Blacker Than Black

By Rhi Etzweiler

Apparently, my twin and I are two of York's most notorious criminals. We've been Nightwalkers in the blue-light district since the vamps took over the world. Don't know how many years it's been. Long enough that a stream of fellow 'walkers have come and gone. Most don't last long selling their chi. End up face-down in the gutter, or worse.

For us, one night and one sale change everything.

Monsieur Garthelle is the first john to hunt me down. He calls me a chi thief in one breath and offers absolution—servitude—in the next. Maybe I'm a sucker, but I like living and breathing. Strange that such a powerful vamp would show leniency to a mere human. And something's not right with the chi I took from him. It won't go away.

Neither will he, and he's forcing us to spy on his peers. Then a vamp turns up dead, and we go from playing eyes and ears to investigating a murder. This isn't what I signed up for. All I ever wanted was to sell a little chi, maybe steal some in return. I should've kept my damn hands to myself.

This is my story. Look through my eyes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rhi Etzweiler
• Release date: May 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781937551056

Rhi Etzweiler

Rhi Etzweiler writes stories across the full spectrum of speculative fiction, from military science fiction to historical fantasy. Many of their characters reflect the influence of a military upbringing, in addition to incorporating LGBTQ aspects and themes ranging from gender fluidity to gay romance. For the latest information and updates about Rhi's current projects, sign up for their author newsletter via http://eepurl.com/bbLTjv or find Rhi.Etzweiler on Facebook, and @musefodder on Twitter.

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Table of Contents

Title Page

Blacker Than Black

#BLACK

#HANGOVER

#BACK TO THE BEGINNING

#ANSWER THE QUESTION

#MEETING MONSIEUR

#AGREEMENT

#MOVING UP

#CLARIFICATION

#DRAGULHAVEN

#ENTERTAINMENT

#TOO FAR

#AWAKENING

#DARKNESS DESCENDS

#A WICKED WEB

#RIPPLES

#ATTITUDE

#BRUISE BROTHER

#BLOCKED

#LIGHT & SHADOW

#RELATIONSHIPS

#SOME ASSISTANCE

#CHESS PIECES

#SHADES

#SEPARATION ANXIETY

#COMPLICATIONS

#INTRODUCTIONS

#MUTTS

#ADMISSIONS

#BLUE'S STORY

#LITTLE HEART TO HEART

#DISCOVERY

#EYES WIDE OPEN

#FALLOUT

#PROXIMITY

#SUSTENANCE

#DISCIPLINE

#RETRIBUTION

#CARTE BLANCHE

#SECRETS

#UNDER PRESSURE

#SUNSHINE & SHADOWS

#THE BEST INTENTIONS

#CLEAR AS MUD

#GIVE & TAKE

#ANOTHER'S TREASURE

#SHIFTING SHADOWS

#CHOOSE YOUR BATTLES

#DARKNESS

#THE POWER OF 3

#INTO THE BREACH

#THICKER THAN BLOOD

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Blacker Than Black

Copyright © 2011, 2018 by Rhi Etzweiler

Cover Art by EbookLaunch.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact the author at [e-mail].

ISBN: 978-1-937551-05-6

First edition

January, 2012

Second edition

May, 2018

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#BLACK

Music surges from somewhere down the block, a thrumming background rhythm. The vibrations send a chill up my spine, and I let it roll through me, absorbing the wave of anticipation and adrenaline. Kenna shifts nearby, stepping closer. I feel her proximity, the weight and heat of my fellow Nightwalker, but she’s no more substantial than a shadow.

I look back over my shoulder at her. The loud pink latex of her right sleeve is hiked up, wrinkled around her biceps. Clothing serving as a tourniquet, Kenna pulls the trigger on the sleek hypno-hitter she scored earlier from a street dealer a block over. The fluid injecting into her vein isn’t the vivid blue of the usual hallucinogens the dealers are pushing, though. Instead, it’s a pale fuchsia that, disturbingly, matches her outfit.

So that any unintentional overspray doesn’t show. She glances up, notices me watching, then slips the small hitter into her back pocket and pulls her sleeve down, intently focused on smoothing the material and smudging any traces of the drug from the edge of her cuff.

