Close Quarter Read online

  He walked through the lounge, scanning the crowd. Nothing. Perhaps the dance hall. Or maybe they’d chosen to prey in the dark confines of one of the theaters.

  He took a moment to pause and search for the garden. Even now that he knew of its existence, it was barely noticeable, as potent as a single African violet half a mile away. Troubling. He should’ve sensed it before and certainly should’ve been able to pull on it now. Hell, he should’ve known Rhys for what he was, even back before he’d spilled drinks on him.

  Unless Rhys wore a glamour, one Silas couldn’t see through from a distance.

  He chewed on that thought. A glamour would explain why Rhys walked alone, why another fae hadn’t discovered him. So much of the legend of Quarters was draped in mystery and lore. They could have defenses of their own.

  “Do you require anything, sir?” A waiter peered at him.

  How long had he been standing in the middle of the lounge?

  “No, I’m fine.” Silas moved toward the door. He needed to focus. Find the soulless. Dispatch them. Once the sun rose above the sea, he could return to Rhys and finally drag him back to one of their cabins and fuck him until neither of them could think. Maybe that would sate the desperate desire that kept his mind wandering and his cock half-hard.

  Dangerous to be so distracted. Young soulless were less trouble but still deadly enough. Silas slipped from the lounge and found the dance hall. Nothing but humans there. He tried the theaters next.

  The first two were half-full of humans—and only humans. In the third, a woman gasped for air in the back corner as she rocked on the lap of her partner. Their moans barely registered over the soundtrack of the action movie they were ignoring.

  He forced himself to scan the theater carefully, despite the growing heat of his desire. It was one thing to go down on Rhys while covered with a glamour, quite another to fuck in public as the humans were doing.

  Silas had never done so. Never wanted to, until that instant. What would it be like to sit in a place like this and jack Rhys off without the safety of a glamour, where anyone could notice?

  Fire raked across Silas’s back. A clawed hand covered his mouth. “Looking for someone, pixie?” Putrid breath against his face.

  Oh fuck. Orcus take him down under the earth.

  The soulless bit into his shoulder, and pain exploded through Silas’s nerves. Centuries of discipline took over. He lurched forward, throwing the creature over him. Clothing and flesh ripped as Silas launched the soulless through the air and down the darkened ramp of the theater. Thin lines of icy fire burned across his shoulder.

  Silas didn’t bother to watch the creature land. He ran for the exit. A strategic move, rather than one born from fear. More space, more light in the lobby. Less chance he would slice a human with his sword. The Messengers forgave many things, but not accidental human death on the tip of a phoenix-made blade.

  None of the theatergoers noticed the fight. The soulless wove their own kind of glamour over human senses.

  Silas stumbled into the foyer. Gods, how he’d forgotten the pain of their bite, the numbness.

  Careless and stupid to be caught so.

  Poison raged through his limbs, slowing him. No time to heal.

  Footsteps behind him. Damn it all! He turned and swung his blade at the soulless on his trail—and missed.

  Missed. For the first time in five centuries. He couldn’t help pulling back in shock.

  That was all it took. The soulless caught his shoulders as he turned, dug in its claws, and slammed him face-first against the wall. The bridge of his nose shattered, and blood flowed down his face. The grate of the wallpaper against Silas’s ruined face felt like acid burning through his flesh. Pinpricks of light danced in his vision. His throat ached to scream, but he wouldn’t give the creature that satisfaction.

  Everything smelled of blood.

  “So, the great Silvanus.” A male voice, dark and cold, spoke into his ear. “I thought the forest god was supposed to be a challenge.”

  Again, teeth sank into Silas’s flesh, deeper than before. Agony flooded his senses, but this time fury rather than shame followed. Silas reversed the grip on his sword and plunged it backward into the gut of the soulless. It howled and released him. The creature must have backed itself off his blade, for the weight on the sword vanished.

  So much for the element of surprise. Silas turned, letting the wall support him.

  The soulless had been a man once and still held that form, but for a bloodied maw of jagged teeth and long birdlike claws for hands. Brown hair, black eyes, and a face that would’ve been handsome had it been human.

