Unwelcome (22 page)

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Authors: Michael Griffo

BOOK: Unwelcome
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“If you have nothing else to say,” David declared, “I think it's time for you to go.”
Rising from her chair, Brania walked toward the door, looking as obedient and willing as the child she had been so many centuries ago, but she wasn't leaving the room. She was merely locking the door to give her and her father more privacy. “Oh, I do have a few more things on my mind that I'd like to express,” Brania said, sauntering along the perimeter of the room until she got to the window behind her father. Once there, she stopped moving, which forced David to turn around in his chair to face her, an act of submission that he was willing to perform if it meant his solitude was once again within reach. “Why do we need Vaughan? And why do you want his relationship with Michael to mend?”
Unused to being questioned so directly, David felt a mixture of pride and hatred as he looked at his daughter, her auburn hair softened by the sunlight. “You know how I loathe manual labor. For that reason alone, Vaughan's factory is vital to our future.”
“And how does Michael fit into all of this?”
Ah, Michael, the young man who holds the other key to their future. “I need the boy to feel at ease. I know he and Ronan are a loving couple, but it would be helpful if he had a more harmonious relationship with his father. A child needs a parent, Brania,” David said. “You of all people should know that.”
Brania knew that, but Michael didn't.
 
“Remember one thing, Dad,” Michael spat, “I survived for years without you. It won't be hard for me to learn to live without you again!”
A few seconds after the front door slammed shut, the closet door opened. Smug, Amir shook his head. “I could've taken him, you know!”
Whirling around, it was all Vaughan could do not to grab the punk and hurl him across the room. “Shut your mouth!” From under his desk he pulled out a box and tossed it to Amir. “All you need to do is take this package to David!”
“I know what's expected of me.”
Yell at me all you want, old man,
Amir thought, his skinny arms wrapped around the box protectively.
Headmaster isn't going to be happy to know you still can't get along with your kid.
“Vaughan will not let me down,” David declared. “Once Michael is persuaded that all aspects of his life are moving toward a common, more sanguine goal, he and Ronan will become complacent, stop looking over their shoulders, and unwittingly lead us to The Well.”
“And we're certain that thing even exists?” Brania questioned.
Such discouragement from my own offspring, truly disappointing.
“Yes, I am certain, and when I find it I will have it destroyed, ending their life force, ridding the planet of their race, and, most important, restoring Archangel Academy to its former glory,” David explained calmly. “In fact, I'm planning a celebration to commemorate the event.”
Inches from her father, Brania was struck by just how pompous he truly was. “Don't you think that's a bit premature?”
Before this moment, David had never realized how insignificant his daughter truly was. “Broaden your vision. Several months from now, we will celebrate the arrival of the Black Sun, pay homage to the solar eclipse, when darkness conquers light.”
Intrigued, Brania wanted to hear more, but when her father swung his chair around and picked up the phone, she knew it was time for her to leave. David, however, had one more thing to say. “When that time comes, I expect you to sit on my left side.”
While David dialed, she was compelled to ask, “And who will sit on your right?” More interested in placing his phone call than responding to Brania's question, David ignored her.
 
