crashing to the floor with a thud—and wrapped it around Edwige’s shoulders. It was as if he had doused her body with gasoline; the flames exploded with more fury than ever, and Ronan and Michael had to step back from the heat that was blazing off of Edwige’s body. They were helpless to do anything except watch the fire engulf and consume her.
Unmoving, Edwige stood, staring into the eyes of her dead husband, movement, sound, salvation, all unattainable. She felt that the pain of both the past and the present were deserved, so she did nothing except look at her beloved Saxon until his image faded when the last piece of ash pierced her heart and fell onto the pile of cinders behind her. Only then were the flames extinguished; only then could Edwige finally feel what had been buried within Saxon’s soul: his undying and unconditional love. This knowledge, this unexpected gift that Saxon had loved her despite their years of separation and her duplicitous actions, was almost as blinding as the pain she had just been forced to bear, but at least it gave her renewed strength. “Get out.”
Her voice was quiet, but stern. Her body had returned to normal despite having been ravaged by the unnatural fire, and in fact the experience seemed to invigorate her. She no longer looked weak, vulnerable. She had her husband’s spirit inside of her, and that was all the strength she needed.
Ronan’s strength, however, had been drained by witnessing the horror he had caused. It fled his body, and if it hadn’t been for Michael pulling him from Vaughan’s apartment, he would not have been able to leave.
When the boys were gone, Vaughan bent down to help Edwige return Saxon’s scattered ashes, which were once again the colors of charcoaled flesh, to their resting place. It was not the wisest thing he had ever done.
“Do not touch my husband!” Edwige shrieked as she grabbed Vaughan’s wrist. It felt like his hand was caught in a steel vise. Only when Edwige was certain Vaughan would comply with her order did she let go of him. He lingered in the room for a few moments, but then felt as if he was intruding on a very private moment and retreated to the safety of his bedroom.
Alone, Edwige finished the task of returning Saxon’s ashes to the place they had called home for over a decade. She looked at a handful of ash and acknowledged that the pain had been worth it. She knew that underneath all the hatred, anger, and confusion, her husband still loved her as much as she loved him.
Ronan felt the same way. Sitting on his bed, Michael next to him, he knew that part of Michael was upset with him, no, stunned really, that he could act so violently toward his own mother. That he could watch her writhe in agony and not lift a finger to help her. But he also knew that Michael understood why he had been paralyzed. Not that long ago Michael had gone through the same thing—a combination of experiences that left him overcome with emotions, bombarded with conflicting feelings that he didn’t know how to handle.
Seeing Morgandy had stirred up old feelings that he had kept hidden, feelings of rage that he had been duped by his first boyfriend, who for some unknown reason wanted to destroy his people. And now after searching for his mother, he discovered that he had been betrayed once again. She had abandoned him just like Morgandy had in order to live with one of Them. For whatever personal reason she had turned her back on her people, her children. He was heartbroken.
He had no idea what he would do if Michael weren’t sitting next to him, if he didn’t feel Michael’s arms around him, his kisses on his forehead, reassuring him beyond question or doubt that not every person you loved would betray you. He held on to Michael’s strong arms and felt his love and compassion surge into his flesh, touch his heart, and because of that he was able to hold onto Michael and cry in his arms, unashamed, knowing full well that he wouldn’t let go.
Because Ronan knew that when his tears had run dry, Michael, unlike everyone else in his life, would still be by his side.
chapter 15
The first week of November brought with it a quick drop in temperature and an eager snowfall that covered the grass with a light, powdery dust. A fine layering, nothing substantial, just enough to announce that winter was coming, just enough to make Michael and Ronan want to spend the day in bed. A sound slipped into their room along with the chill:
“Looks like you’ve found a new home,” the lark said.
“Yes,” Michael replied. “My true home, the place where I was meant to be.”
“I know, I’ve always known.” The meadowlark’s wings fluttered even though it didn’t move.
Michael wasn’t sure that Double A needed his protection, but he nodded anyway. “I will.”
“Good,” the lark said, its yellow feathers brighter than Michael remembered. “Because he’s going to need you.”
He? What’s he talking about? The school was always referred to as a “she.” “Archangel Academy needs me?” Michael asked.
The lark turned its head so Michael could see its clear, round eyes. “I’m not talking about your school. I’m talking about Ronan.”
Opening his eyes, Michael couldn’t see the lark. The only one in the room with him was Ronan. For a few seconds he lay still, hoping he was wrong, hoping it wasn’t a dream and he would be able to catch the meadowlark’s sound, even if it spilled into the room, into the present, from his memory, but there was silence. The sound was gone; only Ronan remained. The person he slept with, the person he loved, the person he had to protect. When Michael saw the time on the alarm clock next to their bed, he realized Ronan was also the person he had to wake up.
“Ro,” Michael said, nudging him more than slightly. “We overslept.”
Ronan stirred, stretched, but kept his eyes shut and his hands tightly clutching the covers. “We have plenty of time.”
Out of bed, Michael was already starting to dress. “Not if we want to be on time for first period.”
Reluctantly, Ronan opened one eye and mumbled, “Really, we’re that late?”
“When have you known me to get up early?” Michael asked, flipping the covers to the side, revealing Ronan’s near-naked body. “Now get dressed. You can’t go to class in your underwear.”
“Why not?” Ronan asked, stretching and yawning loudly. “I think I look bloody fantastic.”
Knotting his tie, Michael tried not to smile. Ronan looked beyond fantastic. They both knew it, and they both knew that Michael would like nothing more than to spend the entire day staring at him.
Well, maybe not the entire day; even that could get dull after a while. Michael was in love, he wasn’t obsessed; he did have other things going on in his life. Like school which, sadly, started really early in the morning and required a more conservative attire. “And you look equally fantastic in your uniform,” Michael said. “So get dressed.”
Not just yet. Michael didn’t see Ronan’s arm reach out and grab him, but it must have, because the next thing he knew he was lying on the bed with Ronan on top of him. Clearly, his boyfriend still had some moves he hadn’t yet seen. And some lines he hadn’t yet heard.
“To look at a thing is quite different from seeing a thing,” Ronan recited, his blue eyes clear and unblinking. “And one does not see anything until one sees its beauty.”
Wrapping his fingers around Ronan’s arm, Michael knew those words weren’t original and that Ronan was quoting their favorite writer. It didn’t lessen the sentiment; on the contrary, it strengthened it because it was their own private connection. “That’s gotta be something Mr. Wilde wrote.”
“From
It was hard for Michael to respond while Ronan was kissing him, but he got a few words out.
