He looked at me, his deep eyes stared into mine. We continued to stare at each other, our pupils locked on the others. The hold we had on one another broke as three words were whispered past his pink lips.

"I love you." his voice quivered over each syllable, as if he was afraid to admit it out loud, or that our connection would shatter like broken glass.

I choked out a simple "I love you too" as salty tears ran down my cheeks, wetting the tan skin. I blinked a couple times, allowing the wetness to leave my eyes before glancing back at him again. Our vision practically peered into each other's soul, and in unison we began to tilt our heads towards one another.

Silver hair danced in gold as our lips finally met, slowly caressing the other's soft flesh. His hands lifted up and grasped the back of my neck, in a near bruising grip, pushing us closer together, our mouths heating up at the contact. Neither of us cared however, we just never wanted to be taken apart, never to let---

"MALIK!" a scream echoed through the tan teen's ears, pulsing through his skull. "Get over here now!" Malik's daydream was quickly broken.

"It was such a good one too." Malik sighed as he lifted himself off his bed, watching the blankets fall to the ground in a wrinkled pile. The teen then scampered out of his dimly lit chambers, towards the study where his father was calling him to.

Malik's daydreams were getting much more vivid lately, especially ever since his elder sister told him the tales and stories about the bandit. The bandit, the thief, that man, was stealing the priceless treasures from the great tombs in Egypt. He was like the wind, his actions were obviously felt, the results viewed, and they created turmoil and worry for many; but... but he had yet to be caught, or even seen! Isis said that all the men, even the strongest and most daring, who got in his way, either ended up dead, or disappeared never to be heard from again.

There were rumors of his appearance. The thief was said to have hair near the same color of the moon, even more luxurious and shiny that the silver jewelry that the great Pharaoh wore. Such a handsome idea, strong, intelligent, and mysterious. What a man, probably the most incredible, yet infamous man, in all of Egypt.

Malik sighed, tugging upon his golden locks as he entered his father's study. The man had appeared rather agitated an anxious as of late (unluckily for Malik), the stress could be easily seen as it was taking tolls on his body. His father's face had new wrinkles, his lips were tightly pierced, and his brow was dangerously tightened. As the man sat back in his chair, his arms and legs were crossed, and his eyes were practically spitting fire at anyone who dared to cross him. Malik was not sure what was bothering him, he wondered if if the tales of the amazing thief had passed through his ears, but Malik could never be for certain, although the teen truly did not care. Malik would much rather be in his bed daydreaming of lusty kisses and feather-light touches.

"Malik," his father harshly spoke as the teen walked closer to him.

"Yes father?" Malik questioned, his voice submissive. The candles placed around the study flickered light off the teen's face, illuminating some parts, and allowing the rest to remain dark.

"How old are you now?" the man asked, scratching the white beard on his chin.

"Uhh.." Malik stammered, shaking slightly as he titled his head down to the floor. "Sixteen." He finally managed to choke out. He had done it now, he had stuttered in the presence of his father; an extremely grave error. But he could not help it. The man frightened him greatly, especially when he was upset.

His father coughed, glaring his black eye glaring at his son. "Two lashings for the stutter. When will you learn to be a man?! You sister is more of a man than you are."

"I apologize sir."

"You apologize? How is that going to fix your error? By Rah, if your mother was still alive, I would have made sure that she would have given birth to another son, since our first is such a disappointment."

The father continued to berate his son about what a terrible son he was. But Malik was used to it. He knew that men were supposed to act strong, but Malik did not feel strong. He was so used to people taking care of him, he could not imagine taking care of other people. However, he did try his best, but daydreams and silly little thoughts kept pulling him away from his duties.

"Malik!" his father shouted, "Have you even been listening to me?"

"Yes sir," Malik quickly spoke shocked out of his thoughts once again.

"If you were paying such great attention, what was I saying?"

Malik gasped inaudibly, he was not expecting his father to actually quiz him on that. His father normally ranted, and only required a head nod, or a 'yes sir', or 'no sir' on occasion. He quickly spoke some random words that popped into his mind.

"You were saying what an ungrateful son, and that I should work much harder to become the son that you have always desired."

"Are you mocking me, boy?"

