Page 29 of Close Quarter
Once outside, Silas made his way up the starboard side of the ship. Rhys's screams had quieted, but the pain had not. Halfway down, tucked into the darkness of both the night and the veil of the soulless, a body lay spread out on a table--Rhys. Two soulless fed from him.
Silas knew only fury as he burst into a run.
The closest was female, its back to Silas. It never saw him coming. The other soulless did. It raised a bloody maw from Rhys's chest and hissed a warning.
Too late.
Silas brandished his sword and sent the female's head flying. It burst into a trail of flame and ash. Its body slumped to the deck, burning to dust. Another young one.
The male stepped away from Rhys's body.
"Quintus Silvanus."
So. This one knew his name as well. Silas kept silent and stepped closer to Rhys. He was alive--that much Silas knew--but in pain. He did not let himself look at the extent--or type--of Rhys's wounds.
The male wiped blood from his mouth, then spoke. "You have not fared well tonight." Rich voice, full of amusement. "Your masters will not be pleased."
This one was older. Cautious. "Two of your kind are ash." He kicked at the pile that had been the female, sending what was left of the soulless swirling into the night air. "You soon will be. I think they'll be pleased enough."
"So confident for one so--" The soulless lunged, faster than Silas expected.
He parried, but the creature caught the blade with one clawed hand while raking the other down Silas's chest. The jacket caught some of the blow, but not all. This one's claws cut like razors, parting Silas's flesh with a cool touch. Then came the sharp fire of nerves fraying and flesh tearing.
Poison burned in his blood again. Silas bit back a scream when all his other wounds flared to life.
The soulless clutched the blade and bared its teeth. Only a faint smell of burning came from where the metal touched its flesh.
Silas shoved the creature away and then stabbed after him. Every move kept Silas between the soulless and Rhys.
That had not gone unnoticed. "Protecting your prey, Silvanus? Don't want another tasting what you've laid claim to?" The soulless stepped out of range and licked the wound on its hand. "He's awake, you know."
Again Silas chose silence. He did not recognize this one, nor the female. They were from Eastern Europe--perhaps Hungary. Silas had hunted there before. But those he hunted, he destroyed. Few soulless knew his old name, let alone the new.
Unease settled into his bones.
"You didn't tell him what he was, did you?
Just took him."
The soulless circled. If Silas didn't step away from Rhys, he would be pushed into a corner.
"Anaxandros will be pleased to see how much you learned from his hand."
With those words, two thousand years fell away. Wrath exploded in Silas.
The soulless had been expecting the wild attack, of course. The rational part of Silas's mind screamed at him to stop, control his anger.
Too late.
Once more, the soulless caught Silas's blade.
This time it wrenched the sword sideways and punched Silas in the chest. Air rushed out of his lungs, and something--a rib or two, probably-- snapped inside. The stabbing that radiated from his chest swept nausea through Silas. Dizzy and breathless, he staggered back against the table and clutched his midriff with his free hand.
He had enough presence of mind to push the gladius back into the Aether. If he dropped it, he couldn't call it to himself. That would mean a mad scramble to regain it from the deck.
Good thing too. The soulless slammed a fist into him again. The pain in his chest turned into a lance of molten fire and robbed him of the ability to think. He toppled onto Rhys.
Energy flew from Silas unbidden, sucked into Rhys, then returned laced with fire and death. Silas gasped for air and tried to pry himself free from the quarter-fae. Failed.
