“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”
“Well, if cheese, crackers, and some grapes are everything, then yes, I have,” Michael said, feeling silly and, yes, sophisticated at the same time. “Bon appétit.”
Kneeling on the bedsheet across from Michael, Ronan realized that there was no turning back now; he was entering into a relationship with Michael. It was the start of something that could very well be, hopefully be, the most important relationship of his life. It could also be the most dangerous and destructive. So many nights he dreamed, he prayed, that his life would change, that he wouldn’t feel so isolated and here, kneeling in front of this boy, under the moon’s glow, he realized that his prayers had been answered. He felt the strength of The Well course through his veins and knew that, despite his misgivings, The Well was giving him its blessing. It was just the encouragement Ronan needed so he could relax and enjoy Michael’s company.
Michael was enjoying himself so much, he didn’t even notice that Ronan wasn’t eating or drinking. Of course his limited human vision wasn’t able to see Ronan’s sleight-of-hand tricks as he spilled soda behind his back or tossed the food into The Forest; his eyes didn’t pick up such quick movements. Down deep, Michael might suspect that something odd was happening, but without any proof, his suspicions would remain unvoiced. His emotions, however, were a different story.
“No, I didn’t have the best childhood,” Michael admitted. “Never felt comfortable in Weeping Water.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Mine was just the opposite. I was too comfortable growing up on the island.”
“How so?”
Ronan rolled a grape between his fingers. “Never really wanted to leave.”
“Must be nice to come from a place you love so much you don’t ever want to leave.”
“That’s a better way of looking at it.” When Michael’s eyes blinked, Ronan tossed the grape to the side, and a second later it was carried away in a robin’s beak. “So what made you so uncomfortable back home?”
“Me,” Michael replied. “Didn’t like who I was, who I am, so of course I hated everything around me.” Michael took another sip of soda and was happy he could speak so openly about himself to Ronan. “It’s hard growing up gay in the Midwest. Since I’ve come here, though, I don’t know, I feel differently. Things are a bit easier here.”
Ronan knew more than Michael thought, about growing up as a minority, an outsider. “Homosexuality isn’t such … a scarlet letter.”
“Or a love that dares not speak its name.”
“Quoting Mr. Wilde now, are you?”
“Well, that one’s pretty famous,” Michael said. “Even on our side of the pond.”
Suddenly, Ronan felt the need to speak without using any words. He reached over and took Michael’s glass out of his hands, placing it on the ground. He brushed his fingers through Michael’s hair and then let his knuckles caress his cheek; he could tell Michael’s mouth wanted to form words, so he pressed his thumb against his lips to silence him. Then he gently, but firmly, pushed him back onto the ground and looked down into his lovely face. Yes, Ronan reminded himself, there was no turning back.
Ronan lowered his head and Michael felt his heart pound and when Ronan stopped half an inch from his mouth he thought his heart would burst. With one hand playing with the soft strands of Michael’s hair and the other pressed against his chest, Ronan kissed Michael softly on the lips. Michael’s hand found Ronan’s and their fingers intertwined, rough on soft, just the way Michael liked it. With his other hand, he found Ronan’s neck, strong and muscular, and took the liberty of embracing it before feeling his back, his shoulders, and then his waist.
Although their kissing intensified, the tips of their tongues, curiously, hesitantly, meeting each other, exploring new territory, neither boy had any intention of getting more intimate. They mutually understood that they wanted to take things slowly, especially Michael, who was the less experienced of the two. He wanted to awaken his body slowly, move to the next level when it was ready, and not be rushed into anything prematurely. Instinctively, he knew Ronan would let him take his time and for that he was thankful.
“This is a perfect first date,” Michael whispered, then added with a laugh, “Not that I have any experience to make a comparison.”
Ronan leaned on his side, his head resting in the palm of his hand, his other hand resting on Michael’s chest. “I’m not going to lie to you, Michael; I have been on a few first dates before, but this is by far the best.”
