Unwelcome (25 page)

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Authors: Michael Griffo

BOOK: Unwelcome
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The room was suddenly plunged into darkness, and David fought the unfamiliar tingle of fear that invaded his body.
No! Zachariel is loving, he cherishes my loyalty, my devotion; he wouldn't cast me into blackness, he wouldn't be so cruel.
And David was right. A white light erupted from the sculpted image of Zachariel, illuminating the room, and then David's request was granted.
He could no longer see his reflection in the mirror, he could no longer see his own image staring back at him. What he did see was something much more exceptional: his subjects. The mirror had transformed into a window, a window that allowed David to see his followers, track their every move, and right now, he saw them working in St. Sebastian's Gym, painting signs, building sets out of wood. He delighted in the images, Amir showing a group of students how to use black velvet to create art, Saoirse having returned to her family in obvious defiance of her mother's wishes.
But not everything he saw made him happy.
 
With the music playing and the smorgasbord of food, it felt more like a party than an early morning work session, except that Michael didn't have a date. “Ronan still upset that you forgot his birthday?” Phaedra asked as they spread out a roll of white material on the gym floor.
“No, he doesn't seem to be,” Michael replied. “But I did screw up, big-time.”
Stealing a glance at Fritz, Phaedra said, “I think this relationship thing is pretty hard to master, so you should give yourself a free pass on this one.”
Opening a can of black paint, Michael looked at the liquid, so thick, so creamy, he could get lost in the darkness. When he looked out of the windows that overlooked The Forest, he saw a more enticing invitation. “And just how many passes does one bad boyfriend get?”
“One forgotten birthday doesn't make you a bad boyfriend.”
Michael wasn't referring to Ronan's birthday, he was alluding to Jean-Paul. Outside, at the edge of The Forest of No Return, Jean-Paul was leaning against his car, arms folded, cap dipped forward, as if he were taking a nap standing up, exactly the way R.J. used to do at the gas station on a warm day. Long legs stretched out, ankles crossed, bored, waiting for someone to rouse him, waiting for a reason to move. Michael could give him a reason.
Looking in Michael's direction, Phaedra knew exactly what was on his mind. “Neither does thinking Frenchie is sexy.”
Startled, Michael almost knocked the can of paint onto the floor. “It doesn't?”
“Nope,” Phaedra said, dipping a stick into the paint and giving the blackness a swirl. “Just makes you gay.”
Startled again, this time Michael laughed. She was right. Just because he thought Jean-Paul was sexy didn't mean he loved Ronan any less. It just meant what she said, that he's gay and finds his father's driver sexy. Damn sexy actually.
Unfortunately, Nakano felt the same way. From across the gym, he watched Michael watch Jean-Paul and he had to fight the urge to let his fangs descend and pounce on his nemesis in front of the entire school.
First he steals Ronan from me, and now he's trying to get his disgusting webbed hands on Jean-Paul.
“Want me to teach him a lesson?” Amir asked, practically panting at the proposition.
“No,” Nakano replied. “I can handle this.”
Peering into the mirror, David waited for Nakano to take action. He willed him to, but the boy didn't move, he just watched.
He wasn't the only bastard son who didn't comply with David's wishes.
 
Standing in front of Jean-Paul was like standing in the past. It was a hot, summer day, the smell of gasoline filled the air, a small bead of sweat traveled down R.J.'s cheek, onto his neck, disappearing underneath his loose-fitting T-shirt, going places Michael only dreamed about going. He was so wrapped up in the memory, he didn't even hear the meadowlark call out to him.
Da-da-DAH-da, da-da-da
. All he heard was Jean-Paul's greeting. “Bonjour.”
Swallowing hard to get some moisture into his mouth, Michael replied, “Hi.”
Jean-Paul moved as if in slow motion, flicking the brim of his cap with a long, thin finger, uncrossing his legs, placing both hands behind him on the hood of the sedan. When he spoke, his voice was smooth, but slow, like honey dripping off a heated spoon. “Looks like your headmaster has, uh, what's zee phrase? Rallied zee troops.” Michael nodded and took a few steps closer, rubbing his bare arms, suddenly aware of the chill. “March weather, she's always unpredictable,” Jean-Paul said.
“Yeah, life, she too can be unpredictable,” Michael said, cringing at his attempt to be clever.
Jean-Paul nodded, smiling, either oblivious to Michael's nervousness or relishing it. “So how have you been, Michael Howard?”
“Good. I've been good.” Glancing to the side because he didn't want to stare too long at his face, the cleft in his chin, Michael focused on the car, the black exterior was shining in the sun. It had the same sheen as Jean-Paul's eyes. “I remember the first time I saw this car,” Michael said. “When Jeremiah picked me up at the airport.”
“You like to drive?”
“That's weird you should say that. I just started taking lessons.”
The dirt crunched underneath Jean-Paul's spotless black boots as he walked toward Michael and opened up the passenger-side door. Jean-Paul climbed in, his leather-clad fingers unbuttoning his suit jacket as he sat. “Then why don't you take me for a spin?”
“Seriously?!”
With a grin, Jean-Paul told Michael to get in the car, then slammed his door shut, making the meadowlark flinch from his perch high above them.
What to do, what to do? Michael looked around, into St. Sebastian's, and saw that he was being watched, his friends were all clumped together in a huddle and from his own private viewing room, David was watching too. They were all waiting to see what he would do next, and whatever he did, Michael was sure Ronan would find out. But really, what was so wrong with what Jean-Paul was asking, well, telling him to do? Michael needed to get experience driving a car, and what better way to learn than from a guy whose job it is to drive?
Walking around the front of the car, an odd feeling started to grow within the pit of his stomach, not good, not bad, apprehension mixed with excitement. It was similar to how he felt when he was kissing Ronan, but not nearly as pleasant. His brain was fighting his body. There was something wrong with what he was about to do and he knew it, but his body won out and soon he was sitting in the driver's seat next to Jean-Paul, sinking into the luxurious heated leather seat and letting the smell of cinnamon envelop him. When Jean-Paul spoke, his full red lips hardly moved. “Isn't it nice to sit up front with zee adults for a change?”
Not everyone would agree. When Nakano raced past Phaedra and Fritz, they both knew where he was going, they both also knew they were thinking the same thing, that Michael was acting inappropriately and Nakano impetuously so there was no to need to speak.
Saoirse, however, couldn't keep silent.
“ 'Scuse me,” she said, squeezing in between them. “There's been a change in today's schedule, people; the fireworks are about to begin!” How they hoped she was wrong. “And doesn't Kano's hair look better grown out and longer like that?” she added. “He doesn't really have the face for a crew cut.”
Or the temperament for remaining calm.
I cannot believe he's sitting in the car next to my boyfriend! I cannot believe the two of them are driving away!
The words raged in Nakano's skull, making the bone hurt, making his heart ache.
Was everything Jean-Paul said to me a lie? I thought he loved me.
Nakano knew for certain that he loved Jean-Paul. No, no, this wasn't Jean-Paul's fault, it wasn't his doing, it was Michael's. Stinking water vamp ruins everything!
He should teach him a lesson once and for all; he should race after them. Damn the spectators.
Let them all see my preternatural speed and chase after the car, overtake it, fling open the doors, and make Michael pay for making a fool out of me.
But something prevented him from taking that first step. He wished he could call it maturity, good sense, but he needed to call it by its proper name: Ronan.
 
