Black Sunshine (Dark Eyes 1)

He steps behind me and pulls out my chair. “Yes, you.”

Then he comes around and holds out his hand, looking like every inch the vampire with his wavy black hair, cold, hypnotizing eyes, his long black coat over charcoal wool pants, crisp white dress shirt, steel watch gleaming.

And I get up.

Without his help.

Because I’m seconds away from hitting his hand away but I know I should probably play nice. Absolon is not enamored with me, but he is fascinated, and I need to hold on to whatever little foothold I have. The more I can get him to like me, the better it is. My life depends on it.

“Making a point?” he says under his breath, taking off his coat and folding it on the back of the chair.

I ignore him, walk over to the bar and lean against it, waiting for my drink. “You smoke cigars too?” I ask Wolf, hoping he does.

“Not today,” Absolon answers for him. “He’s got a party to prepare for.”

“You mean an auction,” I practically spit out as I twist to face Absolon, my nails digging into the bar in a rush of anger.

Absolon’s expression turns threatening as he looks at Wolf. “Giving her the details already?” he asks tightly.

“I thought she knew.”

Absolon reaches over and grabs my hand, prying my fingernails from the bar. He glances at the scratches in the wood underneath and then gives me the most ferocious look that makes me want to turn, run, and hide.

“Solon,” Wolf says sharply, enough that Absolon meets his eyes. “I’m sorry. Wasn’t her fault.”

The ferocity in Absolon’s stare tempers only a little, turning cooler, calculated. “I know what you’re doing, Wolf. Don’t bother. Just make the drinks.”

Then he grabs my arm and pulls me away from the bar and toward the glass door into the cigar lounge. He opens the door with a skeleton key and practically throws me inside. I stumble a few feet before catching myself on the back of a leather armchair, making sure I give him the same wicked look he gave me earlier.

Of course, nothing bothers him.

“Sit,” he says to me, nodding at the chair.

“I feel more comfortable standing,” I tell him.

“Oh, really?” He shakes his head and walks past me to the walk-in humidor in the corner. Other than the humidor and the rows of old books along the walls, the décor is the same as in the main lounge, dark and lush. “You want to smoke a cigar standing up?” he says, before going into the humidor.

“Who said I’m smoking a cigar?” I yell after him.

He comes out holding two cigars and a cigar cutter, gesturing to the chair once more. “Sit,” he says, fishing a packet of matches out of his pocket. “Don’t make me ask again. The more obedient you are, the better it will be for you in the end.”

“Why?” I ask, but I plop down in the chair. I don’t know why I didn’t get the graceful end of the vampire bargain. Absolon and Wolf seem to glide with their movements.

“Why do you think?” he asks, sitting down across from me with all the elegance I lack. He cuts off the end of his cigar with an intimidating snap of the cutter’s sharp blades and sticks the end

in his mouth, concentrating on lighting it. The flames put half his face in shadows, the furrow between his brows like a crevasse.

“Can’t you just snap your fingers to light things?” I ask him. “Wolf can.”

He glares up at me, cheeks going in and out as he draws the smoke from the cigar. Finally, he pulls it away, smoke falling from his lips. “I can,” he says. “But I consider that showing off.”

Then he holds the cigar between his teeth, the fangs nearly puncturing it, and reaches over and cuts the end off the other cigar, handing it to me. “Take it.”

“I don’t smoke.”

“Oh, is that why your apartment smelled like several pounds of weed?” he says dryly.

The mention of my apartment, of weed, brings me into another state. I stare at Absolon for a moment and realize that I can’t afford to be stubborn anymore if I want to return to my old life. Obviously, there’s probably no chance I’ll get it back, but being alive brings chances, and being dead doesn’t.