by Anna Zabo
Those words wrapped around Silas and tightened like a noose. His sword slipped from his hand and clattered against the dishes on the table. His knees bent. Only his iron grip on the table kept him upright.
It had been more than two thousand years. Why did he still need to obey this monster?
As if reading his mind, Anaxandros answered him. “Little fae, your kind never forget, and I worked so very hard to train you.”
Truth. Silas’s whole body quaked with the shame of it.
“You’ll never be free of me.”
A thin tendril of energy wound its way up Silas’s leg, full of life and vigor. He lifted his head and looked into Rhys’s brilliant green eyes.
“Cut the fucker down.” Those words were in his head, along with Rhys’s anger. His love.
Silas gripped the hilt of his sword and lifted it. “I’ll be free of you when I slice your head off.”
Anaxandros laughed again. “I’m going to take your toy, Quintus. I’m going to break him as I broke you.” His talons pierced Rhys’s neck.
With Rhys between him and Anaxandros, Silas could only catch the soulless in the leg. If he moved correctly, if Anaxandros didn’t block with Rhys’s body.
It was Rhys’s voice, heavy with hate, that broke the silence. “I’m not his toy.” Rhys moved like lightning, grabbed the steak knife from the table, and rammed it backward into Anaxandros’s chest.
Silas lunged, his sword catching the cloth of Anaxandros’s pants, a bit of flesh too, for the smell of charred meat met his nostrils. Anaxandros retreated before Silas could land another blow. He pulled the knife from his chest and threw it at Rhys.
Or rather, at Rhys’s empty chair. Gods only knew where he’d gone or how he could’ve moved so fast.
Anaxandros snarled at Silas. “I’ll have him, Quintus. I’ll suck the marrow from his bones while I drown you in his blood.”
Rhys stepped out of the shadows and into the sun. “If you want me, fuckhead, come and get me.” His hair glowed like a mass of molten copper strands, his skin gold in the afternoon light. He stood as proud and as beautiful as any fae warrior ever had. The element that whipped about him was richer and deeper than any Silas could call. All that was missing from the image was a sword in Rhys’s hand.
How many wars had Quarters fought for themselves?
Element struck Silas, filling him, expanding his senses.
Anaxandros surged forward, drawn to Rhys’s brightness and Rhys stepped back, stepping farther into the sunlight. Flames licked up from Anaxandros’s skin when he crossed out of shadow.
Silas rushed toward Anaxandros’s. He’d never have a better chance than this.
Flesh sizzled and popped before Anaxandros’s taloned hands reached Rhys.
Rhys bared his teeth, malice in his smile.
Anaxandros fell back into shade, his face and arms blackened, but only blackened. No more flame came, no killing curls of fire from within. Silas aimed his blow at Anaxandros’s head. The energy Rhys poured into Silas quickened his motions. Time slowed; his aim was perfect.
Claws closed about the gladius’s blade. Pieces of blackened flesh fell from Anaxandros’s face, revealed pale skin, and turned to ash. “Too slow, sprite.” He pushed Silas backward. Turned. In the time it took Silas to regain his balance, Anaxandros had left the restaurant.
A snarl rose in Silas’s throat. So close! A fraction of a second sooner and Anaxandros would have been dust. He crossed most of the floor before Rhys’s voice caught him.
“Silas, don’t.”
He halted. “I can catch him. Kill him. I’ll never have another chance like this.” His vision bled red at the edges and his chest heaved against the burning need to follow.
“Silas Quint.” Rhys’s voice caressed Silas’s thoughts. “Kill?”
Cold rushed through Silas. He fell back away from the door, the very words he’d spoken to Rhys echoing in his mind. “You can’t kill something that’s already dead.” A moment later, he sheathed his sword. Arms trembling, he’d barely held it properly.
Anaxandros could still affect his mind. More than two thousand years later, the he still possessed a piece of Silas. He ground his mouth closed to keep the wail inside.
A warm arm slid around his waist and fingers stroked the side of his face, gently turning his head back toward the dining room.
Rhys, all copper and green-gold. No blood on Rhys’s neck. Who had healed the wound?
“Come eat dinner,” Rhys said.
