that Vaughan was fraternizing with the enemy, but his enormous ego would be wounded to know that Vaughan had captured the woman he was unable to. Sensing that Ronan was contemplating revealing the secret of his living conditions, Vaughan decided it was time to make a quick exit. “I am humbled, David.”
It was now Vaughan’s turn to act as if he had been spirited back to a bygone era. Holding the box in one hand, he extended the other to his side and slowly bowed. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on the floor for a few seconds to allow David the thrill of witnessing, without question, his subservience. As Vaughan expected, the gesture delighted David, his chest puffing up like a peacock, but it was a flamboyant move that harbored an ulterior motive. Rising halfway, Vaughan nodded at David one final time and then grandly turned so he could face Ronan. Without stopping as he left the room, he whispered, “Tell Michael I hope he’s well.”
Consumed with pride that one of his flock had displayed to a member of the lower species how to behave properly in the presence of their ruler, David didn’t hear Vaughan’s comment. He merely gloated and invited Ronan into his office. Ignoring the feeling that he was walking into a trap, Ronan entered and quickly scoured the room with three of his five senses. A few seconds later he was calmer, as he didn’t see, hear, or smell anything that aroused his suspicion. He was confident when David closed the door behind him that they were the only creatures, human or otherwise, in his office. After David spoke his confidence was replaced by confusion. “I’m disappointed in you, Ronan.”
Ronan assumed he had disappointed David in many ways over the years, but couldn’t figure out which specific disappointment he was referring to at the moment. “And why is that?”
Gazing out the window, David saw there was a small tear in the green velvet drapes. He would have to get that imperfection fixed, but there were so many other things to do, so many more important things that needed to be accomplished before mending window treatments. If he folded the material slightly perhaps no one would notice the flaw. “Oliver tells me that you and Michael missed your appointments for your school physicals,” he replied as he readjusted the position of the drapes. “You know they are mandatory for all students regardless of their unique physical composition.”
That’s what he was talking about? Ronan would hardly call that a disappointment, more like a diversion, a tactic so David could have control of the conversation. Fine, let him think he’s in control.
“We didn’t think there was any point,” Ronan replied, “since we all know what the final result would be.”
Satisfied that the drapery’s flaw was sufficiently hidden, David turned around, his smile courteous, condescending. “Yes, Ronan, we all know what the examination would have uncovered,” he said. “But Oliver was so looking forward to studying the two of you ... What were the words that he used? Ah yes, up close and personal.”
Ronan was sure that David’s smile had turned into a leer, and he was disgusted at the thought of Michael and himself being examined by the wizened, lecherous doctor. He chewed on his lip for a second to prevent himself from saying exactly what was on his mind: that the foul doctor was never going to get his hands on him or Michael unless it was in a fight to the death. Instead he replied, injecting his words with as little sarcasm as possible, “Tell Sutton we didn’t mean to spoil his fun.”
“He’ll be happy to hear that,” David said. “And you’ll be happy to know that Oliver submitted your results to Coach Blakeley and told him that you and Michael passed your physicals with flying colors.”
Not wishing for the meeting to be filled any longer with unnecessary chatter, Ronan decided it was time to get to the reason he had come to enemy territory in the first place. “Why doesn’t Morgandy remember me?” he asked.
One of the things David hated most was being blindsided. Another was ignoring his gut instinct.
David knew Ronan hadn’t dropped by for a friendly visit; he knew the boy had come armed with a purpose, but he had let himself get distracted by unimportant issues. Now he was paying for his stupidity, for his weakness; he was standing in front of this inferior creature and being forced to hide a look of shock, a look of surprise.
Yes, that felt better. Turning his back to Ronan, David lifted the top off of a sterling silver decanter that had a neck as long and slender as a swan’s and filled up a matching goblet with blood. He didn’t see Ronan’s reaction, but he didn’t need to; he knew such a blasphemous proclamation would elicit a powerful response. When he turned around he saw that he was right. Ronan’s entire body was fighting the urge to defend the holy icon. David knew his silence would only infuriate Ronan even more, so instead of speaking, he drank.
Ronan felt his fangs tingle as he watched David’s throat rise and fall. God, he’s such a pig, Ronan thought, drinking blood like it was brandy and not the precious liquid it was. These people really are disgusting! “The Well has nothing to do with this.”
David ran his index finger along the inside of the goblet, and when he lifted it up it was covered in blood. Just as David was about to stick his finger in his mouth, lick it clean of every crimson drop, Ronan lurched forward and grabbed his wrist, sending the metal goblet crashing to the floor. It bounced several times before careening into the leg of a chair where it stopped. And then there was no sound in the room as they both called upon willpower to adjust their next moves. Ronan commanded his fangs to stay hidden, and David, feeling the tingle in his back, begged his wings not to unfurl. This was a time for confrontation, not showmanship. It was also a time for a reminder.
With a flick of his massive wrist, David threw Ronan’s hand flying into the air, the momentum causing him to lose his balance and teeter backward. It was not that David didn’t like to be touched; he just preferred to make the first move. “Touch me again, Ronan, and I will forget that you are not used to playing the role of the scorned lover,” David seethed. “Morgandy doesn’t remember you, because when he chose to join the ranks of the more powerful, your vindictive Well wiped his memory clean.”
Could it be that simple? Ronan had never heard of that happening before, but it made sense. If Morgandy wanted to be one of Them, The Well wasn’t going to allow him to cross over knowing all its secrets or maintaining all the benefits bestowed upon their race. If this was true, he was beginning to learn that The Well was more powerful than he had ever imagined.
“So not only did you abandon him, Ronan, but your Well erased all his memories. Swimming like a pack of oversized fish, waking up each morning wrapped in your glorious arms, all those memories were taken from him and he was cast out,” David continued. “Why, he was discarded as callously as if he were a crippled newborn.”
“I didn’t abandon him!” Ronan cried. “He betrayed me!” Once again David turned his back on Ronan, not to pour himself another drink, but to resume his place behind his desk. Like the insipid ladies of the long-ago tea parties, this young man was starting to bore him, and he wanted their conversation to end. “That is your interpretation, not that it makes a difference,” David said.
“Morgandy van der Poole is born anew, unto a far superior race.” Dipping his quill pen into an inkwell, David shifted his attention to the small pile of papers on his desk. “And even though you’ve lost him forever, dear boy, never fear, he may become part of your family after all.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
David loved when he piqued an adversary’s curiosity with a simple turn of phrase. He relished the look of confusion on Ronan’s face for several moments before speaking. “Your former paramour has been searching for his freedom,” he announced. “And I believe he may have finally found it.”
“I have to be free, Michael,” Saoirse declared. “That’s what my name means, you know, it’s Irish for freedom.”
Slinking deeper into the brown velvet couch in the front room of St. Joshua’s, Michael sighed. “And in English does it mean stupid?”
“I am not stupid!” Shocked, Saoirse threw her notebook at Michael. He deflected it expertly with the tip of his finger, sending it flying a few feet up in the air, and waited until it started to descend before reaching out his hand to grab it before it fell to the floor. They might not be in the library proper, but there was still no need to cause a ruckus.
“Then why are you keeping secrets from your brother?” Michael asked. “Haven’t you learned that around here that’s really not the smartest thing to do?”
