Page 24 of Immortal Sun

She pauses. I can tell she’s trying to figure me out, but can’t help but want to be near me. I’m her sun after all. She craves me., the darkness of her chaos calls for the light. “Do you think at some point I could stop by the police station too? Get an update on Jake? Or at least remind them that he’s been flaking out on me and unreachable?”

“You worry too much but if it makes you feel better, absolutely.” It falls easy from my lips.They’ll find nothing on him. They’re on my side in this.

She nods, then tucks her thick jet-black hair behind her ears. “Then that sounds really good.” The way she swallows and looks up at me like she needs to be vigilant with me invigorates and improves my mood immensely.

She doesn’t realize what she senses; it’s so innocent and beautiful to someone so jaded.

“Anyway.” I clap my hands together. She instantly jumps a foot and presses a hand to her chest. “Let’s meet downstairs in twenty?”

“Sounds good.” Her smile wavers a bit. “Thanks, Cyrus.”

She said my name.

My name.

But not.

It’s not my real name.

But it will do.

For now.

CHAPTER 8

CLEO

“Any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.”— Homer, The Iliad

Something feels different today, maybe it’s because I actually had a good night’s sleep, or maybe it’s Cyrus but he’s acting really nice then foreboding right after that, like I should go with him but not believe a word that comes out of his mouth. Where is this paranoia coming from?

I frown and make my way into the bar, adrenaline still coursing through me over those giant hands sounding like thunder in front of my face. I half expected lightning to follow.

I can’t complain about him, but my nerves are always on edge when I’m around him and it’s not just because he’s a stranger. It’s the way he speaks, I think. Half the time his smile is predatory then it’s suddenly replaced with a gorgeous seductive one that makes me instantly warm.

After last night, I’m careful not to lock eyes with him for too long but the temptation is weirdly strong. I shake my thoughts away—again, even with a good sleep, I’m still clearly imagining things, I know that has to be part of it and I need to get ready for breakfast.

I’m not really paying attention when I walk through the door and start making my way toward my room only to see the stupid cat again running in the opposite direction of where we’re supposed to go. I chase after it and suddenly get lost then find myself in the back kitchen. It must be a separate one from the one used for the restaurant which is strange. Why would they have two kitchens? Maybe because Cyrus stays at the bar a lot and wants his privacy? I have to admit it’s really large—the entire area. Oh shit is this what he was talking about? Where he actually lives when he doesn’t go home? Did I just stumble into his fortress of solitude without realizing it? Gah! Stupid naked Egyptian looking cat!

I have to admit though, something smells amazing, like fresh cinnamon rolls, burned sugar, and flowers. I walk over to the oven. The light’s on, showing off plump, golden cinnamon rolls that instantly make my mouth water.

My stomach growls.

“Someone’s hungry,” a deep voice says from behind me. I jump a foot and snatch up the closest weapon, which is sadly a towel, and hold it out in front of me. The blue and white striped thing dangles off my right hand like a broken sword.

“Cute,” the voice says again. Damn, the body belonging to said voice smells even better than the cinnamon rolls. “Cute that you think you would attack me with that and actually win. I did need a laugh today. Would you like to try a roll of paper towels instead?”

Hands shaking, I drop them by my side and slowly turn.

I immediately realize I’m not ready.

No sane person would be ready for the sort of beauty staring down at me. His eyes are a weird reddish chocolate brown, like red velvet cake, framed by long dark lashes, arched brows, full lips that look better than mine, and a dimple on his right cheek.

His hair is golden-brown with shots of auburn and hits his shoulders in a way that looks like a soft caress. He’s at least six inches taller than me, but not super large like Cyrus; he’s lean like a runner.

“Like what you see?” He winks then lifts my chin with his finger so we’re close enough to kiss. “It’s really just…tragic.”

“What is?” I whisper.

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