Dinner? Silas looked around the room. They stood in the middle of the restaurant. Not a soul looked at them. His glamour was still intact.
It shouldn’t have been. It was Rhys who held the better part of it, his energy propping Silas’s weave up.
Silas didn’t know a damn thing about Quarters. How in Hades’s name was he supposed to protect Rhys?
Rhys pulled him toward their table.
“I’m perfectly fine.” Silas shook off Rhys’s grasp.
“Liar.” Affection and concern softened the reply.
Silas grasped the edge of his chair, pulled it out, and sank down. He would’ve reached for his wine had his hands not been shaking.
Rhys sat, plucked his glass from the table, and sipped, expression unreadable.
Silas looked away. Anaxandros still played him like a puppet. Had he followed, no doubt the trail would have led him back to a lair with four other soulless. “If you hadn’t stopped me, I’d be dead.”
“Yeah, I know,” Rhys said. “But I’d be dead without you, so it works out.”
Silas hazarded a chance at drinking the wine and his hand held steady. “I didn’t think—” He stopped and set down the wineglass. “I can’t think around him. I’m sorry.”
Rhys swirled his wine. “I want to rip that thing apart for what it did to you.”
“You have no idea.”
“Actually,” Rhys said, “I do.”
Oh great mother Gaia. Rhys had felt Silas’s whole life, that part included. He cast around for words to put together and found nothing.
Thankfully their dinner came, providing Silas with a respite from his thoughts and from Rhys’s watchful inspection.
Though how he’d stomach his food, Silas had no idea.
Rhys smiled up at the waiter. “I seem to have dropped my steak knife.”
They brought Rhys another.
An image of Rhys’s blood welling beneath Anaxandros’s claws flashed through Silas’s mind. He flattened his hands against the tablecloth, because the tremors had returned. “Jupiter’s hairy balls, what the hell is wrong with me?”
Rhys handed him the bread basket. “I don’t know. Maybe you just saw the monster that spent a hundred-and-eighty-some years abusing you for the first time since you escaped?”
Silas took the basket and forced himself to pull out a piece of bread. “I should be better than this.”
Exasperation was written on Rhys’s face. “You’re too hard on yourself. What you went through…” He frowned down at his steak and commenced cutting it. “Hell, I kind of lost it around that thing.”
The bread was soft and warm. Silas took another sip of wine to wash it down. “You were magnificent. Like wind. I couldn’t touch him, and you pierced his flesh.” He paused, watched Rhys’s hands. “With a steak knife.”
Rhys laid the knife on the edge of his plate. “Is that something else I shouldn’t be able to do?” Rhys’s lips twitched upward.
Cheeky little fox. “Yes.” Silas picked up his silverware—and it was real silver—and set about consuming the honey-braised chicken in front of him. At first he nibbled, but the food was surprisingly good. Tender meat and sweet spices. Before long, most of the chicken was gone, and he forced himself to slow down before he stole Rhys’s steak.
“I think we make each other better,” Rhys said. “I feel you when you”—he waved his fork about in a circle—“do whatever it is you do, and I just know.”
“Know when I manipulate the element?” Sil
as rotated his wineglass, watched the merlot coat the sides. Someone who complemented him in every way. Gods above. “We do seem to share a connection.”
Rhys finally looked away, his gaze drifting toward the sinking sun. “Maybe that’s why.”
Rhys knew what Silas’s next words would be. He wasn’t disappointed.
“Why what?”
He studied Silas. Color had returned to his tan face, stability to his arms and hands. Good. That had been a close call. “Why I followed you.”
Silas leaned back in his chair, elbow propped up on the arm, chin resting on his fingers.
A familiar motion. They had been together a day, and yet he knew that gesture nearly as well as he knew his own. “I have horrible boyfriends. Everyone tells me I’m always picking the worst men.” He scooped up his wineglass and drained it. “They’re wrong.”
“You don’t pick up the worst men?”
God, he loved that accent, the little dip in Silas’s tone that dried his words out. Might as well be a finger trailing up his spine. “I don’t pick up men. They pick me up, I fall in love, they use me, then toss me aside.”
Silas furrowed his brow as if remembering and dropped his arm. His mouth flattened into a thin line. “I see.”
