with Ronan for his careless actions today, he still didn’t like anyone accusing him of not understanding his brother. He understood Ronan better than anyone, at times probably even better than Ronan himself, so he found himself unjustifiably, but vehemently, defending his statement. “You might be his new boyfriend, Michael, but I’m Ronan’s brother.”
“Why are you so jealous of our relationship?” The words spat out of Michael’s mouth so quickly, he couldn’t stop them if he’d wanted to.
“I’m not jealous!”
Michael took a few steps closer to Ciaran’s bed, his legs shaking slightly. “Yes, you are! You have been since the first night I told you I met him outside the cathedral.”
He just couldn’t keep his composure any longer, he just couldn’t. Ciaran flung the magazine across the room and bounded right up to Michael, his legs quite steady. “I know you think you know everything and I know you’re damned pleased with yourself! You swoop into a new school, snag yourself a boyfriend within days, make the bloody swim team! But I’m telling you, Michael, you don’t know anything. Ronan is not like you and me! Go ahead and ask him yourself and see what he says!”
Unnerved by Ciaran’s outburst, but refusing to back down, Michael shouted back, “Maybe I’ll do just that! And then we’ll see who Ronan chooses!” Needing to escape, Michael found himself racing down the steps, two at a time, Ciaran shouting something after him, something that he couldn’t hear, possibly because his own voice was still screaming in his head.
“Go outside! See if I care!” Ciaran shouted from the top of the stairs. He ran back into his room, slamming the door behind him, but then remembered the promise he’d made to Ronan, to watch after Michael and help keep him safe. Cursing his inability to go back on his word to Ronan, he ran outside into the cold night air to rescue his brother’s boyfriend, hoping he wasn’t too late.
Just as he rounded past St. Jerome’s, Michael thought he heard a cry, muffled, but definitely a cry. He stopped in his tracks and for the first time saw that it was quite dark tonight; the stars seemed to be hiding, the moonlight lost behind the clouds. He listened, but the only thing he could hear was his own breathing, growing more rapid by the second. He turned to head back home and heard the same sound again. This time there was no question, it was a cry. Someone or some thing was in trouble.
He started walking back toward St. Peter’s, his body moving in a straight line, but his head frantically moving from side to side to try and take in the entire campus at once. Then he heard a twig snap from the weight of someone stepping on it; at least that’s what it sounded like to him.
Slowly he turned around but didn’t see anything, even though two people saw him.
Behind him was Ciaran, arms crossed, shaking a bit in his thin pajamas, and in front of him, hidden by the bulk of a dead deer, was Nakano. Unaware that Ciaran was a short distance away, Nakano made a split-second decision and decided to accept this offering from fate. He wiped the deer’s blood from his mouth and started walking toward Michael. But Michael couldn’t see him because in an instant he was covered by fog.
Not again, Nakano thought. What the hell is going on?! The fog moved quickly, encompassing Michael and the surrounding area and stopping only when it reached Nakano’s feet. Enraged that once again, this fog, this barrier that had to be the result of some supernatural force, was blocking him, was getting in the way of his taking Michael, he lashed out, punching the fog with his fists. This time the fog was denser and Nakano’s hands couldn’t even penetrate the mist. He punched, but once they hit the gray smoke, his fist bounced back. It didn’t hurt; it was like he was punching a soft, rubbery surface. No matter how many times he hit it, he couldn’t pass through.
From where Ciaran was standing, he could see everything. He saw the fog appear out of nowhere, rise, and engulf Michael and then he saw Nakano repeatedly punch the fog, unable to pierce the smoke. None of it made sense, except that to Ciaran in a dark, twisted way, it made perfect sense. “What have you people done now?” he asked the cold night air. And then he simply turned and walked home. Most people who had witnessed something so strange, who knew that a vampire, disgruntled and violent, was only a few yards away, would run at full speed, silently praying that they would make it safely home, but not Ciaran. He wasn’t afraid. He had his reasons that to some wouldn’t make any sense, but at least he was able to walk back to his dorm without fear. Whatever would happen to Michael was out of his control. But no matter what happened, at least he knew he’d tried to protect him.
Jeremiah was of the same mind. He looked down at Alistair sprawled on the ground before the Archangel Academy gate and gave him a little kick to wake him up. He had done everything Brania had asked him to do and had earned his gift. He made sure Alistair fed, he brought him back home, he even got him cleaned up since the chap was starting to smell, but he drew the line at putting him to bed. He was a driver, not a manservant. So before he drove off, he simply made sure that Alistair was standing. Whatever happened next was out of his control; he had done everything he could to get the man home safely.
His eyes flickered to adjust to the moonlight after staring into the strong headlights of the sedan. Alistair looked around and for the first time in days he felt safe. He was home. He didn’t fully remember where he had been, but he was once again among things that felt familiar. Suddenly, the wind howled and blew through Alistair, carrying his scent into the air and to Nakano. The boy breathed in deeply and was uncertain at first, but then, yes, he recognized the smell. Giving up on trying to break through the fog and reach Michael, he turned and ran toward what he recognized.
When he reached the headmaster’s cottage, he saw Alistair in the distance grab hold of the gate and pull it open. He then saw the electric current rip through his body, volt after volt of electricity pulsing through his skin, his body lighting up like a white-hot flame. But what surprised him even more was how gently Alistair closed the gate and continued walking toward his home. He was unhurt, completely unharmed by the burst of electricity that should have rendered him lifeless.
Nakano was in shock. “So they didn’t kill you, they just turned you into one of us.”
chapter 16
The thunderstorm took both boys by surprise.
When Michael left Professor McLaren’s British literature class, the only clouds that spotted the sky were large and white, hardly ominous-looking. But by the time he passed St. Jerome’s, they had turned dark gray, the sky behind them murky, shadowy, and not the clear blue it was just moments earlier. Before the first raindrop fell, thunder clapped from somewhere deep within the sky to announce the arrival of a sudden storm. And when Ronan grabbed Michael’s arm and pulled him under the awning behind St. Joshua’s, they were both soaking wet.
“Is everything in this place unexpected?” Michael asked.
“Only the good stuff,” Ronan replied with a grin.
The stone canopy over the library’s basement entrance was small, only a few feet wide, but large enough to give the boys shelter from the rain, and desolate, so it gave them privacy in the middle of a busy school day. Ronan ran his fingers through his hair, slicking back the loose strands so he looked like he just emerged from the pool. Drenched and alive.
A stream of rain slid down his nose, lingering at the tip to become a drop before falling and bursting onto Michael’s lips. Ronan grabbed Michael’s neck and felt the heat emanating from the boy despite the chill in the air and pressed his lips to his, not kissing him at first, just tasting the rain, but quickly the rain was forgotten and all Ronan knew was that he was quite unexpectedly alone with his boyfriend and he wanted to take full advantage of the moment.
His other hand found Michael’s waist and pushed him closer to him. Michael closed his eyes and did what he did whenever he was this close to Ronan whether in real life or in a dream: He succumbed, he kissed Ronan back, amazed that each time he did, the sensation was the same, yet different. His lips were always full and soft, his body always strong and hard, but today his skin smelled like rain, deliciously cool rain. Michael pulled away, just for an instant, to kiss another drop of rain that had gathered at the tip of Ronan’s nose, but Ronan wasn’t done; he wanted more.
As the rain pounded all around them, pummeling the grass, bouncing off the stones over their heads, Ronan pushed Michael harder against the door and pressed himself into him. Michael groaned, but the sound was lost as Ronan, unable to control his passion, pushed his tongue into Michael’s mouth. The boys kissed deeply and held on
