Bonebreakers - 1. Chapter 1: The Aurumian

“Fils de pute,” Elisheva muttered while brushing away the tobacco ashes that got wedged between the strands of her dark brown hair. “You know I don’t even let Maximillian smoke inside the manor.” She said in disgust while inching away from the man with whom she shared the hotel bed.

“There’s a difference. You hate your brother, you love me,” Jobim replied while blowing smoke rings. One glistened at the pale beams of sunlight streaming through the windows, its delicate but capricious shape assuming a grayish-silver glow, before finally dissipating into nothingness.

She rolled her eyes.

“You do, right?” said Jobim.

“Hate him?” she asked.

“Yeah?”

“A little,” she admitted.

“Uh-uh?”

“He took everything away from me!” she suddenly blurted. “I won’t be surprised if at this moment, he were screwing Omego. That bratty fag.”

“Pfft. I think you’re just jealous,” said Jobim matter-of-factly.

She sighed inwardly to diffuse her own anger. She regretted the fact that Omego can’t be like Jobim. Dominant, unyielding, tough. Even his skill in bed can’t compensate anymore for the blandness of his personality. Jobim knows her, her evil and all.

Her phone beeped.

“Damn,” she muttered. “Get up. You have to take me to New York.”

“I thought that was only a cover,” remarked Jobim.

“Well… Not anymore.”

“Okay. But I guess it can wait, can’t it?” he asked, motioning towards his erection tenting the sheets.

“Of course.” She unfurled the sheets to reveal his pulsing manhood. “Let me take you away, transporter…” said Elisheva before burying her head on his chiseled abs of the half-human, inhaling his sweet-musky scent.

She brushed her lips slowly down his treasure trail. She kissed and licked the exposed skin, giving it a sheen of saliva that reflected a million colors on her face, like a diamond in broad daylight. Slowly, teasingly, she wrapped her lips around his throbbing member. She looked up to him, like an eager puppy looking for approval.

“That’s right.” He smiled. Clueless bitch.

***

In his dream, Maximillian Lucente woke up in the middle of the night to find a killer beside his bed and a dagger at his throat. He focused and willed the gleaming knife to fly from the assailant’s hand but it only pressed further into his flesh, cutting skin. He glanced into his attacker’s face but what stared back was only darkness and shadows. He was paralyzed in fear.

“Tut, tut. Your magic tricks won’t work on knife with a lodestone core. You’re going to die” the killer taunted him, its voice icy and unnatural. It laughed, and Max was enveloped with horror he never knew existed.

In an instant, the killer vanished into the dark, and when he looked down, Max saw the dagger plugged onto his chest, its familiar hilt staring back at him. The Hiltkiss, the lost dagger of Aurumian royalty. He gasped for breath but an impossibly large amount of blood, his blood, was gushing in all directions, drowning him and clouding his vision. While the last dregs of his life left his now blood-soaked body, he heard once more the killer’s demonic laugh, piercing into the hollowness of the dark. Finally, he screamed.

When he opened his eyes, he found, not a killer, but a vampire. Standing motionlessly at his bedside was Dominille, the Auromanor’s governess and the only person to whom he’d entrust the keys to his quarters.

Not that he had any choice. When he had convinced her to finally install better locks in the double doors of his room and subsequently bribed the locksmith so he wouldn’t give copies to anyone, she had just outbribed him. She could have just asked.

He took his glasses from the bedside table and squinted a few times to acclimate his pupils to the dark.

“Millie,” he said, turning to the woman. “Can I help you?”

“I reckon you could use some yourself,” she said, handing him a glass of water. “This shouting in the middle of the night is becoming a habit. And if I may add, a bad one.”

