face and latch on to him, almost as if it were pulling him down deeper, deeper, deeper into the earth to help his attacker. Feeling pieces of snow and ice invade his nostrils, his mouth, he tried to breathe, but felt no air, only fear.
Involuntarily, Michael screamed. No sound was heard, but his mouth opened wide enough to allow more ice to clog his throat. Knowing its victim was panicking, Michael’s unseen attacker pushed down even harder until his lips tasted dirt, and then moved his head forward turning him into a human bulldozer so his mouth would collect the stones and twigs that lay just beneath the snow’s surface. Finally, Michael closed his mouth, but it was too late, he was beginning to suffocate.
Pressing his forehead and his hands into the ground, he arched his back and slowly started to rise, but the weight on top of him was immense. Finally, his mouth was a few inches above the snow and he coughed, spitting out the pieces of earth that were trying to lodge themselves in his throat. Saliva and ice dripped from his mouth and he was able to catch a few quick breaths before being pushed back down.
In the blackness, he smelled a cloud of sweet breath envelop him and he blinked his eyes when he felt long strands of hair fall on his cheeks, mingle with his eyelashes. He kept his mouth closed and his chin up as the palms of his hands dug into the hard ground, his body pushing back against his assailant. No, he was not going to give in, he was not going to be turned into a coward, a victim. No matter what anyone thought about him, no matter what Nakano thought, what his grandfather thought, or his father, or yes, even Ronan, he was strong and he could defend himself and he was going to prove it. He wanted this person off of him and he wanted this person off of him now!
“GET . . . OFF . . . OF . . . ME!”
Using every ounce of strength in his body, mortal and immortal, Michael threw his arms back and at the same time jumped to his feet, his knees bending awkwardly. Still, he was standing and that was a good start. Blinded by the darkness, Michael swung his arm with all the speed he could muster until it connected with hard flesh, he heard his opponent crash into the ground, followed by the sounds of a bone cracking, maybe two. He had done it, he had fought back, and by the sound of it, he had fought back well. His freedom, though well earned was short-lived. The body, regardless of how badly hurt, was on him once again. But this time was different. This time Michael was ready.
Less than a second after he felt the arm wrap around his throat, his fangs were burrowed within its flesh. Instead of clamping down and sucking out the blood as he usually did with his monthly victims, he dragged his mouth down the length of the arm toward its wrist, his fangs creating two deep gashes in the skin. The resulting cry was both high-pitched and guttural. Michael couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, but he knew that whoever or whatever it was, it was in agony.
The screams vibrated within the small space, and the sound of their echoes buoyed Michael, made him stronger. Maintaining his grip despite the taste of foul blood that was filling his mouth, he tossed his head from side to side like a wild animal unwilling to allow its prey to escape, flinging his attacker into one side of the fog and then the other. Thud after thud penetrated the darkness as Michael’s assailant-turned-victim crashed into the fog that was now as dense as cement, its ear-piercing wails blending with Michael’s feral grunts and roars to create a horrific sound, a sound that to Michael was a pronouncement of victory. His celebration was premature, however, as the fog yet again resumed its unpredictable nature.
A blast of moonlight flooded the makeshift fortress as part of the fog’s wall disintegrated. Startled by the intrusion, Michael turned toward the light, releasing his fangs from the ravaged flesh. He heard his opponent scamper into the darkness that still covered the far side of their prison, but before he could see its face, the fog flooded back, solidified once again, concealing them from the light of the night sky. Something was definitely wrong with Phaedra. But it didn’t matter now, Michael thought; he didn’t need her. He could rely on himself.
Lunging forward, Michael’s webbed hands grabbed on to something, something odd, smooth yet bumpy. It wasn’t clothing, maybe jewelry, yes, that was it. He yanked at the chain or the necklace or whatever it was, but as he did, the person pulled back, making Michael lose his balance, and when he fell, he heard something crack underneath him, something like glass. Then he felt something sharp against his neck. The fangs pricked his skin quickly; they didn’t penetrate deeply enough to suck out much blood, but Michael did feel droplets of blood ooze out onto his skin. Immediately, he felt cloth, like a scarf or a napkin, brush against his neck as if wiping away the blood, cleansing the wound. When he opened his eyes, he was momentarily blinded by the light of the moon that was shining in his face.
“Michael, are you all right?”
For a second Michael forgot that he had just been fighting for his life. Ronan looked positively ethereal, what with the moon glowing behind him and the soft wisps of fog uncurling all around his face. But if Ronan was here, he could also be in danger. “Watch out!” Jumping up, Michael positioned himself in front of Ronan in an effort to protect him, but protect him from whom? From what? There was no one else around. “Did you see anybody?!”
“No, when the fog lifted you were alone,” Ronan said extending his hand to quell Michael’s shaking body.
Michael slapped his hand away. “That can’t be! Someone was trapped in the fog with me.”
Two pairs of vampire eyes scoured The Forest for a hint of a preternatural presence, an animal, even a human, but couldn’t find a trace of anyone or anything. Ronan saw that Michael’s clothes were stained and covered in dirt, his beautiful face marred by a few small bruises that ran from his cheek to his jaw. His neck had a slight puncture wound that was already starting to heal, and while he was relieved that he was relatively unharmed, he was furious that he had acted so foolishly and put himself in danger yet again. “Why the hell are you out here in the middle of the night?!” Ronan shouted, his fear and anger making him unable to remain calm. When was he going to learn?
“I had a dream.”
And when was he going to stop blaming everything on a dream? “Oh, come on, Michael! Not another bloody dream.”
“No, no, it was more than a dream.”
“Well, was it a dream or wasn’t it a dream?!”
Why is he yelling at me? Doesn’t he know what I’ve just been through? Why doesn’t he understand? “It was more like a journey.”
Swiping the air with his clenched fists, Ronan started to pace back and forth, pounding the snow with his bare feet. “First a dream, then a journey! Next you’re going to tell me that you were visited by the dead and were shown some extraordinary vision!”
He does understand, he does know what I’m going through. “Yes! That’s exactly right!”
Stopping in his tracks, Ronan’s chest heaved several times, his breath shooting from his lips to form funnels of white smoke. “Michael, I love you.” Ronan then took a step closer toward Michael. His mouth formed a word, but he didn’t speak. He tried again, but clearly he couldn’t find the right word. Leaning into his boyfriend, his index finger poking the air in front of his face repeatedly, violently, he finally managed to find the correct words to convey what was on his mind. “But you’re really starting to piss me off!”
This is insane! After everything I’ve seen, after everything I’ve been through, now I have to deal with this? “I’m telling you the truth, Ronan! Imogene came into our room tonight.”
That name changed everything. “Imogene?”
“She really is dead,” Michael said, his voice cracking slightly at the announcement. “I don’t know how, but I could feel it.”
Ronan truly felt sorry for the girl. He liked Imogene, and he knew that however she died, it was not pleasant or deserved, but he couldn’t focus on her death or her resurrection at the moment, he needed to find out what she showed Michael, what was so important that she had to lure him out into The Forest before the break of dawn. Luckily, Michael needed to explain what had happened to him as badly as Ronan needed to hear it. “She showed me a vision of my parents. I saw my mother and father in the same ocean that I first dreamed about you.”
At the mention of Michael’s parents, Ronan felt his skin tingle. It was an odd sensation, curious, but Ronan knew that the body often sensed things before the mind could comprehend them. His body was telling him that Michael’s dream, vision, journey, whatever, was not a kind, otherworldly gift, but an occurrence that could only have a devastating consequence. “Your parents? Are you sure?”
“Of course I am!” Michael replied. “I’m sorry if you don’t want to believe me, but that’s what