“You’re not just saying that to make me feel good?”
“No,” Ronan replied. “I won’t ever lie to you.”
Something about the seriousness in Ronan’s eyes ignited Michael’s curiosity and he felt the need to embrace him. Michael sensed that for all of Ronan’s muscles and strength and power, he was quite vulnerable. He didn’t know what made him that way. It could be nothing; it could be something very traumatic from his past. Regardless, he understood his need to be comforted. So that’s what he did.
He leaned forward, pushing Ronan onto the ground, and kissed him deeply. He didn’t have the skills yet, but he tried to convey with his kiss that he would always be there for Ronan, always be ready to comfort him when he was saddened, ready to listen when he needed to talk. Michael was successful. Ronan understood what the kiss meant and for the third time today he was grateful. A marvelous feeding, being named captain of the swim team, a beautiful first date. It was a perfect day.
Until he got home to find his mother waiting for him.
“Hello, son,” Edwige said. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me all about your new boyfriend?”
chapter 14
Edwige Glynn-Rowley was nothing like her son. She wasn’t honest, thoughtful, conflicted, or forgiving. Yes, she was a vampire, so they did share the gift of immortality, but other than that, they had little in common. Like the knack for showing up at the most unexpected times.
“Mother?” Ronan said, quickly closing the door behind him. “What are you doing here?”
Edwige stretched her legs and propped her feet up on Ronan’s bed, the long, thin heels of her black pumps scrunching up the bedspread a bit. She was sitting at his desk, her arms resting on the sides of the captain’s chair, her head leaning against its curved back. She was so petite and the chair so substantial that she looked like a student taking a break from studying. If anyone had seen her, they would have mistaken her for Ronan’s girlfriend unless, of course, they knew Ronan, and then they would realize that it was very unlikely that Ronan would ever have a girlfriend. He did, unfortunately, have a mother who was very involved in his life.
“So tell me all about Michael,” Edwige said, raising her hand absentmindedly to caress the smooth collar of her pink silk blouse.
The bad feeling Ronan felt earlier in the pit of his stomach once again returned. “How do you know his name?”
Edwige crossed her ankles and smiled. She was about to use her index finger to push some strands of hair behind her ear, a sultry gesture she liked to use on any man, but realized at the last moment that just this morning she had her long, straight black hair cut into a short pixie. “And since when are you a blonde?” Ronan asked.
“Doesn’t it look so natural?” she asked. Instead of pushing her hair back, Edwige brushed it forward with her nails. “I woke up this morning and realized I had never been a blonde, so I made an appointment with Marcel. He’s a genius when it comes to these things. He said if I wanted to dye my hair, I had to go for a whole new look, and you know how I love to experiment. Do you like it?”
Regardless of what Ronan truly felt, he knew from experience there was only one answer to give. “It looks great.”
Edwige smiled approvingly. “It truly does, doesn’t it?” And it did. It actually suited her much better than long hair since her body was less about curves and more about confidence. She knew she was a woman; she didn’t need traditional feminine characteristics to enhanc
e her beauty. Her allure came from within. Such a boyish haircut on another woman would look harsh, androgynous; on Edwige it made her look sexier than ever. And against her skin, which was as pale and unlined as Ronan’s, her blond hair made her look tantalizingly fragile. It was a look that would cause most men to want to protect and ravish her, but Ronan saw past the new color and style and into his mother’s eyes. They were as manipulative as ever.
“I said, how do you know Michael’s name?” Ronan asked, trying not to sound as unsettled as he was.
Edwige stared at her son. He looks like such a man, she thought, but still he’s a little boy. “I’m your mother, Ronan; it’s my job to know these things.” In one quick movement she sat up in the chair, swung her legs off the bed, and crossed them, her burgundy leather skirt traveling away from her knees and toward her thighs. If she was going to interrogate, she might as well look like an interrogator. “He’s quite beautiful,” she commented. “He and I have a very similar bone structure. Have you noticed?”
