Unafraid (6 page)

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Authors: Michael Griffo

BOOK: Unafraid
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“Michael knows all of that, Ronan.”
Stunned that Michael could telepathically hear him even though he wasn't consciously calling out to him, Ronan realized that his boyfriend was harnessing his vampire powers at an increasingly faster speed. He was impressed, but he was still concerned. “So does Michael know what Ronan should do?”
“Stay out of it,” Michael said. “Whatever Ciaran decides to do is his choice.”
That wasn't advice, that was an observation. “Well, yes,” Ronan stuttered. “But ...”
Michael wrapped his arms around Ronan and drew him in close. “But what? You've done everything you can for him,” Michael continued. “You've been a good brother, not the best in the entire history of the world, but a lot better than when I first got here.”
Their lips were so close that Ronan was finding it hard to concentrate on what Michael was saying, but he knew the words were important so he forced himself to listen. “If Ciaran can't see that and if he wants to work with Them like my father has chosen to do, well then as hard as it is to admit, you don't have the power to stop him.”
Ronan had made the smart choice; it was what he needed to hear. Yes, he was a vampire and stronger than Ciaran in so many ways, but he was still his brother and because of that their relationship would always be complicated. It might serve them both best if Ronan stepped away and let Ciaran choose his own path. Ronan just prayed he didn't choose the one that would destroy him.
Pushing thoughts of his brother out of his mind, Ronan exhaled, releasing a long, slow stream of air so he could focus on the handsome boy wrapped in his arms. “Well, love, only seventeen and already such a wise, old sage.”
Michael felt Ronan's lips press into his, and he started to chuckle. “Maybe Saoirse's right after all and I really am some special god.”
Without letting go of Michael, Ronan knelt and laid him down on the ground. Ignoring the rough earth under them, the boys kissed and laughed and caressed each other in the shadow of the trees. “I don't know if you're a god,” Ronan whispered. “But I do know that you're the ideal husband for me.”
Abruptly, Michael pushed Ronan away and sat up. “Hey, wait a second.”
“What's wrong?” Ronan asked, trying to get Michael to resume his horizontal position.
“You still haven't told me your secret.”
Not now, now is not the time. “Tomorrow,” Ronan said. “After our feeding.”
Thankful that that was enough to satisfy Michael's curiosity, Ronan lay on top of him and kissed him deeply so he could satisfy his own growing desire.
 
The boys were so connected to one another, so lost in each other's embrace, they didn't even hear Imogene start to sing.
Had they listened to something other than the sound of their own breathing, had they reminded themselves to be aware of the world around them, they would have heard the clear, dulcet sounds of Imogene's tune. They could have followed the melody all the way to the cave where she had resided since her partial-death and uncovered her hiding place. But they were preoccupied, too engrossed in exploring each other's bodies, and for the moment weren't interested in exploring things that were just out of their reach. Imogene wouldn't have any new visitors today; she would still only have one companion—Brania. Both, however, were starting to become more aware that their constant cohabitation was losing its novelty.
“Don't stop!” Brania ordered when Imogene's singing was replaced with silence.
“I'm tired,” Imogene replied, leaning her head against the soft, white satin on the inside of the coffin.
Brania understood the need for children to occasionally be disobedient, but her own child should know better and not behave like a savage human. “It's my favorite aria,” Brania said, trying to find a tone that would appease Imogene.
“I don't care!” Imogene yelled. “I told you I'm tired and I don't want to sing.”
Walking slowly toward the coffin, Brania felt her face contort, her hands curl into two clenched fists. She wanted to be a good parent, she wanted her daughter to know that she was loved and cherished, but she also wanted to hear her music. When she reached the side of the coffin, Imogene turned her head away from her, and Brania had to resist the urge to grab Imogene by the scruff of the neck and force her to look at her, show her the respect that she deserved as her mother, her savior. Instead, she bent her head and willed her voice to sound caring and doused with a mother's love. “Please, Imogene, do what you do best and make your mother happy.”