He sighed. It was this little game they played. Max being the insanely rich teenage Aurumian and Millie, a sarcastic, obnoxious bloodsucker. But in spite of Millie’s less admirable traits (including vengefulness [she once dipped Elisheva’s ex-boyfriend’s toothbrush in the toilet after he called her maid], sarcasm [for which she deserved a gold medal], and a clinical aversion to filth [she was the epitome of Freudian anal-retentiveness]), Max would trust her with his life. After all, every day the vampire managed to restrain herself from making a meal out of him.

“I had a bad dream,” Max explained.

“Oh, poor boy, would you like to sleep with me in my quarters? Or perhaps you want me to slap you?” Dominille asked, sarcasm dripping from all sides.

He rolled his eyes at her.

“The same dream?” she asked.

“No. A different one.” The recurrent dream she was pertaining to started when her mother died in a plane crash two years ago. It was of her falling into a rocky abyss, screaming for help.

“I see,” she said although Max isn’t sure she does.

Dominille proceeded to pick up the clothes strewn on the floor. With a flick of a finger the Aurumian caused the lights to turn on. He felt relieved. On the other hand, the disarray that unfolded in his room made the ancient-looking vampire sigh.

“What time is it?” he asksed Millie.

“A little after three,” Millie grunted while rearranging the books that have fallen off the shelves. “And I don’t think it’s good time for a run,” she said, reading into his question, “not at this hour. The maids reported that they’ve been seeing wolves roaming the area near the woods. Don’t worry, I’ll have Omego look into it.”

“Wolves? Seriously? Unbelievable…” He quickly jumped out of the bed and pressed his face on the glass doors of the veranda, as if to see for himself the animals in question. All he saw was the moon perfectly round, mocking him. He shivered.

“Real wolves, Maximillian. Not werewolves. If werewolves were frolicking around the vicinity of where I live, I believe I’m supposed to know, am I not?”

“Hunh,” he grunted in response.

“I say, it’s about time they notice something else aside from the gardener. Since that boy arrived, Mon Dieu, the maids have definitely gone loopy. I’m afraid I’ll have to have him replaced,” Millie told him while smoothing the bed sheets.

This annoyed Max. Millie had always seemed to have it against men. She had a history of firing male employees, especially the good-looking ones, for the smallest faults, but they always have had the same maids as far as he can remember, and that, despite his sister’s many complaints about their incompetence. The only constant male figure in the Auromanor household besides himself was Ezekiel, his best friend since childhood and newly appointed Custodian. But Max knew the real reason for his annoyance was because he was also guilty of lusting over the Brazilian gardener. Alessandro Torreliza was such an eye candy, a spitting image of the Ourworld bard Enrique Iglesias.

“Andy? You can’t…” he began to protest.

“Hmm,” Millie said, cutting him off with a raised eyebrow, “I wasn’t aware you are first-name—oh—nickname-terms with the gardener.”

Max averted his face from Millie’s suspicious gaze but of course, this only confirmed what she suspected.

“We are. But you are the one who told me to be nice to the servants, aren’t you?” accused Max.

“Well, I am,” replied Millie with a sigh, “But Maximillian, you are High Chancellor now, enough of these games already. You have—”

“Millie!” he shouted. “We’ve talked about this like, a million times. You get your chance to scold me all you want the moment I screw up. Now, let’s just leave this behind us okay? For now, please?”

This shut Millie up. Max hesitated a little and wondered if he hurt the vampire’s feelings. But he knew this was impossible.

“And for the record, the gardener and I, nothing’s going on between us,” he said.

“Hmm, not yet? Such a pity. He definitely resembles someone I saw on TV. Quite a catch, if you ask me,” she said sardonically.

“Millie—”

“Maximillian, I’m just reminding you…” said Millie.

“Fine. I’ll remember. Let’s just keep Andy, okay? He does a fine job pruning my tulips,” said Max, but added quickly, “The tulips in the veranda.”

This made Millie snort.

“What?” he asked her but he was already blushing. “Let the maids go. It isn’t his fault he’s pretty, is it?”

