Page 120 of Close Quarter
"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 his hair, tugging just hard enough to send a bolt of desire straight down Rhys's spine to his cock. The only way to stifle the moan in his throat was to suck on Silas's earlobe.
The moan 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 have 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."