When Imogene resumed her singing, when the cave was once again filled with the girl's sweet, lilting voice, Brania was horrified. She was no longer listening to Imogene sing; she was no longer in the cave. She had been transported back through time and was a young child, standing in a field with cornhusks almost taller than she was. In her hand was a rock, and crouched next to her was her father. He whispered into her ear the words that would entice her to commit the evil act she didn't want to perform, the words that would convince her to use the rock to strike the little boy who was running toward her, the little boy who thought she had called him over to play, not to die.
“Please, Brania, do what you do best and make your father happy.”
Repulsed, Brania realized she was indeed her father's daughter.
chapter 4
For the first time in years, Michael was excited about the start of the new school year. In Weeping Water it had always filled him with contrasting emotions—he embraced his education and loved learning new things in most all of his subjects, he just hated feeling like an outsider among his classmates. It was how he had felt all through grammar school and junior high. He had thought his freshman year at Two W High School might have been a new beginning, but he had been wrong. Everything changed when he transferred to Double A. Not only was the education superior, the social aspect was immensely improved as well.
But then last semester, his first after crossing over and being transformed into a vampire, the luster had faded. He had thought that as an immortal creature education was now beneath him. Thanks, in part, to Ronan's guidance, he had quickly learned school was more important than ever before. If he were going to live forever, it would help to acquire as much knowledge as possible. Sitting on the bed together side by side, their legs casually intertwined, Michael and Ronan reviewed their schedules to see what the new term would offer them. And of course to see if they shared any classes.
“Just two,” Michael said. “British lit first thing in the morning and Advanced Geometry in the afternoon.”
“Really?” Ronan asked. “My head might explode.”
Michael laughed, but didn't agree. He found Father Fazio's somnolent lectures so boring he usually found himself falling asleep in class. “The only way my head's going to explode in Father Faz's class is if his voice puts me in a coma and I crack my skull on the desk.”
“No, I'm talking about Brit lit,” Ronan corrected. “I'll start my day with the two hottest guys on campus, you and McLaren.”
This time Michael laughed even harder and had to agree; McLaren was the most handsome professor they had, complete with Hollywood tan, dazzling smile, and a worked-out body. But he whacked Ronan in the shoulder with his class schedule just the same. “Don't you get any crazy ideas about becoming teacher's pet and volunteering for extracurricular activities,” Michael warned.
Grabbing Michael's wrist, Ronan gave him a tug so he fell into his lap and joked, “But think of all the extra knowledge I can acquire from private sessions.”
They were laughing so hard they didn't hear the knock at the door and only became aware of David's presence when he cleared his throat. “Forgive me for interrupting playtime.”
His words hurtled toward the boys like a rush of cold wind. Instinctively, their bodies separated; an intruder was present and they were on guard, prepared to defend themselves. Ronan felt Michael's heart race as if it were beating in his own chest, and he placed a hand on Michael's knee to prevent him from getting off the bed. No need to give David a reason to get violent. Ronan prevented Michael from attacking David, but not from speaking.
“It's impossible for you to enter our home without an invitation!” Michael barked.
David howled. He threw his head back and his laughter engulfed the room. He cherished moments like these, when his opponents proved themselves to be nothing more than fools. “Oh Michael, I thought you were smarter than that,” David chided. “Haven't you yet discovered that conventional rules have no meaning here at Archangel Academy?”
Feeling like a jerk, Michael felt the temperature of his blood rise. David was right. Everything he knew about vampires was turning out to be antiquated folklore; the truth of the species was much different than the legends. Plus, Double A had its own set of complex rules and regulations, all of which defied logic.
Fine,
Michael thought,
score one for the redheaded beast.
“What do you want, David?” Ronan asked.
Even though he knew Ronan had addressed him informally on purpose, the muscles in David's cheeks still flinched. He decided to ignore the breach in decorum and answer the question as directly as it was asked. “The new term is about to begin, so Michael will need to move his car from its current location,” David said. “It makes a colorful lawn ornament, but it's impinging the growth of the grass. And our landscapers work so hard to keep the grounds pristine.”