“Hmm. I’ll see what I can do.” Millie said through a raised eyebrow and a mischievous half-smile.

In reply, Max’s face only reddened further.

“Now, hop onto the bed. I’ll tuck you in,” she teased. In that split-second, she looked like she could actually pass for somebody’s grandmother.

“Is it too early for breakfast?” he inquired, deciding sleep would be difficult, bad dream and all.

Millie paused, obviously only pretending to think. “Yes. You should go back to sleep.”

“Fine,” he retorted.

Much to his chagrin, Millie actually tucked him back to bed and, not content with that, ruffled his hair. “Happy birthday, Maximillian.”

He smiled. “Thank you, Millie.” He removed his glasses and put them on the table. “I thought you forgot.”

“If it weren’t for the fact you are wearing those gaudy red pajamas, I might not have remembered,” she said over her shoulder while pulling back the curtains. She made a once over of his room before switching off the lights.

“Good night, Maximillian,” she said as she pulled the doors close.

“Good night, Millie,” he answered.

And in spite of his earlier hesitation, Max, who until today had only been sixteen, quickly fell into a sound, killer-free sleep.

The Aurumian awoke with his bladder bursting and his stomach grumbling. Despite all the superhuman things he can do, he still had human needs. He sprinted into the bathroom to relieve himself and quickly performed his morning ablutions but took a moment to spoil his curly dark brown locks with several strokes of a brush. He smiled at his own reflection. I’m seventeen, he thought, but I have the body of a thirteen year-old. His smile abruptly deteriorated into a grimace. “For my birthday, I wish to have abs… and pecs…,” he loudly pled his own reflection and while standing on tiptoes, added “and a few inches for a good measure.” He sighed. He changed into a cotton shirt and clean underwear and decided to put back on the red pajamas.

He sauntered into the dining hall which was at the other end of the Manor. On the way, he glanced on the portraits of previous High Chancellors, now dead but forever immortalized in oil and pigment. When he dies, he’d be amongst them too. Under their stern and unforgiving stares, he wasn’t sure the thought comforted him.

He arrived at the dining hall, which was at the far end of the Auromanor, at the wing opposite that of his room. The Auromanor was the seat of power of power of the world’s most important government. The structural behemoth was nestled in a thick expanse of evergreen foliage, hidden from the most powerful of Ourworld spy satellites. Seclusion was paramount. In a forty-bedroom manor divided on three floors and a mezzanine, this translated to a two hundred fifty-meter walk to the dining hall. That fact did not help his hunger at all. He normally had breakfast in the living room adjacent to his bedroom but Millie told him through a maid that he’d have it in the hall.

His hunger abruptly vanished when he discovered with whom he was dining with. Maurice was a vampire envoy who had frequently visited the ruling family over the years. There wasn’t really anything he particularly disliked about the vampire, but his presence meant he would have to endure eating blue rare steaks for the days he was there. Not delicious.

There was a cup of coffee among the tableware set on the pinnacle seat, Elisheva’s honorific seat as the head of household, meaning Elisheva, who despised coffee, wasn’t eating with them. He wondered where she was. He reluctantly sat there, making a golden teaspoon stir his coffee with a flick of a hand. Millie, who was politely standing by the gleaming oak table, chastised him with an icy stare.

“Good morning, Maurice, Dominille,” greeted Max, nodding at each one.

“Good morning, Votre Grandeur,” replied Maurice, formally addressing him, replete with a slight bow. “The Romanian Matriarchy wishes to extend their early felicitations for your Assumption as High Chancellor, Votre Grandeur.

“Thank you, Maurice. Send Olga my regards, as well.” He gulped at his coffee. Things were indeed changing, as what Millie had warned her. His election as High Chancellor would render Elisheva’s leadership in the ruling family moot. Already, the largest vampire congregation was seeking his approval. This visit by Maurice meant they wanted to maintain political solidarity. They were already looking up to him. This would not make Elisheva happy. In fact, there is a very high chance that that’s the reason Elisheva wasn’t here. She must be enraged.