I want to tell her she missed a spot, but bite my tongue.

A john won’t really care that she’s masking her chi, synthetically amping it with a temporary surge. It makes her look healthier than she is, like steroids for the aura. She has a few sales left in her, but at the rate she’s going, none of them will be worth much. And then she’ll be so much offal for the regeneration plants to absorb.

Because when the drug wears off, there won’t be anything left in her.

I’ve seen it happen plenty of times. I used to warn them, wanting to help those who walk the blue-lit boulevard with me, but over the years the futility of my efforts has left me jaded. And it’s been a lot of years. The other ’walkers either have the strength to figure it out on their own, or they don’t. It isn’t something I can teach. The frustration depresses me, but it hurts less if I mind my own business.

I tilt my head back and stare up at the night sky, wondering if I’ll be able to see a star tonight. I never have, not with the glow from the buildings so close. But I always try.

And that’s when I feel it. With my hands crammed in my pockets, head back to stare at the dark gray wash of the sky. Someone’s looking. The sharp gaze studying me is razors along my nerve endings, a probe of my aura like the fumbling grope of a homeless drunk.

Maybe tonight will be interesting, after all. I scan the street to the right, in the direction of oncoming traffic. A small vehicle slows as it draws nearer, veering toward my side of the boulevard across empty lanes on a street devoid of life.

Activity, yes. Plenty of that.

It’s a lightweight two-seater that crawls along the curb, glowing an alien hue of blue in the illumination from the cramped buildings lining the street.

Even here in the slums, the city’s lighting doesn’t fail. Block after block down the boulevard, the shabby buildings radiate a steady, azure glow. It reflects off the vehicle’s glossy surfaces, and for a moment, however brief, the sight feels ethereal. Magical. I soak up the sensation, willing the stranger not to move or speak; I want to stay right here for a while. To freeze this pristine instant of unrealized potential before the vampire flaps his lips and makes an ass out of himself. It happens every time, without fail, and every time I manage to conceal the sigh of disappointment and refrain from putting voice to whatever sarcastic comment pops into my head.

Silence, magical energy. May it last, please, for just a little longer?

No such luck. The potential john, with his unblinking yellow eyes, shatters the spell. I can see him now, sharp gaze above a smile on his dark lips, but the expression isn’t warm or friendly. It’s not that kind of smile; all the same, it embodies something I understand.

So strong, he murmurs. His voice is barely audible, the comment clearly not intended for my ears.

And it will cost you, I purr back. Looks might not matter all that much, but a twist of coy charm never harmed a sale. I curl my lips in a lopsided smile, bending over a fraction so my gaze is almost level with his. And I get a better look at him, in the dim interior of his car. Not hard on the eyes, that’s for sure. Clean-cut and nondescript, he looks like one of those people who could melt into a crowd. Only the vivid color of his eyes would set him apart.

He blinks as if surprised, then narrows his eyes. The piercing sensation increases, a wave of pain flooding my body that triggers a rush of adrenaline. Jhez would just call me a thrill junkie. Turning the tables on the predator. I live for that brief moment when they hesitate and question who’s hunting who.

The john’s wide mouth curves, but this time he’s definitely leering. His craving is strong. It radiates from him, thrumming along my skin feather-light, a strange contrast to his careless probing. I can slake his thirst. It’s definitely going to cost him, though. More than he realizes.

Get in. Pure confidence flavors his tone; this man knows what he wants and intends to acquire it. Giving him a slight nod, I glance over my shoulder at Kenna. She’s retreated from her spot along the curb, her form a silhouette against the glow at her back. In the harsh blue lighting, she looks faintly purple.

See you tomorrow, I call, but Kenna doesn’t respond. She rubs at the cuff of her sleeve again, engrossed by some imagined stain.

Walking around the front of the vehicle, I take care not to brush against it. Don’t want to mar that glimpse of magic from the surface, the refracting glow of the buildings in its glass-bright curves.

The door slides back long enough for me to settle into the soft plush interior, and then the vehicle moves off down the street with a subtle revving purr.

