Unafraid by Michael Griffo Page B

wasn’t advice, that was an observation. “Well, yes,” Ronan stuttered. “But ...”
    Michael wrapped his arms around Ronan and drew him in close. “But what? You’ve done everything you can for him,” Michael continued. “You’ve been a good brother, not the best in the entire history of the world, but a lot better than when I first got here.”
    Their lips were so close that Ronan was finding it hard to concentrate on what Michael was saying, but he knew the words were important so he forced himself to listen. “If Ciaran can’t see that and if he wants to work with Them like my father has chosen to do, well then as hard as it is to admit, you don’t have the power to stop him.”
    Ronan had made the smart choice; it was what he needed to hear. Yes, he was a vampire and stronger than Ciaran in so many ways, but he was still his brother and because of that their relationship would always be complicated. It might serve them both best if Ronan stepped away and let Ciaran choose his own path. Ronan just prayed he didn’t choose the one that would destroy him.
    Pushing thoughts of his brother out of his mind, Ronan exhaled, releasing a long, slow stream of air so he could focus on the handsome boy wrapped in his arms. “Well, love, only seventeen and already such a wise, old sage.”
    Michael felt Ronan’s lips press into his, and he started to chuckle. “Maybe Saoirse’s right after all and I really am some special god.”
    Without letting go of Michael, Ronan knelt and laid him down on the ground. Ignoring the rough earth under them, the boys kissed and laughed and caressed each other in the shadow of the trees. “I don’t know if you’re a god,” Ronan whispered. “But I do know that you’re the ideal husband for me.”
    Abruptly, Michael pushed Ronan away and sat up. “Hey, wait a second.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” Ronan asked, trying to get Michael to resume his horizontal position.
    â€œYou still haven’t told me your secret.”
    Not now, now is not the time. “Tomorrow,” Ronan said. “After our feeding.”
    Thankful that that was enough to satisfy Michael’s curiosity, Ronan lay on top of him and kissed him deeply so he could satisfy his own growing desire.
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    The boys were so connected to one another, so lost in each other’s embrace, they didn’t even hear Imogene start to sing.
    Had they listened to something other than the sound of their own breathing, had they reminded themselves to be aware of the world around them, they would have heard the clear, dulcet sounds of Imogene’s tune. They could have followed the melody all the way to the cave where she had resided since her partial-death and uncovered her hiding place. But they were preoccupied, too engrossed in exploring each other’s bodies, and for the moment weren’t interested in exploring things that were just out of their reach. Imogene wouldn’t have any new visitors today; she would still only have one companion—Brania. Both, however, were starting to become more aware that their constant cohabitation was losing its novelty.
    â€œDon’t stop!” Brania ordered when Imogene’s singing was replaced with silence.
    â€œI’m tired,” Imogene replied, leaning her head against the soft, white satin on the inside of the coffin.
    Brania understood the need for children to occasionally be disobedient, but her own child should know better and not behave like a savage human. “It’s my favorite aria,” Brania said, trying to find a tone that would appease Imogene.
    â€œI don’t care!” Imogene yelled. “I told you I’m tired and I don’t want to sing.”
    Walking slowly toward the coffin, Brania felt her face contort, her hands curl into two clenched fists. She wanted to be a good parent, she wanted her daughter to know that she