and, of course, all about Ronan. “And I would very much like to be yours.”
When Michael shook Edwige’s hand to cement their new relationship, a shiver ran down his spine. Regrettably, he assumed it was the result of a sudden wind instead of the warning that it was.
chapter 8
Ciaran thought he was alone. He didn’t know he had a visitor because he didn’t benefit from having a sixth sense, a preternatural ability to be aware of things he couldn’t see. But his movements, his demeanor, were all being studied, analyzed, as if he were the specimen he was looking at through his microscope.
His long, slender fingers deftly adjusted the blood sample that was squashed in between the two thin pieces of glass so that it lined up in the center of the lens. With his right hand he scribbled down notes without looking at the yellow lined pad:—hu was part of his own made-up code and wouldn’t make sense to anyone else, including the person watching him, but Ciaran knew it meant “not human.” He wasn’t surprised. When he swiped the bloodstained towel from Ronan and Michael’s bathroom sink, he expected this would be the result, no other outcome was possible. He was, however, hoping that it would be Michael’s blood he extracted from the towel, not a sample that he quickly recognized, not a sample that he had already analyzed several times before. Peering at the red blob through his lens, his scowl apparent even though most of his face was hidden by the microscope, he wrote R3 on the pad. Brania, with her extraordinary sight, was able to read it, but she didn’t understand that it translated to mean the third sample of blood he had acquired from Ronan.
An unexpected wave of jealousy enveloped her and for a brief moment she feared she would drown. He’s so studious, she thought. When she was a young girl, study was never considered necessary or appropriate for her sex, the female gender had other skills that had to be honed outside of the classroom. For a moment she wondered how different her life would be had she been allowed to become a student of science and mathematics instead of other subjects. Maybe she could officially enroll at St. Anne’s, take on a full schedule of classes, learn all about chemistry, algebra, and all the other more traditional subjects that had eluded her in her expansive lifetime. She did find their uniform to have a certain girlish charm. But no, a detour wasn’t realistic. How could she survive being confined to such a rigid schedule after centuries of freedom? And how could she even entertain a thought like this when her father needed her to help carry out his plan? Academics would have to wait. It was time for action.
“Ciaran,” Brania said softly from the front door, “do forgive me for interrupting your work.”
Startled, Ciaran looked up, his hand instinctively covering his cryptic notes. So she had finally come back. Took her long enough. At the end of last semester, Brania had waltzed into this very same lab with Nakano in tow and told him that her father wished to propose a business partnership. At the time, he had found the invitation enticing, dangerous but, ultimately, not legitimate. Until now. “Forgiveness is unnecessary,” Ciaran said, casually turning his pad facedown on the black granite countertop. “My lab is your lab.”
Of course, as long as I don’t take a peek at your notes. “That will make my father very happy,” Brania said. “You do remember Father’s proposition, don’t you?”
Ciaran felt his chest tighten, he knew it was an alert, his own body warning his mind, but he didn’t want to listen to caution any longer. Just where had that gotten him? He had tried to be reckless before, tried to force others to change his life, turn him into something that he was not, but even that didn’t work. He had to face the fact that alone he was weak; it was time to find a partner. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about,” Ciaran replied. “But I had begun to think that he had forgotten about me.”
Leisurely, Brania walked toward Ciaran. She knew she should quicken her pace, speed up this part of their meeting, but she loved the way her heels sounded clicking against the harsh laboratory floor. And Ciaran did look like he was enjoying the view; most heterosexual men did. She didn’t speak until she reached the opposite side of the lab from Ciaran. “How in the world could we forget someone as brilliant as you?” Placing her hands on the lab countertop, the white edges of her French-tipped manicure accenting perfectly against the black granite, Brania stared at Ciaran. The only things coming between them were the microscope and Ciaran’s anxious breathing. She might not have had a formal education, but she could teach a master class in seduction. “Or someone as handsome.”
“A combination blessed by providence.”
The melodious voice was familiar, but Ciaran couldn’t place it immediately. He saw an imposing figure standing in the doorway, but only when he stepped out of the shadows did he recognize who it was. “He-he- headmaster,” Ciaran stuttered. “What a surprise!”
“Why should it be a surprise?” Brania said, hoisting herself up so she could sit on the countertop, her bare legs dangling, swinging several feet from the floor. “Weren’t we just talking about my father?”
David extended his right leg, his foot angled slightly, toe pointed outward, and bowed from the waist. His suit, his whole physical appearance, looked to be the epitome of modern-day style, but his gesture, his character, was definitely from an earlier century. “You spoke and I have come,” David said, rising, his eyes meeting Ciaran’s perplexed gaze. “It’s as if your words conjured my presence.”
Brania’s father is the new headmaster? How could that be? he thought. Why hadn’t Ronan told him; why hadn’t he told anybody? He had to know about this. He and their mother lived with this man while Ciaran had been banished to one boarding school after the other, banished from Edwige’s sight. Obviously, Ronan was back to his old self, thinking that he was superior to everyone and that nobody needed to be privy to his secrets. “I knew there was something special about you, sir.”
How refreshing, David thought, to hear a comment spoken with honesty and not dripping in flattery. At his core, Ciaran was a logical boy, which suited David’s plans perfectly. Logic was always much easier to control than emotion. “I had the same feeling about you, young man.”
Brania watched Ciaran’s posture straighten just barely, but enough to realize that her father’s words were having their usual, positive effect. If she hadn’t so often been the recipient of David’s kindness, she would have envied this latest object of his affection even more, but she knew what it felt like to be complimented by this man, to feel his admiration, unexpected but so very appreciated. Even now whenever he praised her, whenever she heard his words of approval, they pierced her heart like his loving fangs had once pierced her neck. What she wasn’t used to, however, was being dismissed.
“You should leave us now,” David said.
His eyes still focused on Ciaran. It took Brania a moment to understand that her father was speaking to her. Still, unaccustomed to being told what to do, she didn’t move. When David spoke again, his eyes, if not his face, turned to address his daughter. “Are your ears not working properly?”
“Yes, but I . . .” The words caught in Brania’s throat, which was an entirely new sensation for her, far too unpleasant, far too human for her liking. “I thought it would serve us all best if I stayed to help answer any questions Ciaran may have in response to your request.”
“Well, my dear,” David said, his lips forming a tight smile, “you thought wrong.”
After a few moments of silence, it was clear that her father wasn’t going to speak again, and from the tone he had used, the tone that Brania had heard him employ often over the past few centuries while speaking to subjects, victims, those who inhabited the inferior classes, she knew that nothing she could say would appease him, and most likely her rudeness would infuriate him. Or worse, disappoint him. He was giving her an order and regardless how slighted, how upset it made her feel, she had been taught to comply. “As you prefer, Father.”
No one spoke as Brania walked toward the front door, allowing the room to be filled, unencumbered, by the sound of her clicking heels, a sound that she now hated, a sound that now accented her defeat. Outside, alone, Brania acknowledged that she did not enjoy feeling like a pawn. It was some comfort, however, knowing that Ciaran would soon feel the same way.
“Women are always trying to belong,” David said. “They simply cannot accept that they are not man’s equal. Don’t you agree?”
Ciaran didn’t agree actually. He always thought women were just as smart and as capable as men. And he knew firsthand from watching Edwige in action that women could also be physically stronger than men. But even though he believed in equality of the sexes, he was shocked to hear himself voice a contrasting opinion. “Yes,” Ciaran said firmly. “Women must accept their own subservience.”