The car smells of incense, the heavy cloying smoke saturating every inch. My john lounges in the driver’s seat, long legs and broad shoulders on a lean body, dark hair sharply contrasting a pale complexion. He’s dressed in a charcoal suit, and the material looks kissed with moon dust in the boulevard’s illumination. He’s a better prospect than I’ve seen trolling for quite some time, and this transaction looks to promise a bit of pleasure, even if it’s only of the eye candy variety.

One thing bothers me about this, though. Yeah, this vamp’s the best I’ve seen in a while. Most of the time, it’s the flunkies who troll the streets. The stronger vampires, like the one beside me guiding his little fiberglass coupe through the sporadic traffic, are rarely seen. They don’t need to resort to Nightwalkers to get what they need. They have little harems of humans stashed away, eagerly waiting to offer their chi free of charge.

Ugh. Just the thought makes me gag. It’s as bad as having a pimp. Your body isn’t your own anymore, traded in for a bit of comfort and security. I don’t blame the ones who do it. Jhez and I, though, we found a different way. It works for us.

Although, this particular john is stronger than any I’ve wrestled with lately. I’m starting to get slightly nervous about whether I’ll be able to pull off my usual trick. Most of the time, it’s like taking candy from a baby.

Jhez is standing sentry on her stretch of pavement as we drive by, but my twin’s expression startles me. Brow furrowed, lips twisted into a grimace, she gives her head a curt shake. I meet her dark gaze, and she reaches out with her aura, tendrils of energy drifting along the fringes of mine like fingers trailing over the surface of water.

The hue of fear radiating from her is nothing short of strange, but it’s contagious. I turn away from the window, trying to shake it off. It’s not like I haven’t done this a thousand times before. I won’t let the creeping misgivings undermine my confidence. I can’t afford to show any emotional weakness around a john. Any john, not just this one, but I need to be hyper-vigilant this time. This vamp’s a good bit more sensitive, aware, than my usual fare.

Perhaps he had a bad day and decided slumming it would make him feel bigger. Not that it matters. He’ll pay. Even if I fluff the price, I doubt he’ll bother with haggling.

I take measure of the man’s broad-shouldered body again, every detail that whispers of privilege, power. It’s possible I’ve tackled more than I can handle.

I inhale, slow and deep, and finally push the worry away. There’s no way I’ll know for sure until it’s too late to matter. It’s the same chance I take any other time. The possibility always exists that a vampire’s craving will be greater than my ability to slake it. Like I have any other choice in the matter; submitting to a pimp’s whims is not an option. It’s a dead end.

This is their world. People like Kenna, Jhez, and me—we’re nothing more than a few unremarkable pieces of an inexhaustible resource. There will always be Nightwalkers milling the edges of my blue-lit boulevard, desperate enough to sell themselves. I’ve seen more of them come and go in my time than I want to think about.

I need to focus, find my Zen. If I don’t, it won’t matter how strong I am. I won’t live to see sunrise.

Hiding behind that beauty beside me is a heartless beast. In my experience, a single-minded, selfish creature whose efforts to ease its appetite know no bounds. I don’t pretend to understand vampires, and I don’t pretend to like them.

A rare gem, the man beside me murmurs.

Panic swells at his tone, but I let the reaction wash up through me and dissipate without acknowledging it. Can’t afford that sort of emotive response, especially not with a john who seems to be fishing for a weakness, a crack, no matter how small. He doesn’t intend it to be a compliment, I’m sure. Did he actually sense something . . . different?

He falls silent then, and I get the odd impression my lack of engagement frustrates him. By the time I surface from my internal meditation, he’s climbing out of the vehicle. It’s not a matter of trust that permits me the safety of being unresponsive in a stranger’s company. Far from it; every john I’ve dealt with has understood what meeting their demands entails. A certain amount of preparation goes into feeding a john and being able to walk away afterward. That same preparation makes their experience more satisfying and reduces resistance.

Most of them prefer it that way. I steer clear of the ones that don’t.

Most of the time, anyways. It’s usually a simple feat to spot the ones that like their meals screaming and fighting—they don’t tend to offer to pay for it, for one.