Outside, Michael and Brania were each wandering aimlessly across campus, lost in their own thoughts, their own private conversations with the fathers they had just left. Fists clenched, his heels hitting the ground harder with each step, Michael was too angry and furious to notice Brania. All he wanted to do was get home, see Ronan, and forget about the miserable day he had had.
Brania wished she could forget, forget about her conversation, forget about her past, forget about the fear that was growing inside her heart. Something was not right, something was not the way it was supposed to be. But when she heard Imogene singing in the distance, heard that glorious, angelic voice, it was as if all her pain was washed away. Instinctively, hopefully, she reached up to hold her father's hand, but it wasn't there. Standing alone at the edge of The Forest, Brania allowed the voice to comfort her, and for the first time in over a century, she allowed herself to cry.
chapter 13
Michael didn't even feel Ronan's mouth on his neck. The softness of his lips, the tentative sweep of his tongue, all unnoticed. There were just too many thoughts racing through his mind pulling him away from the present, away from Ronan.
“Someone lied to me,” Michael announced.
Ronan sighed. He didn't want to talk, he wanted to use his mouth and lips to communicate in a completely different way, silently, but it was clear that Michael had a different objective. He was preoccupied, worried about something, and whatever it was, Ronan knew from experience that it needed to be dealt with or else Michael would never kiss him back. “So who do I have to beat up for lying to my baby?” Ronan asked, moving back to his side of the bed.
“That's the problem,” Michael answered. “I'm not sure.”
Lying on his side, Ronan cradled his head in the palm of his hand, aware that it made his bicep bulge even larger. “Can you narrow down the field of suspects to perhaps a handful?”
Tossing the heavy flannel covers off of him, Michael sat crossed-legged on the bed, his right foot dangerously close to Ronan's mouth. It was all Ronan could do not to bend over and playfully bite one of his toes. “It's either Jean-Paul or my father.”
“Hmm, that bites,” Ronan said with a smirk, but Michael didn't catch the joke.
“Why do you say that?”
Rolling onto his back, Ronan traced the cleft of his chest and then the thick outline of his pecs with his index fingers. Just because Michael wasn't going to touch him didn't mean he couldn't. “I really don't fancy beating up your dad.”
Still oblivious to Ronan's flirting, Michael continued questioning him. “How can you be so sure my father's the liar?”
Moving his fingers down to his taut stomach muscles, Ronan wondered how long he'd have to multitask before Michael joined in. “What reason would his driver have to lie to you? He hardly knows you,” he explained. “And what's this big lie about anyway?”
Shifting his weight, Michael flipped around and lay on his back.
Well,
Ronan thought,
that's a little progress.
But Michael still wasn't done talking. “Jeremiah,” he replied. “I don't know why it really bothers me, but Jean-Paul said Jeremiah got a new job, and then my father told me he left because of a family emergency.” Swinging his legs up and raising his hands at the same time, Michael grabbed on to the soles of his feet. Ronan wasn't sure if he was stretching his muscles or teasing him. “You know why I think I care so much?” Michael asked, but spoke again before Ronan could respond. “It ticks me off that they just can't admit Alistair and Jeremiah ran off together.”
Not that again. “Maybe they don't know about the two of them?”
Letting his arms and legs flop onto the bed, Michael stared up at the ceiling. “Or maybe, since my father's homophobic, he can't admit that two men might fall in love and run away together. Which is something he better get used to,” Michael said. “Because newsflash, his kid's a homo too.”
Moving suddenly, Ronan rolled over onto his stomach, resting his body on his elbows, his eyes widening like a child's. “You are?”
Laughing, Michael slapped Ronan's shoulder. “Shut up!” The touch and the laughter broke the spell and Michael finally noticed how big Ronan's arms looked.
That's better,
Ronan thought.
At last he's looking at me the way he's supposed to.
“And you're a pretty hot homo too.”
Feeling bashful and passionate at the same time was such a wonderful feeling. “You think so?” Michael asked, knowing full well how Ronan would reply. This time when he was kissed, Michael felt it, felt the softness, the wanting, and he kissed back, pleasing Ronan immeasurably. How he ached for this connection, how he strived every day to keep it alive. It was the reason his race existed. After a few minutes, he could feel the warmth between them grow, the exchange of kisses become more intense, but Ronan didn't want Michael to think that every kiss needed to lead to sex.
Sitting up, Ronan turned Michael so his back was against his chest. He extended his legs, his toes sliding down Michael's thighs, his calves, until their bare feet were rubbing against each other. Snuggling into Ronan, Michael let his body melt, let his head rest against Ronan's chest and listen to the beat, beat, beat of his heart. Both boys were at peace, amazed at how good it felt to be held. Stroking Ronan's arm, Michael closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensory overload. Ronan's muscles always felt stronger after a feeding, and The Well's scent still clung to their bodies, fresh, fragrant, like early morning rain. Dreamily he spoke. “I think he's the reason my mother took me to Weeping Water.”
Caressing the veins of Michael's hand and in between each finger where only this morning there was webbing, Ronan whispered, “Who?”
“My father,” Michael replied, “She wanted to keep us safe. I'm not sure why, but I think she wanted to protect me from him.”
Upon hearing that word, Ronan froze, just for a second and not long enough for Michael to notice. “What do you mean
protect
you?”
Michael interlocked his fingers with Ronan's, reveling in the strength of his boyfriend's grip. “I think he was really mean to her, maybe to us even, and she was afraid,” Michael quietly admitted, wishing the words weren't true. “She used to say he was evil.”
This time Michael did notice that Ronan's hand flinched within his. “Evil?” he asked.
Nodding, Michael was aware that the conversation was getting a bit too solemn, so he tried to lighten the tone. “I thought she was just crazy, which, you know, she was, but still . . .”
Evil
,
protect
