Can art imitate death? Oh no, girlfriend. Don't even go there...

Ten years ago, the Human Hemovore Virus blazed through the world, and left the few victims who survived unable to eat, allergic to sunlight and craving the taste of blood.

Mark Jensen used to think V-positives were incredibly sexy with their pale, flawless skin and taut, lean bodies. Not anymore. Not since he's been stuck procuring under-the-counter feline blood for his control-freak boss, Jonathan Varga. Why cat blood? Mark has never dared to ask.

It's not as if he's usually 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 their strange, endless routine: Jonathan hiding in his studio, painting solid black canvases. Mark hurling insults as he buffs the office to a shine with antiviral wipes and maps out the mysterious "routes" he's required to drive.

Then a blurb in Art in America unleashes a chain of events neither of them saw coming. As secrets of Jonathan's past come to light, it becomes clear all his precautions weren't nearly enough.