“Um, oh yeah,” Fritz stuttered. “I, um, thought … I just … I just wanted to get you something.” Exhaling, Fritz sat down on the bed next to Phaedra. Normally he’d make fun of a girl with such hair, always kind of unruly and disheveled, but he liked that she wasn’t perfect; it made it easier to look at her.
“I see that you wrapped it yourself,” Phaedra said, smiling at the thin, rectangular box that was covered in three different types of paper held together by thick strips of masking tape.
Blushing, Fritz explained, “I kind of ran out of supplies.”
Phaedra looked at this boy, his smooth dark skin and lovely light brown eyes, and had no idea what she was doing or feeling, but decided to take advantage of his kindness. “Thank you, this is very sweet.”
Score one for Fritz! Well, not score, he chastised himself, more like congratulations. “I know you have a sweet tooth.”
No one had ever given Phaedra a box of chocolates before; in fact, no boy had ever given her a gift. She liked how it made her feel. “Thank you, Fritz, this is really … really thoughtful.”
And Fritz liked how Phaedra’s comment made him feel. He hoped the answer to his next question would make him feel even better. “There’s another rumor going around campus too.”
Mmmm, chocolate-covered cherries truly are delicious. “What’s that?”
“That, um, that you’re leaving school too,” Fritz said. “Is that true?”
Maybe it was the hope in Fritz’s eyes or the feeling that her work here was not yet done, but Phaedra was certain. “No, I’m not going anywhere.”
Beaming, Fritz couldn’t contain himself and kissed Phaedra quickly, but sweetly. “I’m glad to hear that.” Phaedra didn’t trust herself to say anything more, so she simply held the boy’s hand. Once again, Fritz was relieved. Her hand felt a little heavier than before, like it really was going to stay and not disappear. Not like some others.
“Hawksbry!”
Out of respect, Dr. MacCleery waited for a response, but none came. He knocked on the headmaster’s door once more and called out, “Hawksbry, are you in there?!” How he loathed this room. It always made him feel inferior, like he was waiting to be summoned by some higher authority. Ideal to remind the students who was in charge, but annoying to those who already know their power is limited. What he hated most was the faces of those damn archangels staring down at him, condemning him for being a mere human. As a scientist he didn’t believe in their existence, but still, did they have to look so angry? “Hawksbry, I’m coming in.”
When he entered the room, he didn’t see the headmaster sprawled out on the floor as he had feared nor did he see him sitting quietly at his desk reading as he had hoped. He saw no one. He looked around for signs of an intrusion, but again found nothing. He opened the doors to his private bathroom, his closet, both empty. “Where the hell did you get to this time?” But just as he was about to leave, he saw something that caught his eye. On the otherwise uncluttered desk was a folded piece of paper, propped up and looking like a tent. When Lochlan read the handwritten scrawl, he felt the eyes of the archangels peering at him, reading over his shoulder. He knew the handwriting was Alistair’s, though the words seemed to be written fast and without his usual flair. The message, however, was succinct. Evil walks among the angels. The children must be protected.
What?! MacCleery looked around the room, convinced someone was playing a trick on him. But then he read the note again and then he remembered how Alistair looked the last time he saw him and that he had disappeared for a few days once before, and the doctor quickly became convinced that something was wrong. He had no idea what was going on. He wasn’t sure if he really believed the words on the paper, but he felt certain that Alistair believed them. And when it came to the children, Alistair was rarely wrong.
The doctor was so deep in thought when he walked past the mirror and the haunted faces of the archangels, he didn’t even notice that he stepped in a small pile of ash.
The mahogany box was hardly ever noticed by anyone even though Edwige kept it out in full view, placed on top of a small table carved from the same wood. There was nothing fancy about the box or the table; the lines were smooth and neither was embellished with carving or adornment. They were both simply sturdy and strong. Just like Saxon was.
