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The same voice that told Ronan to come to The Well now ordered him to stay back, to come no farther or risk death. He had done his job; he had made sure the enemy entered the hallowed ground alone, and now The Well would make sure the vampire understood he was trespassing and would have to pay the price.
Ronan watched in awe as The Well began to coil and bend in shape. It wasn't the real Well at all, but a hallucination, a decoy, a mirage that led Amir farther into the depths of the ocean to make him think that he had found their life force. How fitting that during David's phony Carnival for the Black Sun, it was The Well that had performed the most amazing trick, the most cunning act of deception. Yes, it was cruel; yes, Amir was about to lose his life, but first and foremost The Well and all its descendants, all the creatures of Atlantis, would be protected. Forcing himself to swim toward the surface of the water, Ronan had never felt more proud of his race.
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As he was being sucked lower and lower into the belly of the ocean, spinning wildly within the grip of the whirlpool, Amir felt the sting of salt water on his tongue and soon became aware that the air in his lungs was being replaced with water
. Now, David, take me out of this now, he silently shouted.
He had no idea if David could hear him, the rush of the water whirling around him was so loud, he couldn't even hear himself, but David had to hear him. He was the headmaster, their leader, he could hear everything, he could
do
anything. Then why wasn't he swooping in to pull him out? Why wasn't he freeing him and placing him where he belonged, next to David on his very own throne? Why was he letting the darkness win?!
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“Because sometimes the darkness is too powerful.”
That's what Edwige told herself. That was the response she heard in her mind when she asked why she was here in the darkness instead of at her children's side. She wasn't feeling guilty, she was merely curious. She knew that her place was next to her children, to try and keep them safe, help them fight whatever game David was playing, and not in a strange bed making love. But that's where she was and she only assumed it was because the darkness had finally proven too strong to resist.
She didn't realize it, but she physically felt just as Amir did. She felt as if she was being pulled against her will deeper and deeper into an unknown realm that she didn't want to enter, that she didn't want to witness, and yet it was her fate, it was a place where she was destined to go. She, however, was determined not to go there alone. If she concentrated very hard, if she narrowed her eyes a little bit more, Vaughan looked just like Saxon.
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Shielding his face from the alarming vision, Ronan shot through the surface of the water. Below, Amir's body was shredded into a million tiny pieces, each one jutting into the darkened sea like a ray of light. The explosion was so strong that it rose from the bowels of the ocean and nipped at Ronan's feet, so strong that it reached out to everything that was connected to Amir, including David. With no warning and an unmerciful roar, his mirror, his window into the lives of his followers, shattered along with Amir.
Splinters of glass showered down upon David like rain, cutting into his exposed flesh, his hands, ripping open his suit. One pointed piece of glass fell slowly, almost deliberately, slicing the side of his face through the center of his eye down his cheek to the curve of his jaw. As the blood began to trickle from his open wounds, into his eyes, he fell to his knees blindly, the remnants of the mirror crunching underneath him, and prayed to Zachariel for leniency. “Heal me, heavenly Father,” David begged. “Restore my vision. Allow me to serve in your holy image until you have been avenged, until our purpose has been achieved!”
David shivered as he felt the hand of Zachariel touch the crown of his head and he felt his wounds ebb into his skin, felt the two disjointed pieces of his eye fuse back together, felt the blood lift and disappear. Such a wonderful, charitable god, David thought, but Zachariel was not through bestowing gifts upon his most loyal disciple. If David was to win this war, he needed every advantage. He felt Zachariel's touch travel from his head to the middle of his spine and then he knew what Amir felt like just before his body exploded.
“Ahhhh!!!!” The pain that ripped through David's body was agonizing. It was as if two jackhammers were placed on opposite sides of his back and were drilling holes through his skin, past his muscle, into his bone, until they emerged through his chest. “Ahhhhh!!!” David's scream flooded the room. He wanted to form words, but his mind wasn't functioning, it was only processing the arrival of a beautiful, breathtaking pain.