And the vampire wasn’t subtle in his sycophancies. He talked on about the longstanding accord between Aurumians and the vampires, and Max had to pretend to listen and digest his every word. Even though Millie had warned him beforehand that this was how the vampires conducted politics, this blatant attempt at influencing him almost infuriates him. He was starting to get annoyed.

“My visit here, well, has another reason, Most High,” said Maurice.

“And what is it, Maurice?” said Max.

The vampire bent to his side and retrieved a bronze chest about the size of a shoebox. It looked simple and unadorned but upon closer inspection was actually decorated with very fine ancient lettering all over its body, something which only high technology laser equipment could achieve. He placed it on the table, on the space where Millie has cleared the dishes.

Now they’re giving me gifts. Very subtle, Max thought.

“If you remember your history, High Chancellors were originally were only to come from the Aurumian lineage,” began Maurice.

“Correct,” Max replied.

“But a very long time ago, Aurumian families, particularly the Gorrynleas and the Lucentes, your forebears, well, they had a disagreement in this matter, which from then on changed the way the highest seat in the Consortium was selected,” said Maurice.

“You mean the Rift?”

“Indeed,” he replied.

“That was five hundred years ago,” said Max. He’d strangle him, if it would make the vampire cut to the chase.

“Five hundred, correct, Votre Grandeur,” Maurice replied. “Your ancestor, Antheas sought the help of the vampires, whose benevolence was freely given. We promised to safeguard your most powerful and most treasured possession. Indeed it was the most powerful weapon that ever existed, that’s why Augustel Gorrynlea coveted it, as well as the Chancellorship. ”

“And it’s this treasure? This weapon, inside this box?” Max said, asking the obvious.

“Yes, Votre Grandeur,” he said. “It’s the treasure.”

Max took the box and examined it. It was heavy as he had expected. The lines of elegant script which he recognized as Alibata, a dead language, glowed a faint orange at his touch. At its center, where the keyhole should be was an oval, dark-colored gem, almost black. “There’s no lock,” he commented.

“But there is a key,” said Maurice. “You are the key.”

Almost by instinct, as if somewhere in the recesses of his mind he knew it was what he was supposed to do, he closed his eyes and breathed on the oval gem.

There was no telltale click, no creaking hinges but the magic of the chest recognized the breath of the Aurumian. It opened slowly but he was perfectly certain what it would reveal. The dagger in his dream. The Hiltkiss.

It was decidedly the most magnificent thing he had ever seen. The weapon that harms not the flesh, but the soul. The Hiltkiss. At its base was a globular crystal of the most immaculate clarity. Around the globe, intricate filigree branched in a complex web of intertwining strands of gold and platinum, only ending at the hilt where an almost transparent blade about a foot long gleamed silver. He touched it and was surprised at its warmth. It seemed to have its own pulse. When he held it, the pulse grew stronger and it now throbbed in his hand, and he felt the warmth in his fingers spreading to his body, enveloping him. The erstwhile crystal clear globe at its base was now filled with a swirling red liquid. A portion of his soul lent to the Hiltkiss, bonding them. Forever.

The dagger was a gauche, meant to be held in the left hand, the hand closest to the heart, the one which separates Life and Death, the hand which drew the lines between Shoel and Gehenna. Suffering and Eternal Damnation.

He looked at Maurice and the vampire was smiling in awe. He too appears to be in shock. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” asked Maurice. “The Hiltkiss hasn’t lost its beauty, after five hundred years.”

“It is, it’s beautiful,” said Max, still enamored by the dagger. “Why now, Maurice? After five hundred years. Why me?”

“It means you are chosen, Most High,” replied Maurice, taken out of his trance. “Fate chose you. We are now entering a new age in the history of the Aurumian heritage, of the Consortium.”