, these were Lochlan's words, the same words he used when he was talking about Alistair.
Do something, change the subject.
Ronan kissed Michael's temple, holding his lips there longer than expected. “She was a good mother,” he said, his voice hushed. “You should know that.” Michael nodded, breathing in slowly, deeply. “Mothers protect children,” Ronan added knowingly. “And in turn children protect their mothers.”
Facing Ronan to look into his kind, blue eyes, Michael saw that they were also sad. “And where does that leave their fathers?”
Suddenly the room was consumed with flames and the crackling of fire. Ronan could hear voices shouting, chanting, invading his ears.
No, this isn't real, this isn't happening again. Something like that will never happen again.
“That depends on the father, I guess.”
Michael could sense there was something upsetting Ronan. His smile had returned, but the look of sadness only deepened. “You okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” Ronan forced the pain of the past to lift from his face. “Just thinking about tomorrow, big day and all.”
His face brightening, Michael pounced on top of Ronan and exclaimed, “That's right, how could I forget?!”
Looking up at Michael, his blond hair falling into his face, Ronan beamed. “I don't know. How could you forget such an important day?”
“I have my first driving lesson tomorrow,” Michael squealed.
That's okay, Ronan thought. It's not a big deal that he didn't remember.
“Yes, well, it should be
all that
,” he said. “I never bothered going for mine, didn't really see the purpose.”
Michael bent his arms and pressed his elbows into Ronan's chest so their faces were mere inches apart. “Don't say another word. Ciaran's already pointed out that I don't need a car to travel, but I don't care, I really want my license.”
“And so you should have one,” Ronan said, smiling to hide his disappointment. “You should have whatever you want.”
Feeling the passion rumble in his stomach, Michael kissed Ronan and spoke at the same time. “You can have whatever you want too you know.” Even though Ronan knew that the comment was sincere, right now he knew there was no chance of getting his wish.
The next day, however, one of Michael's wishes was about to come true. The day had dragged on, class after lecture after pop quiz, and all he could think about was his driving lesson. Yes, it was absurd; yes, for a vampire, human transportation was unnecessary, but yes, he was as excited as any typical mortal sixteen-year-old. And just as confused.
“What the hell are you doing?” Blakeley asked. Car keys in hand, Michael paused in front of the driver's side door of the familiar-looking Honda Civic, realizing too late that in this British model, the driver's side door was on the opposite side. “You're not in the States anymore, Howard,” Blakeley informed him. “It's time you learned to drive on the right side of the road.”
Shrugging off his mistake, Michael walked around the front of the car to the right side, the driver's side, and got in. And then the excitement he had been feeling all day long seeped out of his pores and was replaced with anxiety. He had been behind the wheel of a car before, but that was back home, and the wheel on his grandfather's truck was on the left side. This was completely different. How could he have been so stupid not to know there was going to be an intercontinental learning curve? At least he wasn't so naïve to think that Blakeley would cut him some slack since he wasn't a native. “Don't think I'm going to be easy on you 'cause you're a Yankee.”
“Actually, I'm from the Midwest,” Michael corrected him, knowing it was a mistake even before the words came out of his mouth.
“I don't care where the bloody hell you're from! If you want to drive here in the
U.K.
,
you can't
expect leniency!”
The words bounced off the windows and echoed in the car, growing louder and louder until they were replaced by Blakeley's raucous laughter. Michael's first thought was that his gym teacher was insane, possibly manic-depressive. He never laughed. He soon discovered that he never laughed while coaching. Sports were serious. Learning how to drive, that was entertaining. “Get it? U.K., you
can't
,” Blakeley asked, laughing so hard at his lame joke that he didn't notice Michael remained silent. “Sorry, Howard, just having a little fun at your expense. Now start her up and let's get going. We've only an hour, you know.”
An hour that I'm suddenly dreading,
Michael thought. Regardless, there was no way of escaping, so Michael took a deep breath and started the engine. So far so good. Next he put the car into drive and slowly accelerated down the cobblestone road, thankful that the ancient, uneven pathway made it impossible to drive over ten miles per hour. But all that changed when they reached the Archangel Academy gate. Michael slammed on the brakes, making Blakeley lurch forward in his seat, then hurl back. “Don't you have to turn off the electronic fence?”
Impressed, Blakeley eyed his pupil. “Already took care of that,” he said. “The fence is shut down on the days I give lessons, but good instincts.” Blakeley waved his hand, giving Michael the go-ahead to drive past the gate and onto the main road, but the car stood still. Michael's foot wouldn't move over to the gas pedal. “Don't wimp out on me now,” Blakeley said in a voice that was frank without being harsh. “You got a lot more courage than that.”
You're right coach, I do.
Pressing down on the gas pedal, he made the Civic hesitantly move forward, and they left the cobblestone path for the slightly smoother road that was the only passageway off school grounds. Gripping the steering wheel tightly and cruising at the incredible speed of eighteen miles per hour, Michael realized that driving on the wrong side of the road wasn't that difficult after all. It helped that Blakeley looked so relaxed, leaning back in his seat, humming along to the radio, a vast difference from the few times he drove with his grandfather, who criticized his every move while blowing cigarette smoke in his face. Blakeley was the complete opposite. Far from being critical, he praised Michael. But not for his driving.
“I think it's cool that you and Ronan are so open about your relationship.” The heat started in Michael's stomach and quickly spread out to his arms, his hands, his neck, until little beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Glancing quickly at his student, Blakeley grimaced. “Don't be so shocked. Everybody knows about you two.”

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