Black Sunshine: A Dark Vampire Romance

A smoky look takes over his eyes. “That’s not why you’re here.”

“You think I’m propositioning you?”

His brows go up. “I didn’t think that.” Then he smiles. “Now I do.”

I scowl at him as he takes a few steps toward me, his eyes coasting over every inch of me. “You really should sit down,” he says. “You look tired. Vampires rarely look tired.”

Then he turns and takes a seat in the leather armchair across from me. Reluctantly, I sit down on the couch, both relieved and disappointed that there’s some distance between us, unlike the last time I saw him.

“You shouldn’t have shown up at our lunch like that,” I tell him, still pissed.

“I told you,” he says calmly. “Had to keep an eye on you. You’d be foolish to think I haven’t been watching you these past few days.”

I swallow, averting my eyes to the indigo carpet, trying to focus on the designs on it. “You must have better things to do with your time.”

“How I spend my time is up to me, moonshine. When you’ve got an eternity waiting for you, time tends to lose all meaning.”

I glance at him, once again stricken by his carnal beauty. “You’re not immortal.”

“You’re right. I’m not immortal. But I do excel at living.”

I think that over for a moment. “Still, you put me in danger by showing up.”

“You’re the one who put herself in danger by leaving the hotel,” he replies simply. “You also put the both of us in danger by trying to reveal who we really are.”

“Well, how am I supposed to know you aren’t even supposed to joke about it? There’s no rule book.”

“But there is me.” He gives me a pointed look. “Perhaps you should be staying here instead of all alone and unprotected, with only your helpless witchy parents as company.”

“Maybe staying here sounds just as dangerous as staying anywhere else.”

But it’s a lie the moment it leaves my lips. Because, despite Ezra giving me the heebie-jeebies, I feel calm here. Safe. Even sitting on this couch I feel like my body is melding into it, letting go of so much tension and anxiety. I have to force myself to stay alert.

“You don’t worry about Ezra,” Solon says, his face darkening for a moment. “He knows I’ll kill him if he touches you again.”

My heart thumps loudly at that.

“Don’t romanticise my words,” he adds. “I’m merely possessive over what’s mine.”

“I’m not yours,” I remind him stiffly. “Though clearly you treat me like I am, think you can just touch me any time you want.”

He gives me a twisted smile, his eyes glittering. “I’m sorry, am I not supposed to get you off in the span of ten seconds?”

My whole body burns from the memory and I take in a deep, shaky breath to steady my nerves—and my hormones. “No.”

But also, yes. My body wants it, my heart does too, but my brain says otherwise; my brain says he needs to keep his distance at all times.

He makes a sound of irritation. “Don’t think about it too deeply. I’m just exerting my power over you.”

I give him a sharp look. “Yeah, well maybe one day I’ll get to exert my power over you.”

That brings a small smile to his face. He gets to his feet, comes over to the couch and peers down at me. “I’m counting on it,” he says steadily.

Then he turns and walks off to a bar cart in the corner. “Want a drink?” he asks, taking the top off a crystal decanter with a satisfying pop. “And I don’t mean blood. You’ll get that later.”

I’m getting emotional—and physical—whiplash from our interactions. I take in another deep breath, then decide a stiff drink is probably what I need. Stiff something, that’s for sure. “Okay.”

He glances at me over his shoulder, as if he heard that last thought, and then pours the drinks, coming over with two crystal highball glasses in his hands. “Here,” he says, handing me one. He brings his glass to mine, tapping it against the rim with a musical chime. “And here’s to new beginnings.”

I stare up at him, immediately locked in his gaze, his pupils growing larger, blacker, until they’re all I see. He raises his glass to his lips, never breaking eye contact, and I do the same, swallowing down the delicious burn of Scotch.

Then he sits back down in the armchair, one leg crossed, ankle on the knee, taking an elegant pose. He reminds me of a big cat, and I think back to the claw marks on the stairs, wondering what happened there. But I have so many questions for him at this point, that will have to wait.

“You’re still wearing the necklace,” he says appreciatively.

I automatically press my fingers against the ruby, a habit now. “I’ve been too afraid to take it off.”