By the time she crossed the room, Brania had let her emerald green cashmere sweater fall to the floor, revealing her soft white arms, the veins underneath her skin so pronounced and blue they looked like a tattoo of intertwining strings of barbed wire. When she reached Nakano, she could see the hungry look in his eyes. They were black and glistening. His fangs, driven by instinct, were already hanging over his lips; at the end of one, a small bubble of saliva had formed, which burst when it grew too big.
“A gift from me to you,” Brania said, as Nakano knelt before her. “Once you make Michael one of my Father’s disciples, my blood will always be yours.”
Savagely, Nakano bit into Brania’s flesh. Torrents of pain coursed up her arm, past her shoulder, and ripped through her brain. “Slowly!!” Pitching forward, Brania grabbed on to Nakano’s shoulder to prevent herself from toppling over, which only resulted in the boy gnawing deeper into her skin. Commanding all her strength, Brania stood erect, her eyes focused only on the stone wall in front of her. It’s almost over, she told herself. She would allow the boy to feed; the pain was worth it if he could carry out her father’s wishes. But if he failed, then she would never allow his disgusting mouth to ever touch her again.
As Nakano drank more and more of Brania’s blood, Alistair felt pangs of jealousy, sharp and poisonous, pierce his heart. Or where his heart used to be. He had no idea if he still had one. He knew that he was no longer human, he couldn’t be, not after the things that he’d done, so the chances of his still having a heart were slim. Then again he just wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure about anything since the night they came into his office and dragged him away, stripped him
of his clothes, his dignity, and tossed him in the trunk of that car. What happened to him that night and in the following days, he couldn’t say, but instinctively, he knew those days were best forgotten. What he did know was that he was no longer the same man. He was no longer a man even, but a thing, a monster who craved blood and death. He was constantly afraid of them, of himself, of what else could possibly happen to him, and he didn’t know how much longer he could live with this fear.
He knelt before Penry’s makeshift memorial, before the mound of flowers and notes the students had left their friend, and he bowed his head to pray. “Our Father” was all Alistair could get out before his throat burned, a surge of acid swirling up from his stomach. “Our Father … Who art in heaven!” He felt another burst of heat scorch the roof of his mouth and his tongue. It felt like the inside of his mouth was charred. Falling to the ground he dug at the earth, ripping out handfuls of dirt, dry and yellow-brown, and said the words silently, fearfully, as the acid continued to burn away at his mouth. What in heaven’s name is happening to me?!
He thought he was going to pass out from the pain right there among Penry’s farewell flowers until he smelled salvation. Like the skilled predator he was becoming, he froze and slowly turned his head toward the scent. He saw the rabbit before it saw him, its white fur standing out like a beacon among the greens and browns of The Forest. Sprinting toward it with the speed of a gazelle, Alistair pounced on it before it could even choose a direction in which to flee. In the next moment, his fangs had pierced the flesh that was hidden by the snow-white fur and finally a warm stream of blood cooled his burning throat. Sitting on his haunches, he leaned back, holding the animal in his hands, and sucked down the blood until there was none left to drink. When he was finished he placed the rabbit gently on a dried patch of dead grass, its fur now pink in places, and he wept. One animal for another.
This was what it feels like to be swept away by passion, to give in to basic animal instinct. Michael could not believe how crazy, how incredibly wild, Ronan was making him feel. There wasn’t a part of his body that Ronan hadn’t touched or tasted, not an inch of his imagination that he hadn’t ignited with his words—some rough, most tender—and not a piece of his heart that he hadn’t embraced with the love that he so easily offered him.
“This is amazing,” Michael said, breathing heavily. Ronan lifted his head from the cleft in Michael’s chest. “And this is just the beginning.”
Outside their window, Nakano watched. Brania had suggested he give Michael and Ronan a night to get settled, to become complacent, but Nakano never liked taking orders from a girl. Girls think, guys act. So for the past hour, he had been watching, and finally the time had come. He knew what was happening. He knew how Ronan smelled when he was excited; he had smelled it many times before. Well, once or twice, and never as pungent, never as strong as it was now. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Michael obviously stirred a fire that lay deep within Ronan, a place Nakano never touched, never even knew existed. For a moment, he weakened, remembering how much he enjoyed being held by Ronan, being where Michael was right now. But no. That was the past and this is my future. My future is not with Ronan; he has made that perfectly clear. My future is with Them, my kind. And as soon as I destroy your future, Ronan, mine will begin.
Before he lifted one foot, however, Nakano saw it coming. The fog, soft and gray, materialized out of nowhere. “No! Not again!”
The small cloud of gray mist swirled in front of the door of St. Florian’s, moving almost in slow motion, teasing Nakano with its laconic approach. But as expected, it quickly expanded, fanning out toward the sides of the building and up toward the sky, gaining momentum with every second until the lower half of the building was engulfed by the thick gray fog. Nakano thought his head was going to explode. This is not happening to me again! Not when I am so close to showing everyone what I’m capable of!
Using all his preternatural speed, Nakano raced toward the fog, determined to break through it this time, crash through this aberrant barrier, this abnormal obstruction, and enter the fog so he could pull Michael away from Ronan before he could start the transformation. But when he hit the cloud, it was as if he hit a brick wall. He heard the bone snap a few seconds before he fell to the ground.