He would. Rhys had Silas’s memories, a massive tangle of images and emotions. It only made sense Silas would have his. “I’m not exactly a carpe-diem kind of person when it comes to relationships. I’m…somewhat passive.”
“That,” Silas said, “is the last word I’d use to describe you.”
“Now,” Rhys said. “Two days ago?”
“I didn’t know you two days ago.” Silas stroked the condensation on the outside of his water glass.
Rhys doubted he’d ever get tired of how Silas’s fingers caressed everything they touched. “Yeah, exactly.” Rhys tossed his napkin on the table and stood. He held out his hand.
A moment later Silas rose, and twined those long fingers with Rhys’s. “What do you have in mind?”
He couldn’t heal Silas, not from the wounds the vampire had carved into his soul, but he could create ties of his own. Stronger ones. “Wait and see.”
A gentle tug was all it took for Rhys to lead Silas from the room. “I would’ve liked a coffee.” Silas’s protest was a halfhearted murmur.
Rhys drew Silas outside into the warm glow of the sun. They strolled up the promenade, forward to the bow, then up a set of stairs to an observation deck. Several empty lounge chairs sat on the teak planks. The wind took some of the heat out of the sunlight. No sunbathers. No readers either.
Good. Rhys pushed Silas against the hull and kissed him, forced his tongue past Silas’s lips and invaded that mouth. Silas moaned deep in his throat.
How would that moan feel with his cock in Silas’s throat? Rhys pressed his erection against Silas’s and framed Silas’s face with his hands.
Sex would be fantastic, but that wasn’t what Rhys needed right now. He broke the kiss. “I want you to listen to me.”
“You have the entirety of my attention.” A husky response.
“I’m going with you tonight.”
Silas gripped his shoulders, tried to open space between them. “Rhys.”
He leaned into Silas’s body, stroked Silas’s smooth cheeks with his thumbs. No stubble. Never any stubble. “I’m not asking. I’m telling you.”
The furrow in Silas’s brow deepened. “Rhys, you’ll be safer—”
“Like last night?” Safer, his ass.
Silas sucked in a breath, but the stubborn, arrogant line of his mouth remained. “You’ll be safer in the cabin.”
In the cabin? The hell with that. He’d be a sitting duck.
A good fuck was easy to get from Silas. Thoughtful consideration was not, and he of all people should know the vampires.
Rhys shoved himself away from Silas, the pain in his chest sharp and sudden. “Forget it. I guess I’ll just give myself to them.” He headed for the steps down to the next deck. “Since you don’t give a damn.” He might have put up with other men treating him like a vapid twit, but he damn well wouldn’t from this one.
Silas must have seen what that creature in the dining room tried to do. Didn’t he trust Rhys after all that?
Silas caught him by the arm before he reached the railing. “Rhys, don’t. Please!”
Rhys didn’t shake free of Silas, just pulled taut against his bruising grip. His heart pulsed in his throat. “Either listen to me or let go, Silas. Two choices.”
Emotional turmoil flowed over and around Rhys, more turbulent than the ocean surface, far greater than Rhys’s anger.
Silas.
Letting go wasn’t really an option for either of them. “You’re not used to being told what to do, are you?” Rhys said.
Silas’s grip on his arm loosened, though Silas didn’t let go. “No, I’m not.” Rhys barely heard those words over the wind, the slap of waves against the hull.
“I’m not used to ordering anyone.” Rhys pried Silas’s fingers from his arm but kept ahold of his hand. “But you’re being a fucking bastard right now. And I’m not going to let you get yourself killed.”
“I could say the same thing to you.” Silas’s accent thickened his words and made them sharp. Sunlight turned Silas’s eyes golden. “He’ll kill you, Rhys. Or worse. I can’t—won’t—let that happen.”
The wind lifted those dark curls and fluttered the ends of Silas’s bow tie.
Rhys had been wrong. Silas was completely blind when it came to the ancient vampire.
“He?” Rhys placed a hand against Silas’s chest, over his heart. It beat faster than his own. “All the other vampires you talk about as things. Creatures. Not that one.”