Edwige opened the box, the smell of the burnt ash now faint like a rarely spoken memory. But even unspoken memories never completely die. “Forgive me, Saxon,” Edwige said. “I faltered. I grew weak and thought I needed the love of another man.” Her eyes filled with tears, but her voice was steady when she vowed, “I will never make that mistake again.”
That was the thought that filled Ciaran’s brain when he entered St. Albert’s. When he entered the lab, he didn’t know what to think.
“Hello, Ciaran,” Brania said. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
Act normal, Ciaran, these people can’t possibly know what’s inside your head. “I thought I’d seen the last of you after the festival,” Ciaran said, placing his books down on the counter. “Didn’t think you’d want to be in my presence again and, you know, risk dropping dead of boredom.”
Brania looked at Nakano and laughed. “Now, if only you could learn to be as witty as our friend here, maybe I wouldn’t have to constantly request that you keep your mouth closed.” Nakano looked like he wanted to respond in a not-so-witty manner, but he did indeed keep his mouth closed. Ciaran accurately assumed he was only doing so for fear of being reprimanded. Something intriguing was going on, he had to admit, but he knew better than to admit it to them, so he continued to set up his lab as if he didn’t have any visitors. “Aren’t you the least bit curious why we’re here?”
Pulling a tray of specimens from out of the freezer underneath the counter, Ciaran answered without looking at either vampire. “No.”
Nakano opened his mouth to speak, unable to remain civil, but Brania dug her nails into his thigh before he could utter a sound. “I understand your apathy,” Brania began. “But I think once you hear our proposal, it will be displaced by great interest.”
“I’m not interested in anything you might have to propose,” Ciaran said firmly.
“Even if the proposal comes from my father?” Brania asked. When she saw Ciaran’s hand hesitate, linger in the air for a split second before placing the glass plate on the microscope, she knew she had succeeded. Ciaran had taken the first step toward entering her lair.
Looking at the sample of blood through the microscope, Ciaran tried but was unable to focus. Her father? This was not what he had expected. He knew it could be a trap, he knew he could be setting himself up for false hope like all the other times, but it could also be the opportunity of a lifetime. “Your father has a proposal for me?”
“One that will change your destiny.” Not wanting to appear too eager or too desperate, Brania started to leave, Nakano close behind her. She only stopped when Ciaran spoke.
“If your father wants to do business, he knows where he can find me.”
When Brania smiled, she tried not to look too victorious. After all, she may have lost a few small battles, but winning the war was all that mattered. “Yes, He does, Ciaran.” She was impressed with how intensely the boy pretended to be working and how he so admirably tried to hide his interest. Luckily, she knew his true desires. “Don’t worry, Ciaran, He’ll be in touch.”
For a long time after Brania and Nakano left, Ciaran didn’t move, he didn’t speak, he hardly breathed. He was thrilled and he was disgusted. He didn’t want to bargain with Them; he didn’t want to work with Brania’s father. But most of all, he didn’t want to be alone.
Feeling Ronan’s arms around him, Michael knew he would never be alone again. They sat, Michael leaning into Ronan, their faces warmed by the first rays of dawn, and listened to the sounds of the earth. The earth that was as immortal as they were. The waves were now rolling onto the shores of Inishtrahull Island, no longer crashing forcefully onto the beach, their vigor
replaced with contentment. There was no wind, just a placid breeze that ebbed and flowed with the movement of the tide, bringing with it the smell of salt and a gesture of peace.
Michael smiled when he heard the meadowlark’s song; the soothing notes sounded like an old friend as they wafted over him. It was the same song he followed from Weeping Water, from his other life that brought him here where he was born to be. Into the arms and the heart of Ronan.
And Ronan’s heart was never so full. He looked at Michael and was overcome with joy. He really will be forever beautiful and forever mine. Softly, they kissed, parting only when the first lazy drops of rain fell from the sky. Ronan smiled as Michael bent his head back, allowing the rain to anoint his face. “Should we find shelter?” he whispered.
