Mark Hansen thought working as artist's assistant would be glamorous, especially if that artist was a vampire. Black tie events, witty repartee, gracing the pages of the local style section.... Didn't happen. Not even once. Jonathan Varga is an enigma. True, he's quiet, generous, and scrupulously polite. But he has zero social life, refuses to be interviewed or photographed, and insists he can only consume feline blood. Why supermarket blood won't suffice, Mark hasn't asked. He's rarely at a loss for words-he can dish an insult and follow it with a snap as quick as you can say "Miss Thang." But one look at Jonathan's black-as-sin gypsy eyes, and Mark's objections drain away. So he endures the perpetual grind of their routine: Jonathan hiding in his studio, swiping black paint onto black canvases. Mark hurling insults while he buffs the office to a shine with antiviral wipes. Each of them avoiding the other in a careful choreography...until a blurb in Art in America unleashes a chain of harrowing events. As secrets from Jonathan's past are brought to light, it becomes clear that all his precautions weren't nearly enough.
