Unnatural (30 page)

Could Phaedra possibly know the truth about him? Ronan wondered. The simple answer was that he just didn’t know. He hated questioning himself. As a vampire, Ronan was physically superior to almost every creature around him, which made it more difficult to
admit when he was intellectually stumped. He had no idea what Phaedra was up to and he didn’t yet know how to go about uncovering the truth. Ciaran, however, was a different story. He knew exactly how to deal with his brother.

The rain had finally abated and only a few lingering drops still fell to the earth; the sky itself had returned to the beautiful shade of blue it had been that morning before the darkness swooped in unexpectedly to take over. Ronan strode toward St. Albert’s, the science library, where he knew he would find Ciaran during his free period, sequestered in one of the back rooms, conducting yet another pointless experiment. He would demand the truth from him and only heaven could protect him if he chose to lie.

St. Albert’s was on the other side of campus, tucked away in a secluded enclave with two other buildings that comprised what the students referred to as the Einstein Wing. It normally took ten minutes to walk there from St. Joshua’s, but Ronan was in a hurry to confront his brother, so he used his preternatural speed and got there in about five seconds. When he reached the front door, he paused to take several deep breaths; he wanted to maintain the upper hand and couldn’t do so if he couldn’t control his anger. Out of the corner of his left eye he saw the statue of St. Albert bent and placing a hand on the side of a lamb. The white marble was cold and formidable, but the statue still exuded compassion and illustrated the power of healing. It reminded students that scientific research meant nothing if mankind
couldn’t benefit from the result. The hell with that, Ronan thought; sometimes research was just the beginning of revenge.

“I’m not going to ask you again, Ciaran. Why did you tell Michael that I’m not like the two of you?” This time when Ronan spoke, his deep voice vibrated throughout the Spartan room. He had found Ciaran where he expected him to be, in his favorite lab, in the farthest corner of the basement of the library. It was a small room with only two lab tables, one on which sat a few microscopes in different sizes and a second where Ciaran spread out his notebooks and stainless steel test tube racks. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a bookshelf that housed both reference books and less important lab paraphernalia. Ciaran loved it for its simplicity; Ronan appreciated it for its seclusion. He pounded the granite tabletop with his fist so hard that Ciaran had to grab the largest microscope to keep it from falling over. “Answer me!”

“Because it’s the truth,” Ciaran responded quietly. “Doesn’t Michael deserve that?”

“I told you that I will tell him everything.”

Ciaran squeezed the eyedropper, and a small amount of greenish liquid fell onto the slide. “Of course you will.” He covered it precisely with another piece of glass and placed it under the microscope. “In your own time.”

Ciaran had not planned on this, he had not planned that his accidental comment to Michael would find its way to Ronan’s ears. His words were not deliberate, but
they were proving to be fortuitous. The moment Ronan spoke, Ciaran knew that he was being presented with an opportunity to fulfill a dream and he decided to take it. He followed his instinct and could tell it was working, his calm composure, his arrogance, was having its desired effect. Ronan was growing angrier by the second. And when Ronan got angry, he got violent. Ciaran was able to ignore his racing heartbeat, but he knew Ronan would not be able to ignore the familiar tingle in his mouth. “Who gives you the right to decide when Michael should know the truth?!”

“I don’t need to be given the right, Ronan. I have the knowledge,” Ciaran replied, his eyes looking at the slide through the microscope, “and when you have knowledge, you have power.”

Ronan was airborne before Ciaran gasped, and before he took his next breath, he was lying flat on his back, Ronan on top of him, his eyes narrowed and shining against his will. “You don’t have any power! You have nothing!”

It was happening just the way he had dreamed. Ciaran swallowed hard, swallowed his desire; he had to keep his longing hidden, make Ronan think he didn’t want this to happen. “And what do you have?” he whispered vilely, struggling underneath Ronan, which he hoped his brother would believe was an attempt to break free from his hold. “A virus in your body? An affliction that makes you want to kill, makes you drink blood?”

Slowly, Ronan felt his fangs descend, not hungry, but filled with rage. “I can destroy you right here!” Ronan
growled. “Among these stupid tools that you love so much!”