Shock smoothed the lines of anger from Silas’s face. His lips parted. Beneath Rhys’s hand, his heart fluttered like a bird’s.
“You’ve never noticed, have you?” Rhys said.
Wild despair shone in that beautiful face. No mistaking Silas for human now. Everything about him was untamed. “No, I haven’t.”
Rhys tightened his grip on Silas’s hand. “Listen to me.”
Silas trailed a too-warm finger down Rhys’s face in the same the way Rhys touched alabaster or marble. “I… Yes. I’ll listen.”
Rhys swallowed the lump in his throat. Too close, again. Any other man Rhys would’ve left, but Silas was his, as surely as he belonged to Silas. “Do you think this vampire, Anex…Anox—”
“Anaxandros.”
“—Anaxandros, knows about quarter-fae?”
Beneath Rhys’s fingers, the rhythm of Silas’s heart slowed. “It’s possible.” He frowned. “He—it—existed for several millennia before it caught me.”
Rhys took his hand away from Silas’s chest. His grip on Rhys’s other hand tightened. Silas’s gaze never strayed from Rhys’s face.
Anaxandros’s taunts had been for one purpose. “It tried to take you from me,” Rhys said.
Silas got that faraway look, the one that meant he was turning over events in his mind. After a moment his gaze snapped back into focus. “It did try to drive us apart. He—” Silas stopped and spit an angry string of words out Rhys didn’t understand. “It knows me better than any creature, save perhaps the Messengers.”
“And me.”
“You.” Silas exhaled. His expression softened into shame. “Gods, Rhys—”
Rhys closed the distance between them and swallowed Silas’s next words with a quick kiss. “I swear to God, if you apologize one more time, I’m going to hit you.”
“I’m sorry,” Silas muttered.
Rhys stepped back and slapped him across the face.
The sting in his palm was well worth Silas’s dumbfounded expression. That quickly dissolved into choking laughter. Silas leaned against the overlook’s railing, tears dotting the corners of his eyes.
“I did warn you,” Rhys said, before laughter overtook him as well.
“Whatever did I do to deserve you, I wonder?” Silas
said. Gone were all traces of his earlier despair.
Excellent. The muscles in Rhys’s back unknotted. “Probably something really good. Or very wicked,” Rhys said. “I’m guessing wicked.”
Silas’s deep chuckle thickened Rhys’s balls. “I was hoping you’d want to do something wicked when you dragged me away from coffee.” Silas pushed off the railing. “Rather than argue with me.”
“I didn’t argue with you.” Rhys stepped in. He touched the ends of Silas’s tie, and pulled them apart. “You argued with me, and I won.”
“Yes, you did.” Silas dipped his fingers between Rhys’s pants and chest and stroked his waist. “Have I thanked you for bringing me to my senses?”
“No.” Rhys unbuttoned the first three buttons of Silas’s shirt and trailed his fingers down his throat. Rhys was hard, painfully so. “How many hours until sunset?”
“Several.” He spoke low, his accent caressing syllables. “At least three.”
A part of Rhys—the one Silas had awakened—wanted to take Silas right there, bend him over the railing and pound into him as hard as he could.
Instead, Rhys leaned down and pressed his lips against the skin his fingers had so recently touched. He worked his mouth up to Silas’s jaw and kissed him. There were other options too, different ways to claim Silas. “Sounds like plenty of time.”
“For what?” Silas’s hot breath touched Rhys’s lips; his hands cupped Rhys’s ass.
“For you to put that mouth of yours to better use.” Rhys took hold of both ends of Silas’s tie, pulled him in for a bruising kiss. When he broke it, Silas hissed.
Served Silas right for worrying him so. For not listening.
Rhys sucked Silas’s earlobe, then whispered into his ear. “Now get on your knees and fuck me with your mouth until I come in the back of your throat.”
Silas’s grip on Rhys’s ass tightened, grinding their cocks together. “Deck chair.” Silas pulled Rhys across to the closest lounge chair. “I don’t want you collapsing on me.”
Rhys sat on the end, and Silas knelt between his legs. The sun gilded the edges of his black hair and brightened his eyes to gold. A vision of a pagan god.
Silas tilted his head up. “No man has ever ordered me to my knees.”