  It spit at Silas and backed away, one clawed hand over the wound in its belly. The wound festered and smoked. Bits of flesh fell away and turned to ash. A young one, then. Had it been older, the blow would’ve merely slowed it down.

  “Not so easy.” Silas shifted his grip on the gladius and wiped blood away from his mouth with his coat sleeve. “And enough of a challenge to send you into oblivion.”

  It bared its fangs. “But at what price, Silvanus? The sea is no friend to you.”

  His name again. How did it know? Silas pushed himself off the wall and stalked toward the soulless. Blood from the wounds in his shoulder ran down his neck and soaked his shirt.

  The soulless tried to back away but stumbled to the floor.

  “Slowly or quickly,” Silas said. “Either way, the gods will take your body.” He stopped when he reached the fallen creature.

  “And the master will take your soul.” It lunged for Silas’s leg. Sank fangs and claws into his left calf.

  Silas swore and swung at the creature’s neck. His muscles bunched against the impact, but the blade slid through cleanly. The body dissolved into ash. The head bounced once and then did the same.

  Silence, except for his ragged breathing. Silas hazarded a glance around the foyer. No one, thank Fortuna. His glamour was in tatters, much like his body.

  Thousands of knives slashed in his blood. That had gone badly, indeed. Pride alone kept him upright. He’d survived far worse, just not in a very long time.

  And never floating in the middle of the ocean.

  Silas limped away from the piles of ash on the floor. Oh, that would confuse the humans, but they would clean it up and be none the wiser. His formal wear soaked up blood well. He wasn’t trailing much of it. Dark red carpet too. Good.

  He paused and sheathed his sword into the dark void of the Aether. He’d very little elemental power left and needed it to hide himself. Stop the bleeding, if he could.

  The soulless had drunk deep when it pierced Silas’s skin. All the strength he’d gained from Rhys was gone, along with much of his own energy. He’d barely enough to cast a glamour. Healing would have to wait.

  Mercury’s balls! Wait until what? He returned to the garden? He fucked Rhys, used him to gain strength, like some fae version of the soulless? Silas caught himself as he fell against the hallway wall. A deep craving for the quarter-fae shook his body.

  The things he wanted to do to Rhys—the things he needed to do…

  No.

  He’d not turn into one of them. Not ever. His unbridled lust, his uncontrolled desire for Rhys had nearly gotten him killed. The garden would have to do for a source of energy. A day ago it would’ve been more than enough. He’d make it that far, crawl into a corner, and heal.

  Seven soulless left. Already he was bloodied and poisoned, all because he couldn’t keep his cock in his pants. Silas punched the wall. Pain radiated up his arm, and he regretted the move instantly.

  Better for Silas to break his pledge to return to Rhys than entrap and use him as some damn battery or as a slave to desire.

  Silas had been both, once.

  He pushed himself off the wall. No, he’d rather die an honest death than become that which he most despised.

  He took a shuddering breath and continued toward the garden. It would be enough. It had to be. He just had to stay out of
the bar. Keep away from Rhys.

  Rhys flipped through a coffee-table book on New York City that contained beautiful photographs of places that looked more real on glossy paper than they did in life. Battery Park, with pristine blue water in the background. The Brooklyn Bridge in golden light, with no cars or people. Times Square, with not a drop of trash in sight. He’d been to most of them, knew their true colors and the bits the photographers had cleverly edited out.

  Had Silas been to New York before? Probably, if he was as old as Rhys suspected. Hell, he might have been there back before they built the skyscrapers. The thought of Silas dressed as a colonial in tight breaches and a long coat coiled heat in Rhys’s belly.

  He reached for his drink, his third this evening, thanks to Vasil. He’d been here two hours and had been through nearly every book in the scrawny bookcase. Most were like the book on New York, large and full of color photography. A few were dog-eared paperbacks, probably leftovers from past travelers—King, Patterson, Roberts.

  Every single book he’d flipped through so far made him think of Silas in various costumes or in various states of undress.

  He needed something to take his mind off the fae.

  Fae.