Tears escaped Ciaran’s eyes, tears that were always just beneath the surface. They fell down the side of his face to the cold floor below.
Do it, Ronan! Please, God. make him do it!
Ciaran couldn’t resist any longer and with his free hand he reached up and grabbed the back of Ronan’s neck. He pushed down with all his strength and brought Ronan’s mouth closer to his neck. “Take me!” Ciaran begged. “Please, Ronan, make me a real part of our family.”

Ciaran closed his eyes and felt the glorious sharpness of Ronan’s fangs scrape his neck. It was happening, it was happening to him before it was going to happen to Michael, before it would happen to anyone else. Ronan was going to take him, his brother, and bring him to his rightful place, make it so that he could stand next to him as an equal. End the loneliness, end the solitude, end the pain.

One fang pierced flesh, and Ronan gripped Ciaran’s body so tightly he could no longer move no matter how valiantly he struggled. He just closed his eyes and willed Ronan to press into him deeper, harder, until both fangs were plunged in as far as they could go.

But then Ronan opened his eyes.

He saw his reflection in one of the mirrored slides that fell to the floor, he saw his fang beginning to enter his brother, his own flesh and blood, and he saw the tears stream down the sides of Ciaran’s face. Then he saw his own eyes, wild, enraged, like an animal’s. They
were everything he fought so hard not to become. And here after one confrontation with his sibling, whom he loved and whom he hated, he had turned into the kind of creature he loathed.

Frightened and fearful, he pulled himself off of Ciaran, but just as he did, Ciaran reached out, arms scrambling to keep the connection. “No! Do it, Ronan!” Now Ciaran was like an animal and lunged at Ronan, grabbing the back of his head and thrusting it to his neck. A guttural cry erupted from his throat, “Take me!”

Ronan pushed his brother away hard and Ciaran slid across the floor into the wall. Dazed, but only for a few seconds, he shook off the impact and limped toward Ronan, grasping blindly in front of him until he fell to his knees and caught hold of his foot. He tried to pull Ronan closer to him, but Ronan kicked his hand away and Ciaran fell onto his side. Undaunted, he got up and crawled back toward Ronan, unaware that Ronan’s fangs had receded, his eyes were once again normal. He was no longer a vampire, but only a brother, and he was heartbroken. “Ciaran, what are you doing?”

The emotions could no longer stay silent; the feelings had to be given a voice. “I DON’T WANT TO BE ALONE ANYMORE!” Ciaran howled. He wanted to continue speaking, but the sobs made it impossible. On all fours, he let his head hang low and wept. Ronan sank back on his haunches and gripped the legs of the table. He felt dizzy and needed to hold on to something or risk passing out. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and he
couldn’t believe what he had almost done. “You don’t mean that. You … you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“It’s all I ever wanted!” Ciaran cried, his body heaving with each word. Ronan didn’t know what to do so he simply watched his brother, raw and exposed. When the sobs ran their course, Ciaran slowly raised his head and looked at Ronan. He lifted himself up so he was now kneeling, but his arms were limp, his eyes stained with tears. “And how would you possibly know this isn’t what I want? You’ve never taken the time to listen to one word I’ve ever said.”

“That’s not true,” Ronan said, reaching out to help Ciaran stand, but his brother pushed his arm away.

“Leave me alone!” Ciaran shouted, using all the energy he had left to stand. “It’s the way you want things. You, our mother, your entire kind, you all wish I would just leave, go some place far away and die.”

“No,” Ronan protested, “that’s not true.”

“Stop lying to me!” Ciaran shrieked, his emotions shaking throughout his body. “Go run to Michael, lie to
him,
make him believe that you’re his soul mate, his savior, and then do to him what I begged you to do to me.” Ciaran looked down at his brother, who still hadn’t found the strength to rise. The words tumbled out of his mouth like daggers. “And when you’ve finished making him in your image, Brother, don’t be surprised if he hates you as much as I have always loved you.” Ciaran picked up the slides that had fallen to the floor and placed them on the table next to the microscope, which he then
turned upright. Walking toward the door, he spoke to Ronan without turning around. “Maybe then you’ll realize that no one can take the place of family.”

Long after Ciaran left the lab, Ronan stayed on the floor, unable to move. His brother’s words stung not because they were harsh, but because they were true. Especially what he said concerning Michael.