Ronan smoothed out the bedspread, not caring the slightest if it was rumpled or not; he simply needed a moment to reclaim his strength since his mother had the skill, and quite possibly the desire, to steal it from him. When he sat at the foot of the bed, he was a bit more in control. “No, Mother, the comparison escapes me.”
“Really?” She made a small circular motion with her foot as if the pointed toe of her shoe were tracing something round in the air. “Because we have the same high cheekbones. Mine are bit more delicate, of course, but his, his are quite remarkable. And of course we’re both blondes.”
“But he doesn’t need to rely on Marcel’s genius for a touch-up when his roots start to show.” That made Ronan feel good. It wasn’t every day he was able to make his mother wince simply by choosing the right words.
Folding her hands in her lap, Edwige changed the subject. “This flaxen mortal is not your usual type. Why the drastic change?”
Now she sounded snippy, almost childish. Ronan was finally starting to feel more comfortable in his mother’s presence, which was quite an accomplishment. Sometimes he could be with her for an entire weekend and never once feel at ease, relaxed. He assumed it must be the aftereffects of having such a wonderful day. Whatever the reason, he decided to go with it. He propped up his pillows against the headboard and leaned into them, then he folded his hands, mimicking his mother’s pose, before finally speaking. “Haven’t you read the school rule book? Parents are allowed on campus only during previously scheduled academy-approved events.”
Edwige glowered at her son; she detested obstinacy. “You know I don’t share your obsession for literature.” It was worse than that, actually; Edwige hated to read. The only exception being her financial statements, which had grown monthly ever since she inherited a fortune from a spinster aunt years ago after convincing her with a lie that she loved her more than her own mother. Her aunt, unmarried and childless, was grateful that one other person on the planet held her in the highest regard and, when she died, left Edwige her entire estate. Financially savvy, Edwige took the money, invested wisely, and attained a state of independent wealth most single mothers could only dream of. Then again, Edwige was hardly like most single mothers.
“This Michael looks nothing like your other boyfriends,” Edwige said curtly. “I’m not saying I disapprove. I think the two of you make an attractive couple, but I would like to know how he’s drawn you out of your comfort zone.”
“I guess I’m just like you,” Ronan said with a smirk. “I woke up one morning and realized I never had a blond.”
Sometimes a mother has to allow her son some freedom; sometimes she has to allow him to feel that he is winning an argument. Or wandering this earth independently without familial obligation. Edwige did not feel that this was one of those times. “The Well needs fresh blood, Ronan,” Edwige reminded her son. “You must take him.”
His mother’s words slammed into his ears and echoed loudly. This is all she wants, Ronan thought. She doesn’t care about my feelings; she doesn’t want to know how wonderful Michael makes me feel. Sure, I can have his flesh as long as The Well has his blood. “I can’t,” Ronan replied.
“You mean you won’t,” his mother corrected.
Abruptly Ronan jumped off the bed and flung open the door of his closet, his sudden and random action hardly surprising Edwige, who always found her son to be predictable. He’s a vampire, she thought lovingly, but he is a teenager. “No, I mean I can’t,” Ronan shouted. Then he added quietly, “Not yet anyway.”
Good, he understands; he isn’t a complete imbecile. “I didn’t mean take him tonight,” Edwige said in a soft, motherly tone she had heard other women use, “but soon.” She watched her son pace the room, his strides choppy, like a caged animal, like his father, and her mind was filled with unwanted memories. “He does love you, you know.”
Ronan stopped moving. “What?”
“I saw it in your face the moment you opened the door. I’ve only seen you look like that once before, and you know how he made you feel.”
A spark of pain started to grow within Ronan, moving quickly until it erupted. “I told you never to talk about him!”
Edwige wasn’t sure how much more of this tedious conversation she could take. “You told me never to speak his name aloud,” she corrected. “I had to swear on a Bible, of all the most ludicrous things, and I haven’t mentioned his name, not once. But the fact remains that he loved you and so does this Michael.” Edwige paused just long enough for her words to form meaning in Ronan’s brain. “I daresay that Michael loves you even more.”