  The longer he sat, the more of a fool he felt. Would Silas even come back? He rubbed his forehead. Was any of this real? Was there truly danger, or had that been a convenient way to dump him? He could’ve gone to a movie. Or learned ballroom dance. Or smoked cigars and drunk brandy—whatever it was they did on cruises like this. Something more interesting than paging through picture books.

  The memory of Silas’s kiss intruded on his growing frustration, the pull of Silas’s hands tangled in his hair, the taste of his jizz. His cry of abandonment and pleasure.

  Rhys sighed and pushed those thoughts from his mind. Flipped a page. Central Park. All that greenery. What would it be like to fuck there? Or in real woods? Naked, his back pressed into the dark earth and Silas holding Rhys’s legs apart as he entered him.

  The tightness in his belly spread down to his cock. Damn, Silas better return soon. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could put his fantasies on hold and it was getting more difficult to hide his erection, even under the large book in his lap.

  “Are these seats taken?”

  Rhys nearly jumped out of his skin when the woman spoke. He hadn’t noticed her approach. For a moment, all he could do was stare up at her.

  “N-no.”

  Her laugh was bell-like. “Oh, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. All the other tables are occupied. You seem like you might enjoy some company.” She smiled, baring a flash of white between her immaculate ruby lips.

  Rhys exhaled a breath. “You’re welcome to them.” He gestured at the other two chairs and attempted a smile of his own.

  “That’s very sweet of you.” She offered her hand, palm down. “Radmila.” Her voice held a trace of an accent, different from Silas’s. Closer to Vasil’s.

  He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze before letting go. “Rhys.” Though her skin was soft, her hand felt like ice. Cold. Hard underneath. His heart rate kicked up. People shouldn’t feel like sculpture.

  “Charmed.” Same smile. She settled into the closest chair.

  Rarely did he pay that much attention to the physical attractiveness of women, but this one—she was different. Chocolate-colored hair that moved like water fell to her shoulders. Rich brown eyes set into a round face. Her skin was almost luminescent, like mother-of-pearl. If she’d been a man, he would’ve had a very hard time saying no to anything she asked.

  Radmila frowned ever so slightly before her features smoothed over. “Are you alone, Rhys?” Soft words.

  He shivered. Something about that question made his hair stand on end. He shouldn’t answer, but the response tumbled out of his mouth anyway. “I’m waiting for a friend.”

  “We’re waiting for someone too.” She glanced back at the bar. “Perhaps we can idle the time together.”

  We. Rhys followed the path her gaze had taken. A blond man walked toward them, right hand in his pocket. His blue eyes took Rhys’s breath away, even from halfway across the room—pale as a summer’s morning. He was thin—thinner than Silas—and he had the same marble-like skin as Radmila.

  She took the man’s left hand as he joined her. “Has the waiter seen our friend?”

  “Earlier, but not recently.”

  God, the man’s voice. It dipped and rolled like the sound of an oboe. Rhys curled his hands about the book in his lap. Instinct told him to flee these two, but when the man’s gaze shifted and lingered on him, he couldn’t look away.

  “I see you’ve found a new friend.”

  More so than Radmila’s, this man’s smile froze Rhys’s blood. He’d do anything to touch the man, to be touched by him. The thought repulsed Rhys, even as it made him hard.

  “Rhys, this is Jarek.”

  Jarek took a step forward and offered his right hand.

  He tried not to take it. Failed. Cold skin. Iron grip. Rhys couldn’t let go.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you, Rhys.”

  The way Jarek said his name, the desire that lingered in the blond man’s eyes, set Rhys’s bones on fire.

  “He’s waiting for a friend too,” Radmila said. She released her partner’s hand.

  “So I see.”

  Those words and the sudden chill of his own skin made Rhys pull away. Or at least think about it. His hand stayed in Jarek’s grip.

  “No, Rhys. That won’t do at all.” Jarek lifted the book from Rhys’s lap and placed it on the table. “Why don’t you sit between Radmila and me? Let us have a little chat?”

  Rhys stood, though his mind shouted not to. Oh, God. Where the hell was Silas? He had to get away from these—people?

  All he could do was what Jarek instructed. They rearranged the chairs so they sat close together, with Rhys between the two.

