Close Quarter

by Anna Zabo

  There hadn’t been a stream. Ever. Not in life, not in his dreams. Yet here was one. More troubling, though it was only a hand span in width and full of clear water, he couldn’t see the bottom.

  The odd tingling returned. He looked up.

  Isatis stood on the other side of the stream. Not his shade—his lemur—but Isatis, clear-eyed and smiling.

  “Silvanus.”

  He bit back the automatic correction, because he wasn’t Silas here, had never been Silas here.

  “Isatis?” The name was rusty on his lips. When had he spoken it last?

  Memories bubbled like sea foam on a wave. A tile floor, cool beneath his feet. A man with eyes the color of summer grass and a soft voice. What was his name? His own response. Vel Calavius Isatis.

  Silas took a step back. “You’re dead. I saw you die.”

  “Yes.”

  The pinpricks that had been chasing up and down his spine dug in. The stream. Dark and thin. When he lifted his gaze again, it wasn’t just Isatis who stood on the other side of the tiny, insignificant stream.

  The whole court stood there. His mother, her hair as dark and curly as his, and his father with his straight light hair and honey eyes. Their king. Tall and broad with laughter like wind ruffling grass.

  Everyone.

  Words stuck in Silas’s throat. Home. He’d truly come home at last. He could be at peace.

  He’d been so tired for so long.

  “We’ve waited for you,” Isatis said and held out his hand.

  Everyone he’d ever loved was just a step away. Everyone.

  “Silas.”

  His name sounded on the wind, like the distant roll of thunder. Or a crash of a wave. He turned toward it.

  Everyone he loved?

  His name came again, louder this time. With it flowed a breeze that smelled of pine—not the stone pines that grew here, but shorter tenacious pines from a distant shore, and sea grass.

  “Rhys.” As he spoke the name, the memories came. Rhys’s smile. Coffee. The touch of skin and a passion that made him feel new and young again. A ship, the soulless. Anaxandros. The daemon sword plunging into his flesh. Seeing Rhys before he died.

  He had died.

  Silas looked back at the court, at Isatis and his family. Long moments passed before he spoke. The words were for Isatis. “You’ve haunted me since that night.”

  His smile was sad and loving. “No. You only ever haunted yourself.”

  Rhys called his name again. This time it came with the words “fucking bastard.” Silas couldn’t help the snort. Rhys.

  Isatis raised his head at the sound, and the sadness vanished. “Let me go, Silvanus.”

  “I think I can now.” Before he turned away, he ran a hand through his hair and searched for words. They were all inadequate, but he tried anyway. “I love you all. And miss you. But Rhys—Rhys found me. Saved me. Now there’s so much more to do. I can’t leave him.”

  It was his mother who replied. “Then the gods keep you safe until we meet again.”

  “And all of you.” He looked over his court, those who had died before him all those years ago. They were at peace.

  Silas let them go.

  His rest didn’t lie here, not yet. His solace was behind him, back in a world of chance and danger—and love. He turned from the stream and began the climb out of the valley. By the time he passed the stone pine, he was running.

  “Rhys! Wait!”

  When he cleared the valley, fog rolled in and swallowed him whole. He stumbled and fell, pain bursting in his chest. He gasped for breath, large lungfuls that hurt and felt sweet all the same. When the ringing in his ears subsided, he heard Rhys’s voice. “It’s okay, Silas. You’re going to be okay.”

  “Rhys.” His vision swam but eventually settled down. He had an excellent view of Rhys’s torn-open shirt. But the skin beneath was unmarred.

  Gods, did he hurt. He cleared his throat and touched Rhys’s chest. “You’re alive.”

  “Yeah.” Rhys sat back on his heels, and that beautiful grin of his stretched his lips wide. “So are you.”

  “I am, yes.” Silas felt his smile grow, until he realized they were not alone.

  He knew the other being. “Nathaniel.”

  Rhys stilled and glanced up at the Messenger.

  “Silvanus,” Nathaniel said.

  “You—”

  “No. It was Rhys who healed your body and Rhys who called you back. I came to collect Anaxandros’s sword and to see.”

  “See? See what?”

  It was Rhys who answered. “See what you would choose. He didn’t know.”

