Page 22 of Close Quarter
Fae were even more tempting to the soulless, with their great stores of energy and immortal bodies. Had Silas not wrapped a glamour about himself to tamp down the flare of his energy, they would have come for him first. He didn't want to give away the advantage of surprise by drawing them to him. Later, perhaps, he'd use that trick.
Only a few of the eight would emerge tonight, to scout, report. Usually the younger ones were put to that task. The first night of the hunt was always the easiest. Once the elders emerged, things would get more interesting.
If only he could find the cursed beings. If they weren't going to bother to prey, he could have spent the night with Rhys.
Just the thought of the man sent a spike of desire straight to his cock. The fire of lust was followed by a cold slice of fear. Quarter-fae. Rhys shone like the moon. No soulless could resist that.
With that amount of energy and a touch of fae blood, he would last the soulless quite some time.
Years, perhaps, before they turned him into a husk.
A different fire ignited in Silas. He'd kill every last soulless before that happened, or die trying. That pain he would never allow Rhys to feel. Thank the gods Rhys had stayed in the garden.
That mass of life was brighter than even a quarter- fae. It would keep him safe.
He walked through the lounge, scanning the crowd. Nothing. Perhaps the dance hall. Or maybe they had 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 have sensed it before and certainly should have been able to pull on it now. Hell, he should have known Rhys for what he was, even back before the man 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 the man 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, 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 were forgiving of 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.