Max looked quizzically at him. “What do you mean?”

“It’s been presented to every Aurumian High Chancellor, Maximillian. The chest only opened now,” explained Maurice, nodding, as if to also digest what he had just said.

Maximillian shuddered. He was not certain what that meant for him and for the Consortium. But he had the hunch it was something big and ominous.

“But why me?” he asked again.

“I’m afraid that’s all you need to know, for now, Votre Grandeur,” said Maurice, averting his eyes.

Something clicked in his mind. “What if the box did not open then,” asked Max.

The vampire shifted in his seat. “Well, Most High—”

“You’ll have to erase my memory,” Max said flatly.

“Yes, Most High.”

They continued to make small talk while he watched the vampire smack his lips in between swallows of the bloody beef he which obviously did not go through the perfunctory searing. He was still drowned in thoughts, trying to make sense of Maurice’s cryptic statements. He had already replaced the dagger in the chest and handed it to Millie to be carried into his room later.

“Votre Grandeur, I’m afraid I have to leave early. My party will be arriving shortly from Perth. Thank you very much for your hospitality,” said Maurice.

“My pleasure, Maurice,” he lied. “In that case, I’ll have Millie prepare a limo for your convenience,” he said, turning to Millie, before the leech changed his mind.

“There’s no need for that, Votre Grandeur. We are using a transporter from India, a young boy named Kareem,” the vampire replied. Max felt a little relieved at this, vampires are temperamental creatures and he would be surprised if the limousine returned in one piece. Despite that, he can’t help worrying about the transporter boy. Working for vampires is an occupational hazard in itself. He shuddered at the thought of a dark-skinned Kareem being mangled by a horde of bloodsuckers.

“I see. I’ll expect you at the Assumption?” Max asked.

“Yes, Most High,” Maurice said. “And happy birthday,” he said, as if on afterthought.

***

Having turned seventeen, today will be Max’s first meeting of the Consortium of the Twelve. Well, technically not as he had been privy to a few meetings as chancellor-elect and back when his mother was alive and sat as the High Chancellor. But the one today was the real thing. And he can’t overstate the level of anxiety he felt. He was going to address the Pan-planetary Interracial Consortium of the Twelve, the only remaining connection of the human race to the Otherworlders. The Consortium was an Aurumian initiative established half a millennium ago to foster understanding and cooperation among humans and the Races of the Myths. And Max would sit for the first time as its High Chancellor, whose task is to convene and oversee the meetings.

At seventeen, being High Chancellor was certainly remarkable, though not necessarily unique. His mother, Veneranda, had also become High Chancellor when she had come-of-age at the seventeen . His sister Elisheva, 20, is also a current heir. Each heir, which was how the Consortium’s twelve members were called, were leaders or special ambassadors appointed by their respective races or governments. For instance, Maurice the vampire had previously been an heir until he stepped aside three years ago for his niece, Olga, a newborn who at twenty became the new Romanian matriarch.

Max prepared himself methodically and efficiently that morning. He showered a little longer than usual, mainly to pass time; he didn’t want to risk arriving too early and appear excited. He returned the tailored suit Millie has selected for him to the walk-in closet and hung it accordingly among the color-coded hangers. Millie had previously expressed her interest to label the clothes and sort them based on the occasion. She was that anal-retentive. Of course, he had protested, claiming he can still distinguish between jeans and slacks and shirts and dress socks and mitts.

Instead, he pulled out a pair of khaki trousers, so neatly pressed that they look shiny, a bluish flannel Armani turtleneck and a plaid cardigan. He threw them on the bed back in his room. He undraped the towel around his waist and folded it as neatly as he could (meaning he dropped it nonchalantly onto the floor). He has just put on fresh boxer briefs and was spraying deodorant when he heard a soft rap on the door. He recognized the intruder immediately.

“Omego.” He hastily picked up and wrapped the towel on his waist. He stared at the door and after half a second the locks unlatched as if of their own accord. “Come in.”