  That knocked him speechless for a moment. The Messengers always knew. They stood beyond Saturnus’s reach, not touched by time. “How is that possible?”

  Nathaniel gave him an enigmatic smile. “Call it a gift from the universe.”

  Silas pulled Rhys into his arms.

  Rhys struggled for a moment before leaning his head against Silas’s shoulder. “I thought you’d left me.”

  “I did,” he said. “But I came back.”

  Nathaniel exhaled a breath that sounded exceedingly close to a sigh. Then he set a sword down next to them. “This is yours, Silas, should you want it. And for Rhys.” He set a second sword next to it. “And now I’ll take my leave.”

  Rhys called after the Messenger. “One more thing!”

  Nathaniel paused. “Yes, but only one, Rhys.”

  Rhys tensed, and his breathing hitched. Then he relaxed and nodded. “There’s a waiter named Vasil. He asked if you would pray for him.”

  True smiles from angels were rare. Nathaniel graced Rhys with one. “And so I shall.” From his pocket, he produced a loop of beads that ended with a tassel and handed them to Rhys. “Give these to him.”

  “I will,” Rhys said and closed his hand around the strand.

  The Messenger turned and walked away.

  They were alone, but for the plants and two piles of ash.

  Silas kissed Rhys’s neck. “What else did you want to ask him?”

  “When I was—” Rhys shuddered in Silas’s arms. “No. I’ll tell you that part later.” He started again. “He called me by my name.”

  “They do that.”

  “He called me Rhys Alexander Perun Matherton.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve never been called Perun before, and yet…”

  No doubt the name had felt correct. They might use misdirection, leave pieces out, but the Messengers never lied. “It must be your name, then. Or will be.”

  “Or was,” Rhys said. He voice was very soft.

  In that instant, much of the annoyance he’d felt for the Messengers fell away. “That too was a gift, I think. A clue.”

  Rhys was quiet. Thoughtful. After a time, he spoke. “What about the swords?”

  Another choice. Silas looked at the blades. Two. His and Rhys’s. “It’s not always an easy life to work for the Messengers.”

  “So I’ve noticed.” Wry humor, even now after all that happened. “I don’t want to live every day like the past few.”

  “This was the worst it’s ever been.”

  Rhys’s lips against his neck spread a deliciously distracting warmth down his back. “That’s over now.”

  Over. Anaxandros had been destroyed. He could put down the sword, stop hunting. “Shall we leave them, then?”

  “Is that what you want?” Rhys’s thoughtful expression returned.

  No. Yes. There were other soulless out there, perhaps even others who had once been fae. And he’d miss the feel of the blade in his hand, the thrill of the hunt. But his life wasn’t entirely his own, and he’d no desire to pull Rhys into that world unwillingly.

  Rhys snorted. “Yeah, I thought as much.” He slid from Silas’s embrace. “I don’t want to spend all my nights hunting vampires.”

  “Then we—”

  Rhys picked up both swords and held out Silas’s. “Once in a while would be fine, though. Whe
n they really need us.”

  Silas tamped down the sudden tightening of his throat and took the blade from Rhys. “That will work quite well, I think.” He sheathed it into the Aether.

  Rhys put his sword away, and stood. “Besides, I want you to teach me to use it. We can’t do that if we give up, right?” He held out his hand.

  Silas grasped it and let Rhys pull him upright. “True.” Beyond the glass walls of the garden, it was still night.

  “What are you thinking?” Rhys said.

  “I think”—Silas brushed his fingers over the tears in Rhys’s shirt—“I’d like to go to bed before dawn.”

  “There’s a novel concept.” Rhys stepped in and kissed him. Hard. When he let Silas’s mouth go, he spoke again. “I hope you hadn’t planned on sleeping.”

  “At some point, but not right away.”

  “Good.” Rhys pulled him toward the elevators.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Once inside the foyer of Silas’s cabin, Rhys pushed Silas up against the wall and kissed him with the same passion Silas had used on him just two nights before. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Rhys needed to touch Silas, taste him, and hear his breath. Beneath Rhys’s hand, Silas’s heart fluttered. Alive.