When he felt the first wing rip out from his shoulder blade, he lurched forward, palms crashing into the floor, splintering the wooden slats, he barely had enough strength not to collapse entirely. The second was even worse, and the excruciating pain sent him flying forward, facedown onto the floor. He stayed there, fists clenched, eyes shut tight, as he felt the wings lengthen and grow until they took up almost the entire space of the anteroom. By the time his wings started to flap gently, stirring a cooling breeze in the room, the pain was a memory and David realized the transformation was complete.
Standing up, he saw that Zachariel had restored the mirror. He no longer saw Amir or the rest of his subjects, but he could see his new glorious self. David smiled as he saw two magnificent, powerful black wings flutter behind his massive shoulders. Finally he looked exactly like the archangel he so devoutly worshipped.
Inside, darkness was given more power to reign even as the first rays of light returned to resurrect the outside world.
chapter 24
Whether light returns after an evening of darkness or after an hour of unnatural shadow, it is welcomed. It's a reminder that no matter how bleak, no matter how disheartening the world might look, there's always hope. Standing on the shore of Inishtrahull Island, wet and exhausted, Ronan had to remind himself of that when he saw the fog evaporate completely to reveal Michael standing in front of Saoirse, but dangerously close to Jean-Paul.
“Get away from them!”
Jean-Paul turned his head so quickly, the long strands of his hair whipped out and brushed against Michael's cheek, causing him to flinch, reel his head back so it looked to Ronan as if he had been struck. Without warning, Ronan sprang toward them, his face contorted into a warrior's scowl, fangs bared, only one thought raging through his mind: Kill Jean-Paul before he can hurt the two people he loved the most. Michael had other ideas.
“No!”
Stepping in front of Jean-Paul, Michael caught Ronan's arm at the wrist and held it tightly. Ronan tried to break free, but couldn't. Michael's grip was too strong, stronger than ever before, and more than just his increased physical strength, there was something going on in his mind, something that was not going to allow Ronan to get past him.
Confused, Ronan stared into Michael's eyes, the only thing he recognized was the color. He was here to save Michael from whatever this French git was planning to do to him and Saoirse, and this is his reaction? This is how he expresses his gratitude?
What the bloody hell happened up there in that fog?
Ronan thought.
“Nothing happened!” Michael shouted.
So you can read my mind when it suits you?
“That's not what it looks like to me!”
Michael couldn't believe this. Ronan was the one who up and disappeared, leaving him alone to keep Saoirse safe, and instead of thanking him, he was jealous, he was accusing him of cheating on him while trapped in Phaedra's fog with Saoirse clutching his hand the entire time. It was absurd! “Are you calling me a liar?!”
Yes! No! I don't know!!
Ronan didn't know what to think; all he knew was that Michael found Jean-Paul attractive and that he had been alone with him before and now the jerk was here inches from Michael's face. He couldn't imagine he would've done anything, especially not with his sister so close, but still, why did he have to be here? Why did anyone else have to be here? Why couldn't everyone just leave them alone!?
Ronan yanked his arm away so suddenly and with such force that Michael stumbled back a few steps. If Jean-Paul hadn't grabbed him by the waist to steady him, he would've fallen onto the beach. “Don't touch him!!” Ronan ordered.
“You should not treat him like you own him!” Jean-Paul yelled back.
“I don't
own
him!” Ronan cried. “I love him!”
“Eef that's zee way you water vamps express your love,” Jean-Paul said quietly, “I am so very happy I am not one of you.”
“Trust me, Frenchie, so are we!” Ronan shouted.
For a few moments no one spoke, but no one let their fangs recede either. Jean-Paul, Ronan, and even Michael were still ready for battle if it came to that. By the way Michael was glaring at Ronan, it was unclear if they would be fighting as a team or against each other.
Why is he mad at me? What the hell have I done now?
Ronan couldn't figure it out and he knew he wouldn't get any answers until he and Michael were alone. Unfortunately, Inishtrahull Island was about to get a little more crowded.
“Jean-Paul!”