His left arm went limp as he tried to push himself off the ground, and once again he was facedown in the grass. For a moment he thought he could circumvent the fog by crawling under it, but it appeared to tunnel down into the earth. The fist that he could still use, he slammed into the ground, burrowing a hole a few inches deep. “What the hell is going on?!” He looked up just in time to see Ronan’s window vanish as the fog continued its rise, not stopping until the whole of St. Florian’s disappeared into the night.
Eyes half closed, Michael didn’t notice that moonlight was replaced by shadow. All he noticed was that it had been several minutes since he had kissed Ronan’s mouth. He grabbed a handful of hair and brought Ronan’s head to his so he could set things right; he needed to taste him. He also needed him to make a vow. “Promise me this will never end,” Michael panted. “Promise me it’ll be like this forever.”
Ronan felt the familiar tingle in his mouth. “Is that what you want, Michael?”
His eyes are so bright, it’s like they’re shining, Michael thought. “Yes! Yes!” Closing his own eyes he continued to explore Ronan’s body in the darkness, knowing that release was so close, so near.
“I will not let you win!” Nakano bellowed at the fog that stood between himself and his destiny. He grabbed his left wrist and twisted his arm, bones creaking loudly, then he twisted it in the opposite direction. He clenched his fist and bent his elbow, good as new.
Running a few yards back until he reached the sprawling oak tree, he made another sprint toward the mist. This time, however, instead of trying to break through, he jumped up, hoping that the top of the fog would be easier to penetrate. He was wrong.
When he was a foot above the fog’s highest point, he leapt forward, but instead of falling through the cloud, he found that the top was just as dense as the section below. Standing on top of the fog, he knew Ronan and Michael were less than ten feet below. Incensed by the unexplained phenomenon, Nakano howled into the night with the force of a banshee because he knew that he was too late.
Filled with the pureness of love, Ronan held the back of Michael’s head tightly and followed The Well’s command, followed the command of their own hearts, and plunged his fangs into Michael’s neck. Michael’s eyes opened wide as he gasped in ecstasy, clawing at Ronan’s back, his shoulders, as a violent burst of passion ripped through his body and odd visions flooded his brain.
Image after image passed over his mind’s eye. He was standing naked before an ocean; he was diving deeper, deeper, deeper until the blue water was almost black; he was drinking from a well, kissing Ronan, pressing his hand against his. What was wrong with his hand? It didn’t look normal.
In Ronan’s mind, however, everything looked perfectly natural, even though the images were new, never before seen. Michael walking down a hallway in Two W by himself, Michael sitting next to an old man in a pickup truck, Michael alone in his bedroom in Weeping Water, Michael looking out the window at the flooded path that separated him from his destiny. Then the sun shining intensely, the path dry and clear, Michael walking, walking, walking toward something, his eyes bright, his mouth smiling, parting to reveal chiseled fangs, stopping only to embrace Ronan, to pierce the smooth white flesh of his neck.
Another shock wave flooded Michael’s body. He couldn’t believe the power of the sensation. And neither could Ronan. The blood tasted sweeter and more intoxicating than any he had ever tasted. Warm, free-flowing, and exquisite. Because he wasn’t just tasting Michael’s blood, he wasn’t just feeding, he was acquiring his essence, all the emotions, all the history, every intangible quality that made Michael special, so he could offer it to The Well. He was tasting Michael’s soul.
When it was
over, the boys shivered in each other’s arms. Neither one knew how to express what he was feeling, so they just held on to each other, both wondering how in the world they ever got so lucky to wind up in each other’s embrace. Their sleep came quickly and was deep and uninterrupted.
But when Michael opened his eyes to the morning light, he felt them burn, and then his body started to convulse, and he knew something was terribly, terribly wrong.
chapter 20
“Ronan.”
The name escaped Michael’s lips like a plea. He tried again to open his eyes, but the second they met a piece of light, they burned like they were on fire. “Ronan!”
Hearing the fear before the words, Ronan woke up and instantly knew what to do. He shut the blinds, blocking out the sun’s rays, cursing himself for not doing it last night in preparation for this morning, but he had forgotten. It was just that last night was so thrilling, so unexpected even for him, the connection between him and Michael so strong, that it truly was more powerful than anything he had ever felt before, and he forgot to make the proper preparations. But their night of passion was behind them and today there was work to be done.
Frightened, Michael tried to sit up in bed but felt weak. It was as if the room, with him in it, was spinning downward, spiraling down a well, to some place where it was dark and cool. “Ronan, I think I’m sick,” Michael said, barely able to get out the words, his throat so dry. “Take me … take me to the infirmary.”
Rushing to his side, Ronan clutched Michael’s hands, his beautiful, immortal hands, and told him he wasn’t sick; this was all part of the transformation. What did he say? Michael couldn’t quite hear him. “No … no, I’m not right.” He paused so he could gain the strength to speak further. “My eyes … and my throat.”
“Don’t be afraid,” Ronan said, wiping a bit of sweat from Michael’s brow. “It’s completely natural.” Rummaging through a drawer of his dresser, Ronan found his sunglasses, the same pair he wore when he was first converted, and placed them on Michael’s face. “There, that’ll help your eyes.” He kissed Michael’s cold cheek but could feel the fire just beneath his skin. “It’ll be over soon, trust me.”
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