“How do you know the car is mine?” Michael demanded.
Sneering at the boy, David felt his body stiffen and his fury swell. If Michael were alone, he would use all his preternatural strength, all the strength endowed to him by Zachariel, to attack, destroy, and kill the disgusting creature who dared to defy him. He would rip the flesh off his bones with his own fangs and spit out the pieces of rancid meat as he watched Michael's dirty, hybrid blood pour from his ravaged body and flood the room. He would cry victoriously as he rammed a stake through Michael's heart. He would smile as Michael's body burst into flames. He would accept the ash that would spray over him as glory from his god. But Michael wasn't alone; Ronan was beside him, and David understood all too well the power of love. It wouldn't be wise to attack the boy with his lover present. David might be growing impatient, but he wasn't impulsive.
He also wasn't going to give Michael the answer that he wanted to hear: that he knew the car was his because Michael's father had told him so. “There's a big, black bow on the roof of the car, and you've recently celebrated a birthday,” David said. “Whose else could it be?”
Before Michael could respond with another antagonistic remark, Ronan intervened. “Just tell us where we should move it to.”
David's grin became genuine. It was heartwarming to hear even the most disobedient student speak words of compliance. “The parking lot outside the headmaster's office,” David instructed.
Pressing into Michael's knee with a bit more pressure, Ronan replied, “That won't be a problem.”
The boys watched David's grin morph back into a smirk, and they knew he felt as if he had won this little confrontation even before his words confirmed it. “I didn't think there would be.”
Standing in the doorway, David turned to offer one last piece of instruction. “And remember, students are only allowed to drive on the weekends and only into Eden.”
Although he turned his back on them to leave the room, it didn't signal the end of their conversation. Michael was determined to have the last word. “I didn't think rules had any meaning here at Double A?”
When David turned back to face them, Ronan could see the man's body vibrate, and he could tell David was fighting the urge to transform into his true, vampiric self. He knew that David wanted his fangs to descend and his eyes to blacken in order to show Michael that he wasn't dealing with a mere adult but an ancient being who possessed extraordinary power, power that was begging to be released. But David surprised them both and displayed immense restraint. He simply gripped the side of the door with his hand, but so tightly that Ronan was afraid the door would snap in two.
“As your headmaster, Michael, the only rules that have any meaning here are mine,” David said, his voice as firm as concrete. “If you'd like to remain a student of this institution, I implore you to remember that.”
David left as quietly as he had appeared, the door barely making a sound as it closed behind him. It took less than a second for the quiet to be disrupted.
“Are we supposed to just forget what he tried to do?!” Michael screamed, jumping off the bed. “Are we supposed to forget that he's our enemy and act like he's nothing more than our headmaster just because school's about to start up again?!”
Ronan watched Michael pace the room like Michael had watched him do so many times before, but this time there was a change. Michael wasn't moving from one end of the room to another as a result of frustration; he was moving with purpose. His strides weren't occupying time because his mind had lost control of its body; they were helping him formulate a plan. The realization made Ronan both proud and scared. He didn't want Michael to scurry away from confrontation, but he didn't want him to run headlong into it either. It was time to offer some insight. “As difficult as it might be to accept,” Ronan began, “as long as we're at Double A, David is our headmaster.”
“He's a piece of sh ...”
“Who deserves our respect!” Ronan shouted over Michael's more derogatory description.
Finally, Michael stopped in his tracks and stared at Ronan as if he had never seen him before. “Are you serious?”
Ronan knelt on the bed and reached out his hand to Michael, but Michael wouldn't budge. When he realized his boyfriend wasn't going to reconsider, Ronan let his arm fall limply at his side. “Our race agreed a long time ago to coexist peacefully with David's kind,” Ronan explained. “Regardless of their actions we will not provoke a war.”