  When Rhys broke the kiss, Silas spoke, his voice rough around the edges. “This seems familiar.”

  Bits of element swam around Silas.

  Rhys stroked Silas’s throat. “A bit.” He unbuttoned the top button of Silas’s shirt, then the next, working his way down. Silas tasted of honeysuckle and sunlight. “You’re not covered in drinks, though.” He planted a kiss on Silas’s collarbone and pushed his shirt off. “You’ve got more energy now.”

  “I can feel the garden.” Silas gripped Rhys’s hair, tugging just hard enough to send a bolt of desire straight down his spine to his cock. The only way to stifle the moan in his throat was to suck on Silas’s earlobe.

  The groan that echoed through the foyer was Silas’s. Rhys couldn’t help the chuckle. That died when he ran his fingers over flesh that should’ve been smooth.

  Rhys pulled back and touched the spot where Anaxandros’s sword had run Silas through. “There’s a scar.”

  The remnant of the wound was just a shade lighter than Silas’s bronze skin, a single rough line. He’d been injured before, by the dark knife, by vampire claws, but none of those seemed to have left a mark on Silas’s body.

  Only the one wound that had nearly killed, nearly taken Silas away from him. Silas traced his finger over the scar and grunted. “So there is.”

  The wall on other side of the tiny foyer pressed a chill into Rhys’s back, though he didn’t remember stepping backward.

  The churning in his soul must have been all over his face, because when Silas looked up, his expression went from intrigued to rattled in a heartbeat.

  “Rhys, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

  And he was. Alive and solid. Warm. But that didn’t change the past, didn’t change what almost took Silas. Rhys had held that sword, listened to its whispers, and rage had consumed his soul. The rough texture of the wall bit into his back.

  “Rhys?”

  “Anaxandros was fae.” The words felt like broken glass in his mouth.

  “I know.” Silas stepped forward, reached for him.

  Rhys flinched. He tried not to but failed. Oh, he wanted the comfort—desperately needed it. He wasn’t sure he deserved it. Silas had once feared being a monster. For a moment, Rhys had been one.

  Silas froze. Then he lowered his arm.

  “The sword. Anaxandros’s sword—”

  “It was a daemon blade. That’s why the scar.” Silas didn’t move, but the vein in his neck ticked out a fast rhythm. “Other fae have such scars, if they live.”

  “It wasn’t a daemon. In the sword.”

  Fine lines formed around Silas’s eyes. “Then what—“

  “It was the soul of Anaxandros’s Quarter.” The words tasted like sand.

  Silas’s breath caught. For a moment, his jaw worked, but no words came out. Then they burst forth in a rush. “The Messenger told you this?”

  “Yeah.” Rhys pushed himself off the wall and walked into the main part of the cabin. If he didn’t sit soon, he’d fall over. His legs shook. “But I knew before that.” He sank down on the edge of the bed.

  Silas had followed. That he was dressed only in his ridiculous tweed pants should’ve made Rhys laugh, but the scar was still there. Rhys looked down at the bloodstains on the cuffs of his shirt. He’d healed his hands, healed Silas too. Wielded tremendous power, even though he wasn’t supposed to.

  Terrible, horrible things could be done with that power. Worse, he’d nearly done them. His heart twisted with shame. Fear compressed his lungs. How much would it take to return to that darkness? His fingers wouldn’t stop trembling.

  Silas knelt down before him and took his hands. “What happened?”

  “When I thought you had died, I picked up the sword.” He told Silas everything. The whispers, the darkness, how he’d made the trees groan.

  “I wanted the whole world to burn.”

  “No,” Silas said.

  No? “I know what I felt.” He would’ve pulled away had Silas not been gripping his hands firmly.

  “I have no doubt that’s what you felt. But it wasn’t what you truly wanted, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Silas ran a thumb over Rhys’s knuckles.

  Because the angel would have killed him, not forgiven him.

  “All this power…” Rhys stared at his hands in Silas’s. “It’s a little frightening.” It would only get worse on land. “I don’t want to become like that Quarter.”

  Silas kissed his hands, as some courtier from another century might. It seemed natural. “You shan’t, I don’t think. Anaxandros…liked to possess things. People. Power.”