Malik winced and shook his head. The small burst of confidence that he just had, evaporated into the air, leaving him as a fearful boy once again.

"Another two lashes for that." the man paused, in deep thought. "Do you even know the reason why I called you in here?"

"No sir." Malik answered truthfully. That very question had been at the back of his mind ever since he was called out of bed.

"I do not know why I even bother with , but as a tombkeeper, especially one that has come of age, you need to know how to perform certain tasks and duties. The Pharaoh has entrusted the two of us, being the last lineage of tombkeepers , to place a binding spell on the most valuable of his treasure and property. We are to place such a spell, so that if anyone but the rightful owner takes them, the robber shall be cursed, and the item will eventually find its way back to its true owner."

The tan teen nodded, although his face was expressing sheer confusion. This sort of spell was far more advanced than any he had ever heard of in his studies or practices. He was not even sure if doing such things were even possible...

"I need you to study on this subject so you know what will happen, and the duties you will have to perform alongside myself. We cannot fail this task, this mission of great importance. I would rather cut off my own hand and then disembowel myself, than disappoint the Pharaoh."

Malik winced at the severity of his father's words. He was prone to mistakes, that was for sure, and he was only half-decent at performing rituals and spells. It was probably because his father was always over his shoulder, watching the teen's every movement, that made him mess up... but he could never blame his father. That would just lead to a greater punishment.

"Yes father, I will go study right away." Malik slowly began backing out of his father's study.

"Not so fast boy. Did you not hear that you were to receive punishment?" The man growled as he yanked Malik's arm towards the back of the room.

Standing in the back corner, Malik shuddered as he watched his father pull out his black leather whip.

"Remove your tunic and turn around facing the wall."

Five cracks sounded in the room, but wailing and screaming of the most displeasurable kind could be heard throughout the entire underground tomb.

Whimpers could be heard from one end of the small bed chambers in the dismal and damp underground tomb. Those lashings had been painful for the young teen, and because of the poor conditions of his home, Malik had developed an illness from the infections festering on his back. Of course his father blamed Malik for not taking care of his wounds properly (not like he could truly treat the slashes from where they were awkwardly placed on his back), but the teen believed him. Yes, Malik deserved those wounds, the wounds that would break open, ooze pus and a bloody and watery mixture from them, he deserved them. He deserved any verbal or physical punishment that the man decided to deal out. Because Malik deserved them... His father was right, always right... He needed his punishment to become a better person, a better tomb keeper.

Malik fell forward on his desk, frustrated with the multitude of scriptures and spells that he was supposed to be copying. He was already far behind, and his father said that there would be no food or drink until he was done. That was two days ago, and Malik was probably not even half way finished. But despite his father said that he was not to eat or drink, either Isis or Rishid were sneaking into his room and leaving pomegranate fruit for him. Malik was not honestly sure who was leaving the fruit, but a nice ripe papaya always seemed to appear on his bedside table as his hunger pains became too intense to handle. At least someone cared about him, even though nobody but his father seemed to visit anymore.

Sighing, Malik swept away his golden bangs from his face before picking up his quill and dipping it into an inkwell. The nub of the quill was readily placed back onto the papyrus scroll, droplets of ink threatening to fall.

His father had given Malik the duty of preparing the spell that was needed in the binding ceremony. In turn the man was traveling out of the tomb to some village, getting the ingredients and items necessary for the ceremony. Malik was not allowed to leave the tomb. He was never given the chance to see the sun. But once in a while, when the clansmen were all asleep, Malik would sneak into the altar room and take a peek at the moon. A large hole sat above the altar, illuminating the room with moonlight and sunlight. But since ceremonies never took place during the day, no one ever saw the sun (except for those who had the privilege to leave the tomb).

Oh how he desired to be free. The teen knew he would basically do anything to just get out of his tomb keeper's duties just to see the sun, just to see it once.

Malik shook his head and returned to his work. It surprised him how easily the hieroglyphs dribbled from the quill to the paper. Perhaps he was good at something after all. But, that notion was quickly cut off by the frustration Malik was dealing with at this point. This part of the spell, it was rather odd and difficult. The curse, ha. That took him only short minutes. The returning spell was not all-together difficult either, however it was tedious to complete. But the binding of the object to its owner, required much more precision. He was not sure how to pull it all together.