“How did you know it was me?” Omego, Elisheva’s half-blood boyfriend, asked once inside.

Max just rolled his eyes at him. Dominille never knocked. Elisheva never came to his room.

Most of Max and Omego’s interactions could be summed up to this: Omego saying something stupid and Max scowling at him. Since Eve had introduced him over breakfast six months ago, Omego seemed to have made it a point to win his heart out. If he had known better, what he only needed to do was to exist. Still, he was Max’s shadow whenever Elisheva wasn’t around. Omego had told him he always wanted a little brother. But Max’s intentions weren’t as pure. He had fallen victim to those big, round, Devan eyes.

Although only two years his senior, Omego was often mistaken to be much older, mainly because of his bulk. The teenager was pure muscle but not in a scary sense. On him it somehow seemed right and proportional. He would be lying if he said he didn’t find looking at Omego… pleasing. At six feet, he just seemed to have somehow walked out of an underwear ad billboard. His Arabian-ish features, owing to his Devan parentage, and those deep-set eyes provided him the mystery he didn’t really possess. The severity of his features was actually quite the opposite of his childish personality.

Like his cropped hair and irises, the dark outlines around Omego’s eyes heavily contrasted against his pale skin, as if he wore eyeliner under them every day. Max had once tried to rub them off just to make sure. It was something he wouldn’t put past Omego’s vanity.

“What are you doing,” Omego had said, slapping away Max’s hand.

“Finally solving the mystery of the millennium,” Max had said, surprised despite himself.

“What? Oh. That,” he had explained while rubbing his eyelids. “They’re cosmetic tattoos I had since I was five.” Omego had tried to hide the lie with a poker face but Max knew better.

“Really? You knew you were gay back then?” Max had decided to tease him.

“Duh… They’re like… a passage rite in our tribe.”

“That’s new. I never heard the Devi were divided by tribes… And that you practiced body mutilation... I bet that hurt.”

“Hurt like hell. They make you choose if you want an anesthetic but of course I declined.” A smug grin had painted Omego’s face.

“Uh-uh.”

“Relax, I’m just screwing with you.”

“Why? Has my sister died?”

Max smiled at the memory. He had always tried not to laugh but whenever Omego lied, his nostrils invariably dilate. He was also so gullible that he ends up being poked fun at when he tries to poke fun at Max.

Omego sat on the bed, fumbling through the draping around the four-poster. With his back to him, Max put on the mismatched contact lenses, the clear one for the right, the colored one, the left. Like any Aurumian, he had chimera eyes. His were brown and green. Although he could easily afford a lasik surgery to correct his myopia, he had chosen to forgo it when Millie had suggested. He had told her he was scared of needles. The truth was the operation would deny him the excuse to wear the contacts which made his eyes a brown-colored pair. He didn’t really need to look more different. Being a billionaire and High Chancellor, he found blending in hard enough as it is.

Although he had later on found out that the surgery did not involve any needles whatsoever, he never told Millie the truth. He hoped she understood.

“So, what brought you here?” he asked Omego.

“Nothing. I just thought I might give you some morale boost. You know, for your first meeting,” replied the Devan.

“Yeah, right.” Max snorted.

“I’m serious! The excitement must be killing you.”

“You have no idea.”

Omego absently scrolled through his iPhone.

“And oh… I thought we could carpool.”

Max gave Omego a questioning look.

“I’ll proxy for Eve.”

“Oh.” Max turns his head away to hide his disappointment. It is his first meeting as the High Chancellor and his only blood relative is not coming. And it’s his birthday, for crying out loud. She missed breakfast, so it shouldn’t really surprise him. But still.

“She wants to tell you she is sorry. She said she’ll call you. Did she?” Omego said through flaring nostrils.

“Yeah,” he lied.

“She has this important something in Julliard. And she brought Jobim with her so I need you to take me.” Omego told him, referring to his family’s employed transporter.