Michael knew the jargon, he knew the peace-comes-first philosophy of The Well and he agreed with it, but The Well didn't have to live near David. The Well didn't have to see his smug, ugly face every day and bow to him like he was some righteous ruler. It was outrageous to be expected to sit by quietly and not do anything. “So we just let them destroy us?!”
“Of course not! We defend ourselves when necessary!” Ronan said, his voice rising to match Michael's volume. “But we
do not
instigate violence, Michael. It's not who we are! We're about bloody peace for God's sake!”
There was nothing peaceful about how Ronan looked. Kneeling on the bed, his back was rigid, his fists were clenched, and one arm was raised high over his head. The only movement, in fact, came from his chest that heaved from the exertion of his declaration. Despite his words about upholding an ideology of peace, Michael thought he looked like some fanatical warrior hell-bent on leading an army into a deadly skirmish. His unbridled passion was unexpectedly comical. “Should I call the troops to war, general?”
Catching a sideways glimpse of himself in the mirror, Ronan collapsed onto his bed into fits of laughter. Once again, Michael had helped diffuse a situation that threatened to get out of hand. Once again he showed Ronan that there were more important things in life to worry about than David and his next actions. Things like grabbing Michael's hand and throwing him on their bed so they could laugh and cuddle and kiss. “Sorry, love,” Ronan murmured. “I can get carried away sometimes.”
Ronan's excitement didn't bother Michael at all; he welcomed his passion almost as much as he welcomed every opportunity to get lost in his kisses and his embrace. However, at the moment they had other things to do. Squirming out from under Ronan's body, Michael jumped to the side of the bed. “No can do, Ro,” Michael announced. “Per the headmaster's decree I have more important things to do, like convince you to move my car.”
Extending his hand to Michael, Ronan had other plans. “I have a better idea,” he said. “Let's feed.”
 
They found the body less than a minute later on the outskirts of Eden, at the bottom of a hill that was steep, but not particularly tall. Maybe thirty years old, the man was thin and dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, his knapsack still on his back and his hand still clutching a map of the area. Although Ronan and Michael both had the ability to detect when death was imminent, they didn't need those skills to know the man was seconds from dying; they simply had to look at the way his body was distorted. His legs were bent at peculiar angles, and his neck was twisted severely to one side. It was an unusual state for a body to be in, but one that was enormously appetizing.
Michael watched as Ronan's face elongated, his eyes became more like diamonds instead of circles, his sharp, white fangs appeared and rested on his plump, red lips. Michael thought Ronan had never looked more beautiful.
The man barely moved as Ronan's fangs plunged into the largest vein that protruded from his neck and Ronan sucked out the blood that would soon be wasted if it remained in its original host. The blood was refreshingly sweet; the man had obviously been healthy, and his irreversible condition the result of an unfortunate accident. Unfortunate for him, but bounty for Ronan and Michael.
As he lifted his head, drops of blood spilled down the corners of Ronan's mouth. Unable to control his hunger at the sight, Michael leaned forward and licked the blood from Ronan's chin until there wasn't a trace left. Unfulfilled and growing delirious, Michael punctured two more holes into the man's neck with his fangs and held his body close to him as he felt the man's blood gush over his tongue. A rush of energy entered his body and spread out through his limbs, caressing his organs, making him feel superhuman. Consumed with desire and vitality, Michael spontaneously kissed Ronan deeply on his bloodied lips, their fangs pressing against each other roughly. He was wild-eyed, and Michael's voice was a harsh whisper when he spoke. “Let's offer ourselves to The Well.”
Naked, they dove into the ocean and plunged deep into the sea's belly until they reached an area that could never be seen by a mortal's eyes—the underwater cave that housed The Well of Atlantis. When they entered the enclave, a low hum emitted from the rock walls as if to welcome the boys. The sound was familiar and yet thicker than usual, more resonant, and it seemed to pierce through their bodies even as it floated gently over their heads. The Well was greeting them as it always did, but this time its greeting was more intense.

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