Ronan may have been angry, but his mother was clever. He had no idea that she was saying exactly what she knew he wanted to hear. “Do you really think so?”
Although she was tired and her feet hurt from wearing heels all day, Edwige knew she had to get up to play her role most effectively. She walked over to her son and looked up into his eyes. She forgot to prepare herself and for a moment she became speechless as she was reminded of how beautiful his father was. She hated recalling such details; they were useless to her now. He’s even wearing his hair like him, Edwige realized. Must be to impress his new beau. She reached up to touch his cheek and felt the stubble of his beard. My boy really is a man, she thought. “Darling, I say this with absolute certainty. Michael will be the greatest love of your life.” She took a step back and held his hands in hers. “And that’s why you must offer his blood to The Well.”
Ronan looked at Edwige and it was one of those rare moments that he didn’t see a manipulative creature or a spiteful woman, but only his mother. “I don’t know if I can do that to him,” Ronan pleaded. “I don’t know if it’s what he wants.”
“It’s what the universe wants,” Edwige replied. “It’s what The Well wants, so everything else is secondary.” Unable to hold her son’s gaze any longer, Edwige walked to the other side of the room to gather her jacket and purse. “I don’t think I have to remind you that without The Well, we are nothing, and The Well is nothing if we don’t continue to replenish it with fresh blood.” She looked at herself in the mirror and loved how the bolero jacket, a burgundy, white, and black tweed trimmed in leather the same color as her skirt, gave the illusion that her shoulders were wider than they were. A smart purchase, she told herself, very smart. Then she turned to her son and made one more comment. “Blood bound by love.”
His mother may have changed her appearance, but she hadn’t changed her tactics. She spoke directly and she spoke the truth and that was one of the reasons that, despite all of her many faults, Ronan continued to love her. “It’s what makes us special, isn’t it?” he asked.
And although her son looked like a man, he was still her child, a child who desperately clung to sentiment and idealism, which is why, despite all of her many shortcomings, she would always love him. “Yes, it’s what makes us special.”
She opened her purse and found her lipstick, a new shade of frosted pink that Marcel had d
emanded she buy, and faced the mirror to apply a fresh coat. Yes, that man truly is a genius. She tossed the lipstick back into her purse, snapped it shut, then faced her son. “But remember it’s what also makes us vulnerable. So do the right thing and turn Michael into one of us before someone else beats you to it.” An air kiss to each side of Ronan’s cheeks. “Maybe tomorrow when you all go on your little school trip into town.”
She couldn’t be serious. “No, that’s impossible.”
“Eden is filled with narrow, cobblestone streets that lead to dark alleyways, perfect for a lovers’ rendezvous.”
Without warning, an image popped into Ronan’s mind. He was pressing Michael against the cold stone of some abandoned building, kissing him deeply in the shadow of the alley, his body pushing into him, his passion growing, his fangs piercing Michael’s hot flesh. “Mother!” Ronan shouted, stopping Edwige on the other side of the door. “Why don’t you visit Ciaran before you leave? I know he’d love to see you.” Ronan had no idea why he suggested that. The words tumbled out of his mouth without any thought. Guess it was better than saying what was really on his mind. But one look at the way his mother’s body tensed and he knew his suggestion would be ignored.
Nervously, Edwige patted her purse against her leg, never once losing her smile. “How sweet of you to think of that one.” She grabbed her purse with her other hand and jammed it into her armpit. “But no, I’d rather not.” Ronan could only see the top of her blond short-cropped hair as she descended the stairs, but he could hear her final comment. “Remember to do as I say.”
For several minutes after he closed the door, Ronan was paralyzed, still under his mother’s control. He leaned his head against the door, unable to move. He was filled with so much anger that he wanted to ransack his room, he wanted to rip the doors off their hinges, he wanted to take his bed and fling it through the window, but he couldn’t find the strength.
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