  “That’s what you feared, becoming like that.”

  “Yes.” Silas looked up at him. “But I don’t think I will.”

  Rhys slipped one of his hands from Silas’s grasp and brushed unruly locks from Silas’s forehead. “Good. Because if you ever do, I’ll kick your ass.”

  That heart-stopping grin appeared. “I know.”

  “Promise me you’ll kick mine too, if I start getting it into my head that I can rule the world.”

  “I can do better than kicking your ass.” He let go of Rhys’s hands, rose, and pushed him back onto the bed.

  Rhys tangled his hands in Silas’s hair as Silas claimed his mouth. He wrapped his legs around Silas’s hips as his fae thrust the hard bulge of his erection into his rapidly hardening cock.

  Silas broke the kiss. “I’ll lay you out, undress you, and make love to you until you remember yourself.” He ground against Rhys.

  Rhys bit back a moan and gripped Silas’s shoulders. “Get out of those ugly pants.”

  “They’re fine pants.” Silas stripped Rhys of the remains of his shirt and tossed it off the bed. True to Silas’s word of stripping him naked, Rhys’s slacks followed. Only then did Silas finally shuck the tweed.

  When Silas lay on Rhys again, this time skin to skin, Rhys couldn’t swallow the moan. He tingled everywhere. Silas’s deep chuckle vibrated against Rhys. “But they do get in the way.”

  Rhys kissed his neck, nipped at his shoulder, and stroked Silas’s hair while Silas licked his way down Rhys’s chest to his stomach. When he stopped to swirl his tongue around Rhys’s belly button, Rhys tightened his grip and pushed Silas’s head lower.

  He didn’t need teasing now. Warmth stirred inside Rhys. He wanted his cock inside Silas’s mouth.

  That’s exactly what he got, hot and wet around the head. Silas licked at his tip, then engulfed him. His mouth felt like the heat of summer and warmed Rhys to his bones. He thrust into that willing mouth, needing more of Silas, more of peace, warmth, and the promise of life.

  It wasn’t enough. He pulled Silas off and scooted farther up the bed. “Come here.”

  Silas did as told. Rh
ys’s balls tightened. He didn’t want to run the world, but ruling Silas, even for a short time, felt so good. “On your back.”

  Though he complied, there was a touch of defiance in his expression. “I thought the plan was for me to make love to you?”

  “That was your plan, not mine.” Rhys snatched the bottle of lube off the nightstand. “My plan involves fucking you silly.” Because he needed to feel Silas all around him, needed to know he really was alive and here with him.

  He took just enough time to slick his cock and Silas’s hole before he plunged into Silas, hard and fast.

  Silas threw back his head and exhaled a deep groan. Rhys leaned forward as he drove himself into Silas, savoring the heat, the tight fit, and the look of rapture on Silas’s face. Silas wrapped a hand around his cock and jacked himself off. Too fast.

  Rhys pried Silas’s hand away and forced it above Silas’s head. Rhys stilled himself deep within him. “I don’t want you coming yet.”

  Silas squirmed under him. That and his wild expression sent lightning down Rhys, and he almost came right then. He caught Silas’s other hand and pushed that up near the first.

  Silas said nothing, but his grin spoke volumes. Oh, this would cost him, Rhys knew. But that was also part of the plan. He wanted a good hard fucking from Silas.

  Just not at the moment.

  Rhys pounded into Silas, starting slow and building faster. The friction and heat made his cock ache down to his balls. His entire body felt wrapped in Silas’s tight channel. Beneath him, Silas arched and met his strokes. His words were guttural. “More, Rhys.”

  God, how he loved the sound of Silas’s voice, the feel of his body. The way the feral-fae look transformed Silas from controlled to a force of nature. Energy swirled around them—more now than ever before, as if they were still in the garden. Rhys gathered it, then pushed it into Silas as he pounded into his body. Rhys’s balls tightened as element flowed through him.

  Silas’s whole body tensed, and he came, crying out something long and unintelligible.

  As Silas tightened around his cock, all the energy slammed back into Rhys and sent him careering into his own orgasm. He thrust hard into Silas’s taut body until he was utterly spent.