A horrid smell pulled Kristoff from his daze. As his stomach churned violently, he could feel the warm bile rising up is throat. Heat and smoke from a distant fire filled the air. Burning embers filled the sky, looking like gradually dying stars. The smoke in the sky left the night eerie, as no natural light from the full moon could reveal itself.
Piles of ash covered the earth’s natural surface to the point where Kristoff didn’t bother to watch his footing. To think Jinx could be any one of those piles of ash and bone weighed down on him.
Kristoff saw the shadows to the left change and finally reveal a beautiful woman, who made her way towards him. “We mustn’t dwell here.” Her dark suited armor complimented her features well, hugging her hips and bosom exposing her trim physique. Chalk white twisted strands of hair collected over her shoulders like thick roots from an elder tree.
The nightmare pulled Kristoff from his past memories to the more recent time. It had been so long, yet the wound never healed. The wall opposite Kris’s bed was covered in little cutouts, tidbits of information he had gathered over the past two decades, though most no longer served him a purpose. The cold wood beneath his feet faintly creaked under his weight as he made his way towards the clutter wall.
A faint breeze brought along the smell of earthly herbs and grime. “Any word on them?” Kris calmly questioned the woman that stood, silhouetted in the moonlit, outside on the balcony.
“You must admit, brother, I’ve gotten better at stalking you,” said the woman. Her voice echoed, sounding like two voices, overlapping; one sinful and sweet, the other deeper and menacing.
Kris’s thin white eyebrow twitched scarcely. “Doubtful,” he mumbled to himself.
The woman moved weightlessly across the room. Standing next to Kris, she looked over the cluttered wall, noticing how insignificant some of the information seemed to be. “They call their leader Rayoden, but I’ve found neither Race, nor trail or scent in relation. I swear this… thing keeps it’s dirty work clean. Hlal, damn me for saying this, but I hope you know what you’re doing, because no one else does. They’ll put up a nasty fight against you, and we know hardly anything about themorthe magick they use.”
“Then find someone who does. Even if it’s the slightest of unneeded information,Richelle, that’s what holds you back. Everything has significance.” A rhythmic beeping echoed through the small room as Kris’s wrist-watch alerted him that it was now seven o’clock. “I’m counting on you, Richelle. I need to know what’s coming.”
Richelle’s beryl eyes narrowed on her brother as he made his way across the room. “He’s not from our realm, Kristoff. How are you going to break it to him, without sounding as if you’ve escaped from one of those mental hospitals they have here?”
“Richelle!” Kris growled and stopped in the doorway, but as he spoke again, all anger was drained from his voice, “just do as I say.”
Though she did not comply with Kris's motives, she kept her lips in a tight line, mostly out of respect. Hovering over Kris like a vulture, she swiftly followed her older brother into the washroom. “What happens if I can't find anything on these Soul Reapers before they appear?”
It was bare, as were all the other rooms in the apartment, sporting only a basic sick, tub, and a toilet. The water spattered when Kris first turned the knob, and then had smoothed evenly out.“Then we will have to pray to our Gods. Until then, I have the utmost confidence you will find something,” His eyes locked with Richelle's in the mirror for a few seconds, reminding her who held the authority.
Richelle knew her place and didn't push any further, giving a slight nod, “Fine. Just be careful, would you? You’re my only sibling left.”
She watched Kris lift the work shirt he had slept in and dropped it to the side of him, and splashed the scalding water onto his face and shoulders.The various battle marks he’d earned over the many years gleamed, strewn across his toned, muscular body. His battle renown had earned him the title of Deity in Raython, a land only rumored to exist, as he never gained more than one wound in a decade or more.
The lack of sentiment from Kris was a nasty habit; it was something that had developed when they were just children. “Perhaps you should smile more, might help you with the Oliver and Damien situation.”