  “Now.” Jarek stroked his thumb over the top of Rhys’s hand. “Who are you waiting for?”

  Sharp spikes rattled against Rhys’s lungs when he tried not to inhale and struggled not to speak. Still, it came out. “Silas.”

  “Silas?”

  “Quint.” Speaking the word felt as though he’d been crushed into and then dragged over broken glass.

  Radmila’s laugh rang out. “He’s rearranged his name.”

  Jarek smiled, displaying a mouth full of teeth that were wrong. Every last one was pointed, like a saw blade. “And do you know where Silas is?”

  That question, at least, Rhys was willing to answer. “No.”

  “When will he return?”

  “By first light.” Because vampires—that must be what these two were—couldn’t stand sunlight. But it was dark now, and Silas wasn’t here.

  Why wasn’t Silas here?

  “Of course,” Jarek murmured. He brought Rhys’s hand to his mouth and licked it. “You’re absolutely delightful. So full of fear.” He turned Rhys’s hand over, scraped those razor teeth over his wrist, and then bit.

  Jarek’s mouth felt like acid burning through his flesh. Rhys couldn’t even scream. An instant later, the pain diminished. Jarek pulled away.

  Bite marks and blood, but a wound so small it looked like a kitten’s nip. If that was what a small bite felt like, Rhys would never survive a real one.

  “Now,” Jarek said. “Give your other hand to Radmila.”

  God no. But he did as he was told.

  Radmila bit him as Jarek had, to the same effect. By the end, he took air in short gasps. When she released his hand, she said something to Jarek in a language Rhys didn’t understand. He laughed in response.

  Jarek ran a finger down Rhys’s neck. “Do you know what your friend Silas Quint is?”

  The answer tore its way out of Rhys’s throat even as he tried to pull away from Jarek’s touch. “Fae.”

  “And did the fae tell you what you are?”

  “I don’t—” What he was? Dredges of dinner conversa
tion surfaced. “He said I was fairly unique in the world.”

  Radmila snorted.

  Jarek clicked his tongue. “Now, now. The pixie told him the truth.”

  “As far as that goes.” Her hand encircled his wrist. “I want more of him.”

  “Yes,” Jarek said. “But not here.” He rose and pulled Rhys up as well. “Don’t worry. Your fae will join you soon enough.”

  Radmila stood and snaked her arm around Rhys’s. “It’s a lovely night for a stroll on the deck.”

  They walked him toward the dark glass of the outer door, which slid open as they approached. The night air was breezy and cool, heavy with the smell of the ocean. A sliver of moon hung over the water, casting white onto the inky black of the water. It would have been beautiful had he not been strung between two vampires. Where was Silas? He was supposed to be hunting these things!

  “I almost want to let you run,” Jarek whispered into his ear. “Just to taste your hope die.”

  Sound escaped his throat then, but it was only a whimper.

  Radmila licked Rhys’s neck. “Oh, but it just did, didn’t it?”

  They walked him down to a table nestled close to the bulkhead and draped in shadow. Jarek pushed him hard against the metal wall. Cloth ripped, and his tie was stripped from his neck. His shirt followed, buttons clacking to the wooden deck. Cold lips skimmed his shoulder blade. Jarek’s teeth ripped into Rhys’s skin and muscle.

  Flaming spikes pierced his flesh. Rhys’s throat ached as though he screamed, but only whimpers came out. Those small sounds seemed to drive Jarek on. Fingers dug into his other shoulder and tore into that flesh as well.

  Rhys was going to die. God, he wanted to die. Then the torment, the burning fire in his blood would stop.

  It didn’t. When Radmila yanked Jarek away, it lessened for a moment. She spoke, but the words made no sense. Again Jarek laughed and backed away. Radmila closed in.

  Rhys burned as if someone had set fire to the marrow in his bones. When she pulled back, he would’ve cried out in relief had he been able to make any sound at all. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.

  They ripped off the rest of his clothes, the fabric screeching as it tore. The only other sound in the night was the hum of the ship and the slap of the water against the hull. No footsteps. No one to save him.