My door is open, my john waiting for me to climb out. Chill, untainted air steals the warmth from my skin as I follow in his wake. He pauses long enough to glance over his shoulder at me, but his yellow gaze doesn’t hold that same piercing edge. He merely observes, eyes drifting up and down my form with appreciation. And then he licks his lips.

Despite his obvious anticipation, he seems content to bide his time. I glance up at the monolith of a building, following its austere lines up into the night sky. A glittering glass eye glowing in the darkness, the illumination a strange hue that brings to mind oxygen-rich blood. No soothing blue tones for the wealthy and well-to-do. There’s no trace of expediency as we pass the security barriers at the entrance and go into the lift.

Greetings, Monsieur. The disembodied voice is flat and metallic. A building more intelligent than any I’ve frequented thus far. I mean, it’s speaking to him? Really? I didn’t realize vamps were such Space Odyssey fanatics. You have a visitor this evening?

Indeed. Humor laces his voice.

Very well. The lift moves smoothly. Enjoy your evening, Monsieur.

Who is he to warrant such lavish opulence? And why is someone like him—with a residence that greets him by title, with resources to burn—bothering to troll the Blue District for some easy chi when he likely has it readily available?

Whatever his reason, this one gig will net me and Jhez enough to pay the rent and utilities for the next month. At the very least it will give us some breathing room, and a little extra to squirrel away for that vacation out to the countryside we want to take.

Upstairs, the hall is immaculate. It radiates the same red glow from the ceiling, floor, and walls. A single doorway mars its seamless lines. The vampire palms his security panel, stepping aside as the door slides open soundlessly. He meets my gaze, and his craving sluices over me again. Like it did back on the boulevard, but stronger this time. The wave of hunger is so immense, so powerful, so endless . . . No doubt about it, he had it masked when he approached me on the street.

I step through the door and wonder if I’ll ever see Jhez again.

Everything is black. Obsidian, onyx. Unrelieved. My favorite color, and its unexpected appearance relaxes me. The absence of all light, the presence of all color. The philosophical insinuations of this vamp’s lair soothe my agitation. Lull me. I close my eyes and take a slow breath. Stirring air, the faint rustle of cloth, lets me track my john as he follows in my wake.

The door closes, the latch engaging with a faint click. Tension ripples up my spine: the clawing, adrenaline-driven desire for self-preservation. My eyes slide open. And although my visual senses are useless, other ones—smell, touch—increase to accommodate. There’s incense burning somewhere, a blend of herbs reminding me of musk, of earth. The same scent that assaulted me in his glossy bubble of a car. The lesser concentration gives my surroundings a light, spacious feel, even though I can’t see anything.

The vampire steps past, a shadow of greater density and presence than all the others, his touch on my elbow disembodied as he guides me forward. A rush of adrenaline heightens my senses further. Even my best efforts don’t negate all emotion. A residue of fight or flight remains, along with faint traces of confusion, wariness, distrust. No doubt he’s strong enough to sense it all pulsing from me in heady waves—like getting a whiff of gourmet coffee before taking a sip.

His hunger slams against my aura, all finesse gone, and the force of it knocks the air from my body. So powerful my knees give out, but I manage to turn the sudden collapse into sitting down on his couch. Random stroke of luck that I didn’t hit his coffee table or a floor lamp. My skin crawls beneath the caress of his gaze. I catch a faint glint of his yellow eyes refracting what little illumination there is as he sits just out of arm’s reach.

My resistance is short-lived and feeble. He pierces through it with ease, penetrating my residual defenses, dominating my will. Pleasure swells and I ride the waves, desperately retaining that sliver of awareness, of coherent thought, as he scours me, strips me of every shred of energy, sanity, dignity.

He thought I was strong. Beneath the onslaught of his hunger, I’m not. I underestimated him. It’s a mistake that could cost me everything. His breath is moist against my neck, and I exhale raggedly. Grateful for the tactile sensation, anchoring, grounding.

Don’t worry. His voice is rough, hoarse, keyed low. A thread of tension in his tone. I won’t take it all.

My mind spins, startled, as his lips drift down over my collarbone. The sensation solidifies my shredded sanity.

