Title: CHILDREN OF THE GODS
Genre: YA Steampunk/Mythology (Mythpunk) Romance
Word Count: 75K
One Night –
A Masquerade under a sky stamped with the silhouettes of airships.
Two Races –
Olympians and Titans living in the automaton luxury of steam technology.
Three Fates –
Who impose the death penalty on interracial relations.
Four Oracles –
Give an Olympian girl and a Titan boy a prophecy.
As a punishment for The Great War between the Titans and Olympians eons ago, the Fates laid down strict segregation laws between the two races that hold fast in this era of airships and glistening automaton cities. When an undeniable attraction transcends the masks and anonymity of the annual Masquerade, eighteen-year-old Titan Lucas Vassallo must make a brutal decision – sacrifice everything for the enticing Olympian Pandora Rines, or submit to the age-old laws no one questions. In the midst of a world taut under the strain of segregation, their defiance of the Fates may cost them their lives.
I can say when I first saw her, my breath left me in a whoosh, but that was only because at the same moment, a meaty elbow drove into my gut. A series of curses in the old language flew out of my mouth while I stumbled to one side. A twinge ran up my left leg when I straightened to the laughing eyes of my best friend, Tiro.
"Gods, man, you can say hi like normal people." I punched him in the arm.
Tiro laughed. "Aw, Lucas, all in good fun. 'Sides, you were a little distracted. Spot something tasty?" He slung a mammoth forearm around my neck, his attention on the dance floor below.
I skimmed the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of the girl with the multi-colored hair again, but she was lost in the mass of people. "Nah, just enjoying the view."
"And what a view it is."
The polished marble dance floor of Vomos nightclub stretched out below the second level balcony where we stood. Normally, the pulsing lights flowed along the natural stone floor, following the veins as they twisted and writhed across its expanse. Tonight, however, the twisting and writhing belonged to the under-aged demigod and daemon bodies costumed in anonymity and shadows.
It was the night of The Masquerade. Only the most zealous of segregation believers shunned the daemon party, but those who believed the laws were antiquated or simply didn't care waited all year for the event.