Elisheva was an on-again, off-again faculty in Julliard. She taught violin but her tour de force was the cello. This, Omego, and, managing the Lucente money and assets were what defined her schedule.

It isn’t that he actually minded Elisheva’s absence. He just thought that now that they were orphans, they might as well fix their differences or at least be more tolerant of each other. A little pretense on her part wouldn’t hurt. Ever since they were kids, they had never been close. She was this ambitious, outspoken, manipulative big sister. The fact that he came out to his mother the day before she died did not help his case. She became more critical and watchful of him. When Veneranda told him his “difference” didn’t matter, Elisheva had a different opinion. He secretly called her “penis envious”. The fact that she was firstborn and therefore entitled to inherit the honorary heirship reserved for the ruling family did not satisfy her. She wanted to be High Chancellor. As if.

He returned to the bathroom with his clothes because he didn’t want to dress in front of Omego. When he came back, he saw Omego perusing the emollients and sunscreens on his dresser.

“What does this do?” Omego asked, holding a bottle of Kiehl’s moisturizer.

“It’s for the hands.”

“Cool. Can I have some?” he asked, pouring some on his hands anyway.

“Sure. Have it, if you want. I don’t like it anyway. It’s too greasy,” Max said dismissively.

“Right.” A suggestive grin erupted on Omego’s face. The grin. That sexy thing.

“It’s really for the hands!” A blush crept on his cheeks. He should really stop beating off thinking about Omego. He didn’t deserve it.

Max applied sunscreen on his face. He needed it 24/7 because he freckled easily. Omego was still busily reading the labels on his product stash. From the corner of his eye, Max checked out his butt tightly hugged by denim. Round like a bubble. Good thing Devan half-breeds didn’t have tails.

In their humanoid form, pureblood Devi had prehensile tails. This was how they distinguish the half-bloods, who didn’t. Omego had once told him that a male half-deva compensates for the lack of length on the backside by having lots of it in front. Fascinating trivia, he thought.

It was also a known fact that the Devi were terrific lovers. These people, who were primarily nature’s guardians, can take animal forms whenever they wished. And it is said that they only unleash their fiercest beast in bed.

He looked at Omego who now sat on the bed and was still talking. Even a simple shirt hugged his trunk flatteringly; a barrel of a chest severely bisected, arms that were carved in marble, a narrow waist, those abs that shouted for attention through the thin veneer of cotton… and that bulge. Oh, God.

He scrunched his eyes, trying to remove the carnal image in his mind. Not okay. Sister’s boyfriend. Not okay.

“I think your sister is cheating on me,” Omego suddenly announced.

“Huh. How come?” Max asked, surprise stark in his voice.

“She has a hickey.”

“And?”

“I don’t make her hickeys. And when I asked her, she said it was a mosquito bite.”

“Then maybe it’s a mosquito bite.”

“It’s not! I checked!” He stands up and suddenly takes off his shirt. Oh, God!

“What are you doing?”

“Come here.” Shit.

“Why?”

“I’ll show you!”

He edged closer to him, surreptitiously eyeing his half-naked splendor as if for the first time.

“Look here,” he motioned for him to come closer. “This, hickey. This, mosquito bite.” Omego pointed to two reddish spots. They look somewhat different.

“Right. I can’t really tell. But they look different enough...”

“The hell they do!”

“Okay, so Eve makes you hickeys and you don’t her?”

“No, our maid did this… Wait, I’m not doing the maid! I just asked her to do this.”

“Right…” Lucky bitch! “How about the mosquito bite?”

Omego just raised his eyebrow. Talking to animals was a basic Devan skill.

“Oh, right.”

“So… What do you think?”

“I, uh, I don’t know…” After careful analysis of the evidence presented, I think you look hot!

“I think I should get even.”

“Riiiight. Ugh…” With me?