“No,” Michael replied in a strong, confident voice as he pulled Ronan’s arms tighter around him. “This is the most natural feeling in the world.”
Dear Reader,
Now that you’ve read Unnatural and have gotten to know Michael, Ronan, Brania, and the rest of the students at Archangel Academy, I thought I’d share with you some of the exciting stuff that’s set to come as their journey continues in Unwelcome, the next book in the series.
Change is in the air this semester at Double A. Just because Michael is now a vampire doesn’t mean his world is suddenly perfect—far from it. He may have gone through a physical transformation, but emotionally he still has a lot going on—starting with his relationship with Ronan. He’s never been someone’s boyfriend before and suddenly he finds himself connected to Ronan in a way he never imagined. It doesn’t matter that he loves Ronan more than he ever thought possible—a relationship needs more than love to survive. He also has to deal with the lingering feelings of his mother’s death, plus his father, who’s distant and not what you could call accepting of the fact that his son is gay. Just wait until Michael finds out his father’s not only a vampire but one of Brania’s creations!
As Michael struggles to come to terms with the young man he is becoming—physically, emotionally, and sexually—Ronan struggles to let go of the demons of his past. This is not his first relationship, but he’s desperate for it to last an eternity. His fear that it will end like all the others causes him to make questionable decisions and could endanger his destiny. He also decides to follow some of Edwige’s advice, and you just know that isn’t a smart thing to do.
There are lots of other new relationships too. Phaedra and Fritz are growing closer, but will they ever be close enough for Phaedra to confess that she isn’t even human? And Ciaran, tired of being lonely and an outsider, makes a bold choice—to join forces with Brania by doing some scientific experiments on the water vamps for none other than her father. It’s a choice that will have deadly consequences.
Meanwhile, two new characters arrive on the hallowed grounds of Archangel Academy, creating even more mystery. Ronan’s younger sister, Saoirse, comes to Eden harboring a secret that only a handful of people know about and one that has made her a legend among water vamps. And then there’s the new headmaster, the enigmatic David Zachary, who has come to the school to lead the students into a new era. But as you know, nothing at this school is what it seems.
All the action and all the stories culminate and explode at the end of the school year at The Carnival for the Black Sun. It’s David’s brainchild to celebrate a solar eclipse when the sun disappears and for a few moments the world is without any light.
Will Michael and Ronan overcome one obstacle after another to remain forever beautiful and forever together? Will Ciaran side with the enemy? Who will cause more pain—Brania or Edwige? And will an evil plot be thwarted or will Archangel Academy be plunged into a new era of darkness? You’ll just have to read Unwelcome to find out.
Thanks for reading—and enjoy!
Michael Griffo
one drop
two drops
three drops
four
water is mixed
with blood once more.
shadows and light
on a crimson stain
will the sun prevail?
or will darkness reign?
prologue
Outside, the earth was cold.
The New Year brought with it an early frost, burying the past, at least temporarily, beneath a thick layer of snow. Archangel Academy was practically empty, most of the students spending their holiday break with family, so the campus was a sea of white, an enormous unsoiled blanket with only a few patches of brownish-green grass, bruised yet resilient, peeking out every hundred yards or so as a reminder of what was and what will be again. Tomorrow when classes resume, the sprawling blank canvas will be tarnished with footsteps, the imprints of students making their claims on the land, their own private piece of the world. Looking out from his dorm room window at the wintry landscape, a landscape that would soon be altered, Michael was once again amazed at how quickly everything can change.
Only a few months ago, Michael was looking out a different window at an entirely different landscape, wondering when his life would begin, when it would change. And now here he was, half a world away, his life transformed in more ways than he could ever have imagined or even thought possible. Sometimes he didn’t know what was more incredible: the fact that he was a vampire or that he had a boyfriend. He looked over at Ronan sleeping in the bed that they shared, the moonlight making his skin look almost translucent, his thick black hair tousled like a little boy’s, a faint smile on his full red lips, and Michael’s breath caught in his chest, for he was fully aware that Ronan and everything else that had happened to him since he left Weeping Water, Nebraska, were the answers to his dreams. It was just that everything had happened so quickly.