A vast swift of air surrounded Kris and filled the bathroom, quickly settling down just as fast as it came. Richelle had gone, leaving only a circular drift of dust hanging low in the air. Perhaps he hasn’t given his sister the credit she deserves. Retiring the thought, he paraded into the bedroom once more and changed his clothes; wearing an elaborate dark suit he had recently picked for the Asia de Cuba occasion.
The Audi q5 tended the same compartment he had left it coming home from work. It wasn't much for him, not taking liking to objects of such kind. Neon green lighted numbers showed him the time of seven-ten as the engine veered to life. Half an hour later he cursed at himself impatiently in his head, wishing he had routed out the streets beforehand.
A pair of darkly lined royal blue eyes followed Kris the instant he made entrance through the elegant twin doors of the restaurant, catching everyone’s attention in the lavish lobby. Oliver, with one knee over the other, sat straight up in the ashen colored chair he occupied, watching Kris’s physique with his penetrating eyes. An unsettling feeling had come over Oliver lately that Kris was someone he knew, someone from his past that he thought he would never see again. It’s the same feeling that overtook him when he thought about what would happen if his mother showed up in front of him; though he knew that was impossible - she had been killed in a horrific car accident that left him with a scar on his right shoulder. He hadn’t had much memory of her, but he felt like the scar reminded him that she was real, at some time or another.
To Kris’s surprise, Oliver wore a suit almost like his own, having thought he would somehow fashion up his clothes to his own liking. His bright copper hair molded smoothly on his neck from the gel he slicked it back with, adding on a few years to his appearance.
“We’ve got the best table set up especially for you, Mr. Sykes,” said the host politely. Oliver stood and they followed the waiter to the table. They walked through a grand main dining room that was a perfect reflection of modern and cultured. The walls were a brilliant, deep crimson with silver crystal chandeliers. The tables were elegantly decorated with thin black china brushed with silver and crystal wine classes atop a perfectly white table cloth. At the end of the main dining room, there was a staircase leading up to a loft three quarters enclosed by wall or bamboo screen, above the kitchen.
“Here we are, sirs,” Lenard, the waiter, greeted by bowing his head when they reached the top of the stairs.
Multiple pairs of eyes gazed around, watchingthem as Kris and Oliver disappeared behind the bamboo dividers that provided them with privacy from the looks of amazement, admiration, and even disgust as they took their seats.
“Would you like something else other than water to drink, sirs?” Lenard asked positioning a thick white napkin on Kris’s lap.
With the raise of his hand, Oliver stopped Lenard from doing the same procedure to him, kindly taking the napkin from Lenard’s hands and placing it on his lap himself. “Iced Tea for me, please.”
Writing down the small order, the old man nodded and faced Kris, waiting for his order of beverage.
“Water is fine,” Kris replied, keeping his hold on Oliver's eyes and dismissing Lenard from the table. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting for long.”
“For your sake, I hope not either,” white, straight teeth showed behind Oliver’s glossy, beaming lips.
Though Oliver’s words would have had Kris dreading he should have left sooner, his voice was playful. “You’re father, he is not joining us this evening?” Kris asked, acknowledging that the table only seated the two of them.
“A cover up,” Oliver admitted shortly. “Damien would have my head if he knew I would be here alone with you. He can be such a child sometimes,” he said with distress as he took a sip of his ice water.
“Is that why you're eyes are bloodshot and inflated?” asked Kris, kindly as he could.
Oliver thought for a moment of how he should reply. Though his relationship with Damien was none of Kris’s concern, Oliver felt no reason not to tell him, in fact, he felt compelled to do so. With a shrug, he said, “Yes,” he croaked, “it’s just so frustrating. I mean, he is adorable, and strong, but I feel like he doesn’t really get me.”
Kris saw the opportunity and took it. “So why are you with him? Personally, I’d go to the ends of the world for someone I love. Damien on the other hand, well, probably wouldn't go as far as crossing the street.”