He didn’t have to do that—but he did.

I feel his lips curve into a smile against my shoulder before his teeth clamp onto me. His breath and tongue sear along my flesh like fire. My body is limp with exhaustion, uncooperative. I fight oblivion for just a moment longer; it’s all I need to take my price. My hands frame his face, dark wavy hair like silk against my skin. He doesn’t notice my fingers tightening in his hair. Or if he does, the lethargy of energy thrall makes him unable to care.

The lack of resistance makes it easy to slide a foggy dark tentacle of my own inside his defenses. So easy, in fact, that I slip deeper than I intended. The heat of his core scalds my aura as I nip a small sliver of the vampire’s chi. Slick as lava glass and just as sharp along the jagged edges, a dark shade of blue-black somewhere between midnight, indigo, and the strange hue of maroon that blood sometimes has. Clotted blood.

I fondle the little treasure, the real price my john is paying.

And this little piece of vampire, it’s stronger than everything he’s taken from me. More concentrated. The irony is that he’ll never miss it.

It softens finally as I pull away, back into myself. Softens and melts, slipping into my aura, diluting into my energy.

For a few moments, I feel nothing.

And then it hits me like chugging a shot of whiskey. The world blurs and the vamp’s energy thrums against my skin, the trace inside me resonating with his close proximity, my own energy in him doing the same. I can feel myself in him.

Can feel him in me.

My head falls back against the arm of the couch, my eyes wide. I know the ceiling is up there somewhere. Even if it weren’t dark, I couldn’t focus enough to see shit. The vampire’s weight rests atop me, his forehead cool and clammy against my neck. Shallow puffs of breath tickle my skin, make it itch and tingle, nerve endings flaring to life as energy calls to energy, a banked ember in a gentle gust of air.

I need to get the fuck out of here, right now.

#HANGOVER

Steps pass beneath my feet as I descend them, driven purely on instinct. When I reach the concrete of the sidewalk, I glance back over my shoulder in confusion. Reluctance and loss flit through me like the chill night air sinking past my skin.

I try to wrestle the thoughts in my head into some kind of order, to clear space for coherency. My surroundings are slow to come into focus.

It’s a sensation I’m familiar with, the disorientation, although I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it. I blink a few times, scrubbing moisture from my cheeks with rough impatience. I’m alone. It surprises me, though I can’t think why.

That I’ve survived should fill me with relief. Or something like it. It doesn’t. Deep down, I know it was a gift. Restraint. He could have destroyed me so easily.

Tearing my gaze from the building’s entrance, I walk away. Every step’s an exertion of will. Every stride creates a gulf between myself and that part of me I’ve surrendered and left behind.

A larger part than I intended. The pull is stronger than any I’ve experienced. None have ever delved so deep into me, stripped me so thoroughly. It makes me feel hollow, empty.

I lift my hand and run a finger over my smooth, pale skin, blue veins prominent. My john paid handsomely for what I offered; the price I exacted is greater than he knows. The strength of his filched chi pulses through me like liquid fire, unnatural. It will assimilate slowly. But I can afford the luxury of time now. Judging by the translucent quality of my skin, I need it.

Looking back over my shoulder once more, I study the architecture of the building and its unfamiliar red aura. Beginning to fade now with the encroaching sunrise. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again.

My pace quickens as the glow of imminent dawn illuminates the city’s eastern skyline. Buildings jut into the vivid color like some mythical beast gaping its maw to breathe fire on the remnants of humanity. I have just enough time to make it back to my little hovel in the heart of the Blue District—to put some distance between me and the john, to weaken the resonant sensation, before he recovers from his feeding thrall.

Exhaustion is weighing down my feet by the time I make it back to the flat. Litter lines the hallway, remnants of life, or escape. All of it trash. The faint smell of mildew and decay hangs in the air, paint peeling off the sweating concrete walls. As I pull my key from its chain around my neck, the door opens.

You look like cold shit, Black, Jhez says. Her brow is furrowed in concern, relief flooding off her so heavily it’s discomfiting. As if she doused in flowery perfume during my absence.