On the way back to his dorm room, he was amazed at how complicated his life had become as a result of one simple fact—he was in love with Michael. He wasn’t sure if he could admit that to him, he wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do, but it’s how he felt. Yes, he was young, but he knew his soul and it was meant to spend eternity with Michael’s. Before that could happen, though, he would have to transform him, and despite his belief that The Well condoned his desire, he had doubts that, thanks to Ciaran, were growing. And they were about to grow even stronger.

“Ronan.”

Startled, the boy turned to see Hawksbry standing in front of the main building. Ronan had been walking in such deep thought, he didn’t even realize where he was. “Yes, sir?” Slowly, apprehension traveled up his spine as Ronan noticed a difference in the headmaster. He looked the same, well, maybe a bit tired, the circles under his eyes a bit more pronounced, but he was a workaholic; everyone knew that. The difference wasn’t physical. No, it was something deeper. Maybe he had been blindsided by a relative too.

When Alistair was directly in front of Ronan, he finally spoke. “You disgust me, Ronan. I don’t know who you’re trying to fool, but you and your kind make me sick. You are not superior. You’re all an abomination, a foul plague that needs to be destroyed. And I for one cannot wait for that day to come.”

For the second time in less than an hour, Ronan felt as if someone had taken a sledgehammer and slammed it into his stomach. He reeled back and watched the headmaster calmly turn and walk back to his office. As he did, an emotion that was becoming much too common overwhelmed Ronan: fear. He knew! He knew exactly who he was just like MacCleery did, no, more so than the doctor. The doctor just suspected, the headmaster actually knew that he was a vampire. But how could he? It didn’t make sense. Once again he felt lightheaded and he gulped down long breaths of air and clenched his fists to regain some strength. He was out in the open and yet he felt like he was trapped inside a small box that was growing smaller still. Uncharacteristically, he let the fear control his body and he didn’t fight the urge to run.

   When Alistair entered the main building, he started to walk to his office but couldn’t move past the huge mirror in the waiting room. The golden archangels looked at him with wide eyes, but when he saw his reflection, half man, half beast, looking back at him, he cringed.
Then when he felt the hunger that was becoming all too familiar rise up within him, he cursed himself because he knew what he had to do.

He entered his office and locked the door behind him and immediately knelt at Brania’s feet. “Very good, Alistair,” Brania exclaimed. “You remembered all of your lines.”

Ashamed, Alistair avoided her eyes and stared at her arm. “May I feed now? Please.”

Brania extended her arm and tried to conceal her contempt for the pathetic creature kneeling before her. “Of course you can. I always keep my promises.”

As Alistair bit into her arm and sucked the centuries-old blood from her veins, Brania hardly took notice. She was too busy looking out the window, watching Ronan run, run, run from a danger he wasn’t even certain of, and she wondered how much longer she’d have to wait before she would have permission to destroy his world completely.

“I can’t be your date for the festival,” Ronan declared.

“I think it’s best if we don’t go together,” Ronan stated.

“I’m not feeling well,” Ronan said. “I, um, don’t think I’m up to going.”

No! Ronan swiped the air with his fists and paced his room. He ripped off his suit jacket, flung it onto his bed, and yelled at his reflection in the mirror, “You can’t do this to him! You can’t cancel at the last minute!” He knew that at this very moment Michael was looking in his mirror, wondering if he looked good enough, wondering if he would make Ronan’s heart skip a beat. Oh, of course he would, he always did. And Ronan couldn’t
wait to hold him in his arms, kiss his beautiful mouth, and roughly rip every piece of clothing off of him. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t continue this charade any longer. “No!” he screamed. “Call it what it is, this lie!” He covered his face with his hands for a few seconds, then calmer, forced himself to face his reflection. “I can’t be your boyfriend, Michael. It’s over.”

The pain that ripped through Ronan’s body had nothing to do with his own emotional anguish. It was coming from somewhere else, it was coming from deep within the waters of The Well. Ronan lurched forward, his head crashing into the mirror, fracturing it. Lines like a spiderweb spread across the glass, causing some shards to fall to the floor, followed by Ronan, who could no longer stand.