The sun had returned with such strength, such vigor that they had to squint in order to see Nakano run toward them. He was running so quickly, they could hear him panting like a wild dog from fifty yards away, the sand flying out at his feet mixing with the sunlight to surround him and almost make it look like Kano was floating toward them. They just didn't know if he was so eager to reach them to fight or to reunite with his boyfriend. Once he arrived, Nakano didn't know either.
He looked at Jean-Paul, beautiful as ever, and Jean-Paul was staring back at him, but his expression was unreadable, practically stoic. He didn't know what was going on underneath those breathtaking features. Was he happy to see him? Was he happy to see that he was alive after he jumped into the fog and left him alone? Or would he prefer that he curl up on the beach somewhere and die so he could be alone with David?
He turned to look at Ronan and he felt like a merciless hand was squeezing his heart, squeezing until it burst and it was useless, dead, he was so overwhelmed with feelings of jealousy. He looked so smug, so condescending with his boyfriend at his side, the boyfriend he chose over him, and that freak of a sister behind him. Why did Ronan have everything? Why did he have a loving boyfriend, a family, friends who would fight alongside him, and why did Nakano have nothing? Why was everything that Nakano ever had, ever wanted, taken away from him?
The scream roared in his head, but Nakano didn't allow it to seep out of his mouth. He kept it contained, kept it to himself so no one would know how distraught he was, how lost. He wanted to destroy, he wanted to unclench his fists and rip the flesh from their bodies. First Michael, then the girl, then sink his fangs into Ronan's neck, his thick, muscular neck, and suck out every last drop of his blood. He wanted to connect to something, he wanted to latch on to someone, to as many people as possible, and destroy them, make them feel the pain that he was feeling, the absolute anguish that was living and breathing just underneath his flesh. But instead he did nothing.
When he turned back to Jean-Paul, he was ecstatic that he was still looking at him. He was interested; he hadn't turned away. He had so many questions that he wanted to ask him. He heard the words in his head, the sentences were formed, they were ready to be spoken, but as usual, he was afraid, so he remained silent. He didn't want to upset Jean-Paul, he didn't want to destroy the best relationship that he had ever had.
That's right, Ronan, what you and I had was nothing compared to this, this is the best!
It didn't matter about David, none of that mattered, nothing mattered as long as Jean-Paul kept looking at him, looking in his direction. And reaching out his hand to him.
“Eet eez time for us to go,” Jean-Paul said.
Nakano put his hand into Jean-Paul's, and his instinct was to pull back, let go. He felt no warmth, no comfort, only a hand, but he stomped on his intuition and held on to Jean-Paul anyway. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ronan and Michael standing so close to each other they were practically one person, and his crushed heart felt another sting. Ignore it, Nakano told himself, ignore the questions, ignore the doubts, and squeeze Jean-Paul's hand harder.
All that matters is the connection, all that matters is that I'm not alone.
And physically he wasn't. But when they started to leave, Jean-Paul turned back to get one last glimpse of Michael, one last look at the boy's innocent face. Michael wasn't looking back at him, but he also wasn't looking at Ronan. Jean-Paul smiled as he pulled Nakano closer to him and they sped off, practically flying over the dunes. The lingering thought as he departed was that maybe Michael's connection to his supposed soul mate wasn't as strong as it appeared to be either.
Playing the role of the strong, silent type was not in Saoirse's nature. She had remained silent for as long as she could, longer than she thought possible, but she had finally had enough. Being kidnapped by Amir, not knowing if she was going to be killed or turned into something vile like those other types of vampires, learning firsthand how incredible Phaedra's powers were, it had all been too much. Saoirse didn't like to take life seriously; she preferred to ignore ugly truths and remain blissfully ignorant, but she suddenly realized there were moments when you had to grow up, act like an adult, and take responsibility for your own actions. At least her version of taking responsibility. “This is all your fault!”
Ronan stared at his sister in disbelief. “My fault!? How the bloody hell did you come to that conclusion?”
Saoirse didn't have to explain herself. Michael did it for her. “You should've told me, Ronan. You should've told me about your sister.”