I love you too, sister. I’m sure it sounds like I’m snarling; my tone is at once both rough and edged even to my own ears, but I’m too drained to care. Mind and body. One feels like someone pureed it, and as for the other? Well, I did just hoof it across half the city.

I shove past her, though gently, and thump into the living space. Its dreary features swirl around me, familiar and comforting, and I’m relieved when my gaze catches on the small painting that lives on the wall where it always has. The strong, heavy lines of pattern in the cheap print are better than any drug at staving off the persistent blurring and dizziness. Aftereffects we’re both accustomed to coping with. Thus the framed mandala hanging across from the couch.

The door clicks shut, the lock slides into place. Didn’t you recognize him? Jhez sounds annoyed.

Recognize who? I don’t get why you’re so upset. He was a john, just like any other.

"What the hell, Black? Did your brain short-circuit or something? That wasn’t just a vamp. That was Le Gross himself, the Monsieur of York."

I turn and stare at her, not comprehending. My brain feels like it’s in reverse.

"Monsieur Garthelle? Hello? That name ring your bell?"

I know what the reigning vamp in this city looks like. What the heck did she bum off her street partner this evening? Seriously? I shake my head and frown. "Jhez, I don’t know what you think you saw. But that was not Monsieur Garthelle in the car. I think I’d know if I was sitting next to him."

At least she doesn’t bother asking that one question I hate. I managed to survive the encounter—thanks to my john’s restraint—but I’m not okay, not by a long shot. There’s a reason why I look like cold shit. It’s about the way I feel at the moment, too.

I sink into the threadbare couch, beige more from dirt and stains than intention. For the space of a heartbeat, it’s transposed with a black velvet creature, its cushions so soft and deep I want to lose myself in them.

But then it’s just smudged tan corduroy again.

That’s happened before. It’s normal, the juxtaposition of reality with memories. Like the tug I still feel, it usually fades with time. I let my head fall back and massage my temples.

I don’t have the strength to pull my boots from my feet. It doesn’t stop me from propping my heels on the corner of the battered coffee table, though.

Jhez reaches over my shoulder, holding a tumbler full of chilled liquid. How strong is the pull?

Strong. I throw the entire contents of the tumbler down my throat without breathing. I learned some time ago not to try sipping anything she offers.

She slips over the back of the couch to sit beside me.

Holding the empty glass out to her, I roll my head to meet her gaze. I almost turned back so many times, I lost count.

Jhez takes the glass and sets it on the coffee table. Given who— She breaks off and starts again. What if it doesn’t fade this time?

I grunt and close my eyes. It’s a chance we take, isn’t it? My eyes flutter open, and I stare at her again. Why do you care all the sudden? It’s no more likely to happen this time than any other.

She won’t look at me, and doesn’t respond. I fumble the credit chit from the front pocket of my pants and toss it on the table. The sliver of plastic holds the balance of the vamp’s payment. The part he’s aware of.

Jhez’s gaze follows it, but she remains poised on the edge of the couch, unmoving.

A heavy tread in the hallway precedes a solid, insistent rap on the door.

I share a look with my twin. Our expressions mirror one another, and slowly we turn to regard the door.

You expecting company? I ask. Softly, just to stall the inevitable. I already know the answer.

No, she murmurs, drawing out the response. Her gaze swivels to me as the rap repeats, her eyes widening. How much did you take from him?

Oh, please. No vamp would have the—

The door flies open, rebounding off the wall, and I flinch at the screech of metal and wood. A chunk of debris catches me on the cheek before falling into my lap—part of the frame the bolt hole screwed into.

—presence of mind to track me down.

Judging by the size of the individual whose silhouette fills the doorframe, my john is more than mildly displeased. Whoever he is. That the vampire employs muscle to begin with is no real surprise, given the luxury I witnessed.

Your presence is required, Nightwalker, the man intones, stepping forward. He is the personification of hired muscle if ever I’ve seen it.

Odd that the vamp noticed. I lower my feet and push up from the couch. It’s rare for my clients to recover from energy thrall so quickly. Usually, they wallow in it. And none have yet complained about what they lacked in the aftermath. If they noticed at all.