Despite the bitter words regarding his boyfriend, Oliver didn't give it another thought. “You’re exaggerating. Even with how amazing I am, that’s a lot to ask of someone.”
Kristoff leaned back in a cool manner, “then it isn’t love.” Their eyes locked in a timeless way, and Oliver’s stomach flipped as that unsettling feeling that they’d met long ago took over.
Breaking their stares, the waiter came back to take their orders. “Forgive us,” started Kris, “we’ve let our chatter get away with us and haven’t yet looked at the menu.”
“I’d be happy to come back, sirs.”
“No, that won’t be necessary,” mandated Oliver, stopping the waiter, “I’ll have the Sweet Soy Wild Salmon, and get my guest the Honey-Rham Glazed Pot Roast of Pork. Also, the best champagne in the house. And please don’t disappoint me, sweetie.”
Kris watched as the old man left, waiting until they had their privacy again to converse. “Champagne? That’s quite a taste for someone your age. Then again… it is not always age that truly determines someone’s nature to handle more mature situations.”
Oliver let his astonishment cross his face for merely a second. “I’ll admit, I’m a bit surprised. I thought you were a bit more straight-edge than that.” Taking the new excitement he had discovered about Kris, he asked out of curiosity, “so, you don’t believe in all the age restrictions and everything that they have for drinking, smoking, sex, that kind of stuff?”
Kristoff laughed to himself, catching hints that Oliver was sending. “You could say that. I simply find that not everyone has to be a certain age to do things. Different lives bring different people different places. One must choose their own time to move on to new things.”
Oliver thought for a moment before agreeing, “I’d have to agree with you there, sir.”
Time ticked on from minutes to hours as Oliver asked all he could about Kristoff's abnormal life. Twisting the truth and reality, Kris did what he could with staying away from telling any lies, knowing that sooner, other than later, the lies will backfire and the connection he's made with Oliver will rupture.
Oliver patiently listened to Kristoff as he spoke. His native accent became easier for Oliver to pick up, the more Kris relaxed. It made Oliver giggle inside when he caught Kris trying to cover up his accent, though it seemed he had many, since Oliver was sure he had heard a variety of dialects. His favorite was the thick Romanian accent, and every time he heard it, it made him shiver. The deepness of Kristoff's voice mixed with the smoothness of the accent was a huge turn on for Oliver, and he couldn't help his desire to see Kris's body under his designer suit.
"At last, you have no more questions?" asked Kristoff, smiling with the slightest sparkle in his electric green eyes.
"As it happens, we have talked too much. It's already going on nine-thirty and my father wouldn't much like it if I were to extend my curfew." Henry, and Oliver alike, never spoke of such curfews, knowing all too well Oliver would never be on time. "Would you mind escorting me home?"
It took Kris a moment to register everything, "Did you not drive here?"
"My father dropped me off, and I'd feel bothered if I were to ask such a weary old man to do such trouble again." It was partially true; Oliver never made his father do anything he couldn't do himself. In truth, however, this was part of his normal routine of testing his dates.
"I would be delighted to take you home," the excitement in Kris's voice was quickly disguised by his deep native accent, which applied a crimson blush form under Oliver’s eyes. Signing Lenard over with a flick of his hand, Kristoff got handed the bill for the evening, releasing them from the table.
A waiter on each side of the closed twin doors stood with grace, waiting until gusts showed up to leave. They both wore the same white suit with gloves, and each smiled and granted a farewell as the arched doors opened for Oliver and Kristoff into the dark humid night. The young man that vallied his car easily recognized Mr. Hardlyn and grabbed for the owners keys. "Retrieving your car will only take a moment, Mr. Hardlyn," he assured and hurried to the dark blue Audi he parked a few hours before. The parking lot wasn't packed like most nights and not soon after he left, was back with Kristoff's car in perfect condition.
