Raphael Hamato Novels & Stories

“YOU HAVE TO LET ME GO, YOU TRUNK OF A MAN!” A low, sinister chuckle leaves his lips at my lame insult, his wide shoulders shaking slowly at the motion. “My name is Santino Ricca.”

Raphael hasn't stopped scratching his ears and they are already bleeding. “That is the problem, Nate. It's not a she but a he. My mate is a guy. I am gay Nate and I know you hate gay people."

Some of the bystanders from East Minos jerked backward as soon as they heard Raphael's name. "Raphael Kemp?! He used to work as the bodyguard for East Minos' richest man, Morgan Nielsen. And then he started several martial arts schools, and all of them were popular!" "I mean, he's one of East Minos' most elite martial artists. He was even the National Martial Arts Championship adjudicator last year!"

With his halo of golden curls and enormous blue eyes, Raphaël was a perfect little angel. Armel smiled reassuringly at the little boy, making a huge effort to mask his impatience from him. It wasn’t the child’s fault, he reminded himself. No, this was all Harley Winston’s fault… The woman in front of him was a charlatan and the greatest liar he’d ever seen. And if Harley hadn’t looked so damned fragile, he’d be tempted to throttle her for manipulating him into this situation.

she gasped, her eyes widening as she stared into those gray ones. “It's you,” the man said softly as he helped her up. “You are quite swift. What are you doing here?” he asked as they walked toward a bench at the other end of the training ground. “I came with my parents. And you? Are you a warrior?” she asked as she sat down. “I am a warrior. My name is Raphael, Raphael Ezrae And you?” he replied, turning to her as a strand of his blond hair fell over his face. The name sank in, he is the son of the late former beta.

“Let me introduce Rajata and Kalyana, who will be the subjects of our experiment for the next two days.” “She’s Bianca, from Italy, neurologist. That’s Roel, from Holland, a quantum mechanic. Next is Karthikeyan, from India, electrical engineer, and that’s Wang Li, a computer expert,” Harso introduced his team to Kalyana and Rajata.

I can see the concern on his face, but no one in this room is about to question Stace. Neither of us really knows what he is. He looks...normal, to a degree. His hair appears brown, curled slightly, his eyes darker than pure obsidian. But up his neck, stopping at his jawline, are sworls of strange, foreign tattoos, black from a distance, until he comes closer, and in the light, I see a violet hint. I'm not sure how that's possible, either his choice, or magic. Either way, I've never seen anything like it.

I knew there I would find people I had helped deceive. Entering the kingdom, I was blocked by a jinni. "State your business." He asked, and I knew this was why I was sent here. "My name is Balarabe. The Mai'Aljannu of Rayuwa, I am here on a personal trip to aid the jinni in her war." I lied. The light instructed me to show it the mark of the jinni, which was surprisingly located on my left upper arm. The jinni verified the mark, and I was granted access.

"Let go of me this instant!" "I, Raphael Grace, The Hybrid King, accept you, Cinzia Aetos, as the mate sent by the goddess Selene. I promise to do as I desire with you. I swear on the river Styx and by my father, Zeus, the god of the sky!" The heavens thundered, and I saw a lightning flash in his eyes briefly before he pushed me away from him. What had just happened? He swore and accepted me as his mate?! Raphael strode away from me as though I was a piece of trash.

I followed it like a compass I wasn’t supposed to have. Raphael stood in the middle of a living room that looked like it had been designed by someone who hated clutter and loved power. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city like it was his personal snow globe. He wore a charcoal button-down with the sleeves rolled once, forearms bare, a thin scar running along the left one like a signature. His hair was still mostly black, but silver had started winning battles at the temples. He looked exactly like the man my mother had warned me about and nothing like the uncle who used to slip me twenty-dollar bills at family barbecues when I was twelve.