So that was it, that's the look that's been in his eyes, the look Ronan couldn't decipher. It was anger. “No one fully understands,” Ronan explained. “I just . . . I didn't think it was important, I was trying . . .”
“Yeah, I know,” Michael interrupted. “You were trying to protect me.”
“Yes! That's exactly what I was trying to do!” Ronan screamed, louder than he had intended. He was tired of being judged for trying to shield the people he loved from danger. After seeing MacCleery's dead, mutilated body and now Amir, destroyed beyond recognition, his soul God knows where, he knew he was right, and he was not going to apologize. “If you had listened to me, maybe none of this would've happened! If you had just accepted the fact that this whole carnival was a bleedin' farce, you would've been on your guard, Michael, and you, Saoirse, wouldn't have allowed yourself to get kidnapped!”
Rolling her eyes, Saoirse waved a hand in her brother's face. “I didn't
allow
that twit to kidnap me.”
“That twit is dead, Saorise!” Ronan shouted, grabbing his sister by the shoulders. “And so is Dr. MacLeery!”
“What?!” Michael cried. “How?!”
“Because they killed him!”
“Oh my God, no!” Michael cried.
Ronan answered Michael before turning back to his sister. “This isn't a game! This is why I didn't want you to come here in the first place!” A mixture of fear and anger flooded Ronan's body and he started to shake, Saoirse along with him. “They want to find The Well and destroy it, destroy us, and you being what you are makes you an easy target, don't you understand that?!”
Ronan didn't stop shaking his sister because her face had turned white or because he realized he might be hurting her, he stopped because he felt Michael's hand on his shoulder. His touch was soft, but undeniable, they were still connected, they were still linked. It was exactly the confirmation he needed to allow the anger to escape his body.
He looked at his sister and hugged her gently. He didn't understand what he was feeling, he was scared and proud and relieved all at the same time. Maybe it's because whatever he did helped keep her safe. By his following The Well's orders, she was unharmed at least for today. He knew there would be another attempt on her life, he knew that she didn't fully grasp what was happening around her, but that didn't matter right now. Right now all that mattered was getting her home safely. “Where's Phaedra?” he asked.
“I'm right here.”
The voice materialized before the body did. When they turned around, they saw Phaedra walking down the coastline lazily as if she were daydreaming, letting the waves trip over her bare feet, her curls floating in the breeze. She looked like she was enjoying the return of the sun, soaking in the moment, instead of having just saved two people from uncertain danger, having just done an efemera's job.
When she got closer, Michael was the first to notice that her features were once again hazy, soft, not as defined as they had become, not as permanent. She had made a choice with this last transformation, a choice because of him, a choice that he knew might cost her a chance at experiencing love.
“I'm sorry,” Michael said.
“Don't be,” Phaedra replied, a tender smile on her lips. “I'm just like you. I am what I was born to be.”
Understanding didn't make it any easier, and Michael still felt guilty. He wished there was a way that Phaedra could remain an efemera
and
fall in love with Fritz, to have the best of both worlds, but he knew that was impossible. The universe held lots of mystery, yet very little compromise. “If it's any consolation, I'm grateful,” Michael said. “I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't shown up today.”
Phaedra was feeling the same way. “I'm grateful to you too.”
“Me?” Michael asked. “Why?”
Taking hold of his hands, her touch light as a feather, Phaedra replied, “If I hadn't shown up here, I would never have known real love.” Her cheeks started to shimmer with the most beautiful, translucent tears, almost like silver rain. “If Fritz ever asks, if he ever wonders,” she said, “please tell him that I did love him, I loved him with a full almost-human heart.”
Saoirse's jaw dropped. Could this day possibly get any worse? “You're leaving?”
Although she smiled at the young girl with deep affection, there was a hint of envy in her eyes. Saoirse very shortly would get to experience all the emotions Phaedra never would, all the joy, the love, and even the heartache. “Yes, I'm being called back home.”
Michael felt his own tears threaten to fall. This couldn't be happening, this shouldn't be happening, not after everything they'd been through, not after everything Phaedra had given to him. “You can't leave!” Michael protested. “Please, I still need you, we all do.”