yet to feel. Nakano felt his own head pound just thinking about it, just thinking about taking this fool away from Ronan. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, he knew Brania wouldn’t be pleased by his taking action so soon and against her wishes, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t thinking with his brain any longer; an opportunity had presented itself and Nakano was not about to let it pass by.
Looking around, Michael didn’t see Nakano quickly hide behind an oak tree; he didn’t see anything, nothing that would help give him back his sense of direction. Not that it mattered, because suddenly he was very tired and felt the need to rest before he could continue on. He entered The Forest, causing Nakano to stifle a shout of victory. “Could this be any more perfect?” he asked himself. Michael sat on the ground and leaned against a thick tree trunk, his head nestling into a groove in the bark, and closed his eyes. He didn’t see the fog swiftly envelop him, but Nakano did.
Nakano watched in amazement as the crisp, clear night changed in an instant. It didn’t make sense. The fog, dark gray and dense, seemed to originate from where Michael sat and then spread out like an oil spill or a fire, quickly and randomly, until it reached a few inches in front of Nakano. “What the hell is going on?!” He flailed his arms in front of himself to try and swipe the fog away, but that was no use. It was more substantial than air; it didn’t thin out when he passed his arms through it. He stepped into the fog, but that only made matters worse, which made even less sense to him. Usually it’s easier to see within a fog than from outside of it, but this was different. He was inside, part of the mist, and yet he still couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, let alone where Michael was resting.
Blindly he took a few steps but crashed face-first into a tree. Furious, he pushed at it and could hear its roots tear apart from the ground below, but he couldn’t see his accomplishment; all he saw was blackness. “Michael, where are you!?” he called out. Nothing. He cried out again, but it was as if the fog even blocked his words, as if they were being swallowed up by cement the moment they came out of his mouth. Something’s wrong, he thought. And then he stopped moving entirely, fear gripping his small frame. It has to be Brania. She has to know what I’m doing and she’s making me stop.
Once that seed was planted, all thoughts of devouring Michael and destroying the connection between him and Ronan were gone. All he wanted to do was get out of the fog and back into the security of the night. He felt the uprooted tree and turned around, arms out in front of him, as he slowly, deliberately placed one foot in front of the other and started to walk back toward the night to escape the fog. He stopped only when his hands touched a body.
Nakano felt powerful again. Even though he couldn’t see Michael, he felt him and then he grabbed him so his back was pressing in against his chest, and his hand was covering his mouth. Not that Michael’s screams would be heard; the fog made sure of that. Nakano howled with laughter. The very trick Brania used to try and protect Michael would ensure his eternal enslavement. Before he unleashed his blood-hungry fangs, he made a silent apology. “Forgive me, Brania, for I am about to sin.” Then he allowed his fangs to penetrate the flesh they so desperately craved.
One delightful bite and the ripe blood passed from victim to predator. Nakano wanted to feed, feed, feed until there was no more blood, but even in his wild state, he knew he couldn’t; his trophy needed to remain alive. Forcing himself to stop, he released his hold and let his fangs slowly slide out of the abused flesh. Delirious, Nakano stumbled forward, falling to the ground, and finally emerged from the dark fog. Underneath the moon’s glow he knelt and turned his prey over to make sure he was still breathing.
He was stunned to see that his prey was Penry.
chapter 12
High above the ground the meadowlark rested on a narrow branch and watched Michael. It was impressed. The boy had traveled quite far, he had a much farther distance to go, but he’d begun, and beginning was always the most difficult. Thirsty, the lark dipped its beak into a dewdrop that clung to a leaf and drank, drank, drank until the drop was gone and the leaf dry. It sang a few notes, da-da-DAH-da, da-da-da, sang again, and waited until Michael was no longer alone. When the lark saw the other boy kneel down next to him, it knew it could carry on with its own journey. Michael would be safe and so it flew off, its yellow feathers nearly lost in the morning sunshine.
The first thing Ronan did was look at Michael’s neck, first one side, then the other. They were both unscarred, just smooth, heavenly flesh, and Ronan felt great relief. He bowed his head to murmur “thank you,” holding back tears. But when he lifted his head and looked again at Michael’s face, he felt an urge overcome him. No! Please, God, no! Against his will, his fangs descended and his eyes brightened and only one thought consumed him, the thought that in seconds he would taste Michael’s blood. Valiantly he fought the feeling, tried to shake it off, but he couldn’t, and he knew why: He was too close to his Day of Feeding. Unlike Nakano, Brania, and the others like them, Ronan and his kind had to feed only once a month. One glorious and fulfilling monthly feeding. Because it was less frequent, it was almost ceremonial, but it was still about need, and definitely about hunger. And right now, looking at Michael, asleep and dangerously handsome, Ronan was hungry.
He turned Michael’s face to the side to fully reveal his neck. Ronan could almost see through the skin, into the vein, and to his blood underneath, alive and flowing. He bent forward and the smell, a mixture of Michael’s skin and blood, was enthralling. Ronan closed his eyes and breathed in deeper. He bent lower still and traced the vein with the tips of his fangs, lazily, back and forth, just connecting with the skin. Then he let them travel across Michael’s jaw, over the curvature of his lips, to the height of his cheekbones. The desire to feed had never been this strong and it frightened Ronan; he thought it might consume him. He felt his fangs vibrate, a sign that they were ready, and all he wanted to do was devour Michael right here, right now, with The Forest and sun as the only witnesses. But then Michael opened his eyes.
The sunlight was so strong, Michael had to blink. He thought he saw an animal and by instinct he clawed at the earth, clutching at the grass frantically, and started to scramble to his feet to get away from the thing. It grabbed him at the ankle, it felt like a hand, and then it took hold of his wrist. No. No! He twisted violently but couldn’t break free. What was this thing?! He collected a mouthful of fear and let out a scream, hoping it might frighten the animal, but no, its grip only tightened. Finally, he looked into its eyes. “Ronan?!”
Michael quickly took in his surroundings and, perplexed, saw that he was outside, near The Forest. Off in the distance he could see the windows of St. Sebastian’s. Panting and confused, he took a moment to realize he wasn’t being attacked by some wild animal, he was being held by his boyfriend. Confusion quickly turned to happiness. “Ronan, what’s going on?”
Hesitant, Ronan clutched his mouth with his hand and was relieved not to feel his fangs protruding over his lips. It did make sense that they appeared of their own volition; his Day of Feeding was tomorrow morning, but it was a close call. He wasn’t yet ready to reveal himself to Michael and he knew that before he did, he would have to explain certain things to him. His kind weren’t the vampires of common legend; their history was more complicated. But for now he felt the need to keep things simple. “I found you out here asleep.”
“Asleep?” Michael asked in disbelief.
Ronan nodded his head. “I went to your dorm this morning and no one was there, then I checked St. Martha’s. I thought you might be having breakfast.”
Michael shook his head. “No, the last thing I remember, I went out looking for you last night after you left.”
“What?” Ronan didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but it was fear speaking. He knew that it was dangerous for Michael to walk the grounds at night without protection. In a much softer voice he asked, “You were looking for me?”
Michael let out a breath and started slowly, hoping he wouldn’t sound like an obsessed teenager. “Well, I didn’t like the way we left things last night. Not that anything bad happened. I just, well, I was hoping that it would have had a different ending.”
So was I, Michael, Ronan wanted to say, but instead he tried to make a joke. “Like you falling asleep in the woods?”
How could something like this have happened, Michael thought, and why do I feel so wonderful? It doesn’t feel like I spent the night on the cold, hard earth. “I have no idea how this happened. I remember losing my way a