It wasn't until Kris had bent to open the passenger door, that Oliver got a smooth fragrance coming off from his clothes. The smell wasn't something he had come across from the years of wearing perfume and cologne himself. It was exotic and inviting to him. "Thank you," he smiled, trying hard not to bite down on his bottom lip, and let his body slip into the overly comfortable leather seat.
The young man handed over the keys to Kris, and after slipping a twenty into the boys hand, Kris got into the driver’s seat. "You may need to navigate some, I'm not familiar with the streets on this side of town."
Kris accelerated to catch speed onto the highway and Oliver decided to put Kris to yet another test. "Go faster! Oh, let’s race someone!"
At first, Kris wasn't sure how to react. He had never expected a wild streak such as this from Oliver. "Race? Isn't that quiet dangerous?" the edge in his voice didn't do his reasoning any good, for Oliver felt the acceleration of the car jolt his body in the seat, and the quite hum of the engine grew louder.
Kris focused on the road, but was ever mindful of Oliver. Olie felt his heart begin to beat faster and faster as Kris swiftly swerved between lanes. He watched the speedometer hit seventy, eighty, ninety, and eventually one-hundred. It was only a few short moments before Kris was taking the off ramp for the way home.
Once on surface streets, Oliver gave a squeal of excitement, obviously impressed with Kris's final reaction. "You have begun to amaze me more and more, Mr. Hardlyn."
Kristoff let the smile tug at his lips, hearing the excitement vibrating in Olivers voice. "Let’s have it we don't mention this to your father."
"I would have to agree." Oliver smiled, taking in a note that Kristoff isn't someone that could easily be figured out.
As they pulled up in front of the house, Oliver noticed that he hadn't even told Kris how to get to his house, and yet there they were in the driveway. "So much for not familiar with the area. How do you even know where we live?"
Kris did not lose a second before coming up with another lie, "Mr. Sykes had me come pick up some things for him. He needed some files left here. I was able to backtrack once on the freeway." There was a clicking sound as the car doors unlocked and Kris turned off the car. "Should I escort you to your front door?"
"I think you should," Oliver beamed, fighting the urge to bite his lower lip once more.
They walked slowly along the gravel drive, chatting about Henry, and Olie's high school. Green hedges came to Kris's rib, though they looked much larger next to Oliver's short stature. The large estate had three separate buildings. There was the main house, the staff apartments, and the recreation house, which featured a heated indoor pool, tennis courts, and even a movie theatre.
The escort was short lived, and Kris found himself standing still next to the wide oak door. "Thank you for a marvelous night out, I did quite enjoy your company this evening."
"Then why don't we do something fun this weekend? Say dinner and dancing on Saturday at six?"
Dancing wasn't something Kristoff favored, but passing up a chance to get close to Oliver, physically and emotional, wasn't easy to let pass. Stopping his tongue, he turned the conversation around, "And your boyfriend? I'm sure he'll mind you going out with a man other than himself."
The motion senor on the porch flickered on, brightening Oliver's sky blue eyes. "Damien doesn't take me seriously," the words came clearly, but Kris caught the pain in his eyes. "We've been fighting a lot recently and he doesn't seem to be changing. I simply need a serious man, and he's still a boy."
"I understand," Kristoff said, giving a soft, sexy crooked smile that made Oliver melt on the inside.
He held himself back from practically attacking Kris; he wasn't used to having this type of drive inside about someone, and truthfully, it scared him. He didn't exactly have the best track record with relationships.
"Goodnight, Mr. Hardlyn," he said, turning the doorknob of the front door. Before heading inside, he winked, saying, "And, by the way, you're passing your interview so far."
Kris stood there on the porch for a few minutes, processing what had happened that evening. A strong breeze blew and the crisp, salty air brought him back to reality. Turning back down the drive, Kris made his way back towards his car as the gravel crunched loudly beneath his feet.
As he entered the freeway just in time for LA Friday Night traffic, Kris thought of Richelle, hoping she would have good news for him.