“I really think I should. If she fucks around then why shouldn’t I, right? But I still don’t know how or with whom.”

“Uh-uh” Me! Me! Me!

“Hey, you won’t tell, will you?”

“Guess not.” I won’t, promise!

“Hunh.” Omego settled back into the bed and Max still eyes him but braver this time. Omego had his eyes trained on the two spots just below his collarbone, still inspecting them. He is so impossible! He thought Omego should be jailed for being this hot. Or him for perving over his sister’s man. He blushed.

“Hey, are you blushing?” asked Omego as he looked up.

“No.”

“You’re definitely blushing.” Omego grinned smugly.

“I’m not!”

“You and your sister are nasty little liars.” He accused playfully.

He smirked. God, if only you’re smarter, you would have been perfect.

“Maximillian Lucente is blushing!” Omego teased in a singsongy voice. He stood up and teased him with a stupid dance, chanting, “Max Lucente is blushing!”

“I said I’m not!” He lunged forward to tackle him into the bed. But after a step, he heard a ripping sound and realized the towel he left on the floor had latched on his right foot. He lost his footing. My God! I’m in a movie and this is the prelude to one of the cheesy moments.

He thought he should catch Omego by surprise, tripping and all, but he was quick. They rolled onto the bed and Omego ended up above him while pinning his arms above his head. Max stared into his eyes, gasping. He noticed something there he hasn’t noticed before. A longing. This excited him. Their eye contact lasts for three more seconds. And this is the moment he kisses me!

“Oh, what the hell,” Omego murmured.

Omego then lowered his face into his and kissed him. And kissed him more, harder.

Max’s eyes were still open like Omego’s. He was in shock. Omego eagerly pried open his still clenched mouth with his tongue and explored it like Costeau did the Marianas. Screw Eve!

Max’s eyes closed and he kissed him back. Max let go of himself. All inhibitions forgotten. He knew he was breaking unspoken rules but the thought only arouses him further. He managed to release his hands from Omego’s firm grip and flung his left on his nape while his right caresses his neck. He furtively glanced at his wristwatch. They got time.

Omego’s kisses were fierce and compelling. He grabbed Max’s right hand and leads it to his cock. He was large! He hadn’t been lying about half-breeds. Max got a little frightened at the thought of Omego inside him. He has never had anything this large. Or anything at all inside him, for that matter. Millie was bent on ensuring he stayed a virgin up until his death. He gasped. Even through the sheath of denim, he could feel his heat, his pulse. His girth.

Max glided his hands over Omego’s hairless body. It surprised him that despite his sinewy appearance, Omego was actually… soft. The mounds in his abs sent ripples to his fingers. They sank on his skin, as if it was made of butter and his fingers were hot knives. It was pure pleasure. He cupped one of his pecs and teasingly pinched his nipples. Omego moaned in his ear. He playfully nibbled at it and Max can’t describe the pleasure when Omego explored its inside with his tongue. He was so overcome by the sensation of it he groaned loudly.

“Oh…mego…” he gasped. Omego only grunted in response.

As Omego glided his tongue on his jawline, the thin growth of hair around his cheeks tickled Max and sent electric sensations down his spine. I can get used to this, Max thought.

Omego continued his assault on Max’s body and was now biting his neck and licking it alternately. Max squirmed. Omego quickly unbuttoned his cardigan and Max heleds him remove his shirt. Omego leaned away and just stared at his body. He smiled. But Max was so embarrassed at the scrutiny he wanted to cover himself with the sheets.

Omego leaned closer and whispered in his ear, “You’re perfect.” Max squirmed again. He didn’t care anymore. He motioned a finger towards Omego’s pants and the button abruptly pops out. “Ooops.”

“You’re naughty. You should be punished,” Omego said as he pulled himself out of the jeans. He scooped Max from the edge of the bed and carried him into its middle and made sure that Max would bear in memory that all rumors about the Devi were true.