From his understanding, as taught by his father, the spell would require three bases to bind the owner to their item. But none of the scriptures, not one of the scrolls, had a strong enough three way base. The base could not conflict with the curse, for then the owners of the items would be cursed along with those who tried to steal those items. Ammut, for example, would provide a strong base and strengthen the curse, but it would most likely devour the soul or life of whomever possessed the item. And any gods would just be too strong, but the wrong kind of strong. Plus using gods in spells was generally forbidden since it upset them so.

Perhaps... Malik wasn't sure. He needed sleep, he needed more sustenance. Pomegranates were good, but after eating about 4 of them, they were not sitting well on his stomach.

Slowly, Malik lifted himself from his chair and laid down, belly first, upon his lumpy bed. The once-white cushion, that was used for a mattress, desperately needed to be re-stuffed with fresh feathers and wool. But since none of the servants were allowed to enter his room, the chances of it being replaced were slim to none.

Closing his eyes, as he rested his head upon his arms, Malik drifted off into a restless slumber.

Awakening was not pleasant. The room was hazy and smoky, because the candles were reaching the last of their lives, and it was quite cold. Malik was unable to wear any sort of top, or cover his upper body because of the infected wounds, so there was no way for him to gain warmth in his numb body. Plus, his head was pounding terribly, and his hands were trembling. He needed food again, and was in need of liquid.

A cool wine would be quite wonderful to drink. Malik thought absentmindedly. But, sadly no one would give him even a teaspoon of such a luxury.

The teen lifted his hands to his face, cradling his head between his palms. Everything was dizzy and hurting. But he had to finish. He had to finish his work. Malik lifted himself out of the bed, swaying slightly upon his feet.

"Ahh!" Malik cried, losing balance. In order to keep from falling, the teen grabbed onto his nightstand. But instead of feeling the smooth and cool surface of wood, Malik's hand instead grabbed a dry spherical object, that was peeling around the edges.

The teen crashed to the floor, for of course the object was not going to help him keep balance, with the spherical item rolling alongside of him.

"Oh rah..." Malik muttered to himself as he picked himself off the ground, ignoring the bruising pain that ran down his side. "What in Osiris' name was that?!"

Malik stared down at the object that led him to his literal downfall. Squinting at it, Malik determined quickly that it was an onion. A very large onion at that.

Was it there for him to eat? And if it was, who could have left it for him?! Onions were not eaten by the priests and priestesses of Egypt. Especially not the 'blessed' tomb keepers. Onions were forbidden to them, supposedly because of their aphrodisiacal effects (priests and priestesses were to remain celibate through out their lifetimes). Neither Rishid or Isis would have left such a unholy vegetable in his presence.

But... Malik was starving. His stomach growled terribly, and his ribs were protruding once again. What choice did the tan teen have, except to eat it?

Malik picked up the fruit in his right hand and took a generous bite out of the bitter tasting vegetable. His eyes teared at the taste, and his taste-buds screamed in protest. But that did not stop the teen from finishing the forbidden food.

Head swimming from the effects of the vegetable, Malik laid upon his bed again, smiling gently. Images of naughty touches and delicious kisses flowed through his mind once again, the unexperienced teen's body clouded with lust.

Unbeknownst to the tan teen, dark umber brown eyes were watching his every movement. With a fanged grin, the eyes left the teen, disappearing into the darkness of the tombs.

Originally this was just going to be a one-shot piece, but I thought it would just be too long to put into one chapter. Plus I was sort of lazy, and I just wanted to get this part up as soon as possible. Most likely this will be about 2 or 3 chapters.

Oh this isn't a fluffy or lovey dovey story. You will see why later, but don't expect anything good to come from this. I am in a dark mood, and there is no hope for humanity when I feel as such.

RemainSilent1

Reviews are appreciated, they are the greatest gifts an author can receive. And if there are only a few reviews (I have come up with an amount I would appreciate for this) I will change the rating of this story to T, and there will be no lemons or even the slightest hint of a lime or yaoi in the next chapter. Yes I am threatening you slightly.

But you know that I do appreciate reviews from the bottom of my heart, and would gladly kiss your feet for them.