There were over three thousand species of snakes in the world, and whilst most of them fell in with the reptile family, I was convinced that Blake Owen had earned his very own category among them.

With eyes as deep and enchanting as a forest's undergrowth, and a magnetic smile that charmed the pants off of the unsuspecting, people often mistook his beauty for sweetness.

I was not one of those people. Not any more. Not when the potent burn of his poison still lingered in my bloodstream from the last time I had been careless enough to let my guard slip around him.

I'd embraced him as a brother and in return, he'd fucked mine. I'd been there for him, looked out and defended him since we had been knee-high to fucking grasshoppers, and he'd repaid me by seducing my baby brother the second I'd left town.

I had loved him. Now, I fucking hated him.

Which was why I couldn't understand why it had to be him. There were thousands of people in this shitty, tired old town, and among them were a lot of folk I still considered friends. Relinquished from the role as my best friend, or as a friend at all . . . I really couldn't understand why it had to be him. Why out of everyone, it had to have been his doorstep.

The small hours of the morning had been breached, midnight having come and passed, and the compact, downtown apartment seemed almost sinister when exposed to the eerie stillness that came with three a.m. Shadows prowled the walls, battled by to the outskirts of the room by the bright illumination that spilt from the shaded corner lamp, and the rain pelted against the wall with such a tinkering force that it appeared to be trying to recreate Beethoven's forgotten symphonie.

The line where the lamp's glow seemed to end and darkness reared up to meet it fell against where Blake was sitting, bathing his form in a conflicting battle. His bare feet were braced on the tips of his toes, the left bouncing slightly, and a frown had consumed his face.

Silence ate away at the air between us. He'd listened to my half-crazed, barely sober rambling without interruption, but he seemed to have taken that to the extreme. Heart drilling against my chest, thump-a-dump-dumping so damn hard that the thing felt seconds away from tearing free, I'd never wanted to hear him speak so much as I did now. No. I needed him to speak. I needed him to say something. Anything.

It was a struggle to see how anything he had to say could possibly help but that logic was lost beneath the rising waves of nausea that rode through me like a three dollar hooker. Squeezing my eyes shut, forcing a shaky breath, I swallowed hard. Tried to clear the fogginess that had clamped down on my thoughts, that chased away at logic like a big bad wolf to a herd of frightened sheep. It didn't work. It only seemed to highlight the bitch of a headache that had taken up residency at the base of my skull.

"So," Blake said, fracturing the stillness. His shoulders fell into a haunch as he leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. He blinked a few times, eyes still glazed from his disturbed slumber, before he shook his head. "Let me get this straight: you're not?"

"Fuck you," I snapped. Hot. Burning. The anger hit hard and fast, gathering in the center of my chest, swelling until the pressure felt suffocating. "I'm not gay."

"Don't wake him, Eyes," Blake said softly, frowning. His eyes darted behind me, lingering there. I didn't have to turn to know where he was looking-- I think I would have puked if I turned. "He's got work in the morning."

Oz. He was talking about Oz. My sweet, innocent baby brother. The one he'd stolen and defiled. The one who he'd as good as turned against me. They lived together now. Had done for a good few months. He had made it almost impossible to see my brother without seeing him.

Did I mention that I fucking hated him? Which once again brought me right back down to the million-dollar question: why was I here? Why had I been so sure that he was the only person I could talk to?

"Fuck you," I jeered again. The words slurred slightly. Had the sickly tang of my own vomit rebounding through my mouth. "I'll wake him up right now if I want to."

There was a childish part of me that wanted to follow through with that threat. To scream or shout until I woke him up, but I didn't. It would have pissed Blake off, which would have been a win, but I cared about Oz. Everything else aside, he was my brother. Besides, the last thing I wanted was for him to get an earful of this conversation.

"Enough, Isaac," Blake warned. His eyes hardened. Tone came out clipped. Shifting in the chair, hands rubbing against his bare arms, he scowled. "You've turned up at my place in the middle of the night to tell me that you've slept with another guy. Now, that doesn't necessarily make you gay, but I'm not sure it makes you straight, either."

"I'm not gay," I growled again. Quieter. It didn't seem to echo the way it had before. Leaning back into the couch, hissing through clenched teeth as the urge to throw up again teased the pit of my stomach, my nails bit into the leather-coated armrest. I think I was cold. I was shaking, but there was too much noise inside my head, too many disoriented thoughts to know which was the cause.