Yes, Michael realized, this was definitely a different feeling from when he was with Ronan. Jean-Paul was sexy, really, really sexy, there was no doubt about that, but what Michael felt had more to do with himself than with Jean-Paul. Being in his presence, knowing this other man's body was so close he could touch it if he wanted to, was liberating. He had taken another step toward not hiding from his true feelings and it felt wonderful.
But he was the only one who felt that way.
“Doesn't feel so good to watch your boyfriend drive off with another guy, does it?” Nakano asked, the words spitting out of him like rancid blood.
“Nothing wrong with taking a driving lesson from an expert,” Ronan replied, convincing neither of them that he believed what he said.
“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.” When Nakano got next to Ronan, he stopped and looked up at his ex. “And when you see that smarmy boyfriend of yours, tell him to keep his hands off of mine!” Shoving Ronan out of the way, Nakano sprinted past him and away from the gym to find a private place where he could cool down. Ronan preferred to stay put, sitting on a tree stump to wait for Michael to return, his only company the meadowlark's comforting melody.
 
“I should get back,” Michael announced. “I'm not really supposed to drive with anyone other than Mr. Blakeley.”
“I understand,” Jean-Paul said, his dark eyes peering at Michael. “It's fun to break a rule, but only if you don't get caught.”
And how incredible is it to break your own rules,
he thought. Little by little, Michael was breaking down barriers, breaking down the walls that he built while growing up too scared to reveal his true self to the world. All those walls were starting to crumble, and Michael was beginning to feel what it's like to be a man. For now, though, he would accept being a teenager, one with an incredibly beautiful boyfriend.
 
“Ronan!” Michael said, delighted to see him.
When Ronan looked up from where he was seated, the way the sun was shining in his eyes, Michael was momentarily unrecognizable. Once he stood up, he realized it was an illusion. Michael looked the same as he did this morning, the same as he did every morning, and yet there was a difference. The meadowlark noticed it too and, disappointed, it flew away in the opposite direction of the car.
As Jean-Paul drove away, Michael confessed, “I can't believe you don't want to learn how to drive. It's really exciting! And that car feels a lot better than the Civic Blakeley's making me use.” Michael rambled on a bit more about how Jean-Paul's car handled better, how it had better traction and a smoother flow over the ground, until it was clear that he was the only one doing any talking. “You're mad at me, aren't you?”
Mad? Yeah, a little, but Ronan knew they had an audience and he wasn't about to give them a show. “I'm just hungry.”
“Really? Our next feeding isn't for a few more days.”
But I want a connection now. I want to feel that we're connected so tightly that no one, no matter how fascinating or sexy or older can break that hold.
“The Well allows us some leeway if we need to feed a day or two early,” Ronan explained. “It acknowledges that even immortals have weaknesses we can't control.”
Michael was young, but he wasn't stupid, he knew Ronan wasn't talking about The Well, he was talking about him. “Nothing happened, Ronan. Nothing is ever going to happen,” Michael stated firmly. “You know that, don't you?”
I don't know, Michael. All I know is that I hate feeling jealous, I hate feeling that all this could end, that history could repeat itself. But I trust you and you said nothing happened, so I'm going to choose to believe you.
“I do,” he said. “But I'm still hungry.”

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