I scrub the sweat that slicks my palms onto the well-worn softness of my pants, and try not to panic. There’s no taking this bulk of a man by surprise, not with me in the state I’m in. So despite the fear-fueled adrenaline pouring into my veins, I push to my feet and step past Jhez. She scoots her legs out of the way, staring up at me with equal parts horror, concern, and outrage. Impotence is a frustrating state, and I’m right there with her.

Don’t worry, I’ll be back in a bit. Why I make the effort to reassure her, I don’t really know. They’re empty words, a meaningless promise. I’m just trying really, really hard not to think about the worst-case scenario here.

Yeah, and maybe my john just wants to share a spot of tea, right?

Muscle doesn’t glance at Jhez as he grabs me by the arm and hauls me in his wake.

#BACK TO THE BEGINNING

This is not my preferred method of coping with the pull I feel after being with a john. Far from it. Close proximity only reasserts the connection, making it that much more difficult to dispel. Perversely, however, every step I take toward the john’s residence eases the tugging pain that much more. And I hate him that much more. Because I can. I have that much free will, at least.

By the time Muscle knocks on the entrance to the suite—with a great deal more care, mind, than he did on mine—my vision is as red as the hallway. I am seething with hatred. And the painful tug is all but gone. But my previous conclusion that the vamp is simply unhappy, I discover, was a gross misjudgment on my part.

The door slides open. Muscle doesn’t set foot inside, just shoves me through the doorway. The blackness in the room envelops me, the very air throbbing with disapproval. Dragon’s blood incense is thick in the air, burning my throat and making my eyes water. I don’t remember it doing that before.

That’s my disapproving john looming before me; who else could it be, in this place? And I haven’t pissed off anyone else of note, not that I’m aware of. He’s so close his face hovers inches from mine, faintly visible in the ambient red lighting of the hall. Black lights gleam faintly from tracks in the ceiling. They don’t offer a great deal of illumination, but it’s enough to see.

Something is wrong, because he doesn’t look as I remember. He’s so close I can see specks of gold scattering through the various hues of yellow that make up his irises. Daffodil, mustard, and sunlight. Artfully messy hair hiding a widow’s peak; it’s just long enough to sink my fingers into, I recall, and soft as silk. I don’t remember it being pulled back at the nape of his neck, though. Strong jaw, speckled with a shadow of beard growth this late in the day. Or night. Whatever it is. A muscle is twitching in his cheek. Very patrician nose, I notice, as his nostrils flare a bit.

Okay. I swallow hard. No doubt about it, this man is the Monsieur of York. Ruling vampire of the metro.

Why didn’t I notice all these little details when he picked me up?

I was not tripping on anything. Every bit as sober as I am now. All things considered, I was more sober then. Tripping on a chi-high like I am, my perceptions are obviously . . . wonky.

The red lighting fades—Muscle shut the door, I’m guessing. Despite that, I can still see Garthelle quite clearly in the darkness. The vamp licks his lips, cants his head a fraction.

I paid generously for what I took. I shudder as my skin pimples at the feel of his breath. There’s a faint scar at the left corner of his mouth, pulling the otherwise flawless line of his upper lip into a slight but perpetual sneer. I exercised restraint, and yet you repay me with common thievery.

Okay, so maybe he’s sneering deliberately. I want to argue with him; I don’t consider what I did thievery. I press my lips together and manage to stay silent as his gaze flickers over my face, eyes roving incessantly.

Reviews for Blacker Than Black

[nightcolors · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Read for m/m team bingo challenge. There were interesting ideas but I started to lose interest in the story when it slowed down quite a bit in the middle. The world building didn't seem complete and a lot of the promised conversations that were supposed to finally provide some answers just didn't take place.

[laylahhunter · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Rich setting with cool energy vampires, a lot of lush detail, and a plot that had a lot more going for it than "will they or won't they bone." Possibly a little *too* much going on for me, honestly; I got a little lost in some of the back-and-forth about who was currently (relatively) trustworthy and who was being implicated in what schemes when. And the relationship felt like it was built much more on animal attraction and the "mysterious connection" of the guys' chi bond rather than coming to an understanding of each other. Overall an engaging read, though!