He didn’t hear the sound until a few seconds after it began, a sound like teeth, sharp and strong, clicking, chattering. It had started to rain and the raindrops, more ice than water, were hitting the window, striking it, as a welcome, a warning. That’s why Michael loved the rain; it could be so many things. It could cleanse, destroy, interrupt, change. The first time he saw Ronan, it had rained. The memory of rainwater riding down Ronan’s cheeks, clinging to his lips, still stirred feelings within the pit of Michael’s stomach, still made him feel nervous and excited and passionate, still made him feel incredibly alive, even though, well, even though technically he wasn’t.
He watched two drops of rainwater travel down the window. One moved swiftly in a straight course from the top to the bottom, never slowing down, never hesitating, bubbling at the bottom of the window until it could no longer hold its shape, then bursting into the air to continue its journey elsewhere, maybe fall into the snow-covered earth below and wait for the rest of the world around it to melt. Or perhaps become something completely new, a glade of ice, hard, silver, and sleek.
The other drop of rain moved with caution, traipsing slowly to the left, then the right, pausing a moment almost as if to ask Michael in which direction it should travel. But Michael had no advice, so the raindrop was forced to make its own decision. Slowly it continued to move down the window on a slight angle, hugging desperately to the glass so it wouldn’t fall, so it wouldn’t stray too far and too quickly from what it knew, moving in its own time. Finally, it reached the base of the window long after the other raindrop had disappeared, and made the decision to stay, content in its travel, content to allow life to continue to move around it as it stayed unchanged, a simple drop of rain, nothing more, nothing less. For a moment Michael felt regret, just for a moment, but the presence of the emotion, no matter how fleeting, was profound, because he was beginning to realize that nothing in his life would ever be simple again. Not even his reflection.
In the window, through the crisscrossing currents of rain, among the grayish-black shadows of the moonlight, he was reminded once again that his image was forever changed. Changed by a drop of red, one tiny drop of red blood that clung to his lip.
Before he came here to Double A, before he met Ronan, he would have t
hought a spot of blood would spoil his image, ruin it, but now he knew that it enhanced his reflection and gave him strength and courage and power that he had yet to fully comprehend and employ. He flicked the dash of red, the stubborn blood drop, with his tongue, and savored the taste, the taste that reminded him of his monthly feeding earlier in the day, the taste that reminded him of Ronan and of himself. And he couldn’t help but smile. Michael thought how fascinating it was that something like the bitter taste of blood, someone else’s blood, that a few months ago would have been repulsive, was now a vital aspect of his life. And it was all because of Ronan.
Before Michael could turn to look at Ronan, a thunderclap roared somewhere far above him, somewhere out of reach but somehow right next to him, and his gaze remained with the rain, with the cold, with his grotesque face. Because the rain, falling with more intensity now, had altered his reflection. He saw that he wasn’t the Michael he remembered, the Michael he was still trying to hold on to; he was something different, something much, much different from who he was when he began his journey to this new place.
It was as if each drop of rain latched on to the window, sliding in a multitude of directions to create dark, watery veins that sprawled across Michael’s face like sins as they begin to etch into a soul. His image, torn and dissected, heightened and distorted, looked back at him as if to announce This is who I am now; that other Michael is no more. But strangely he wasn’t afraid. He didn’t know exactly how he felt, but he knew that this harsh truth didn’t frighten him. Maybe it was because he was stronger now or because he was learning to accept the unacceptable. Or maybe it was simply because he knew he was no longer alone.
There was no more time to ponder his misshapen reflection or how his present was so vastly different from his past because he heard his name. Ronan’s husky whisper never failed to arouse Michael, never failed to remind him how lucky he was, how grateful that he was exactly where he was born to be.
Unnatural Page 36
