Page 31 of Close Quarter
Rhys, however, had fallen--dead weight against Silas's legs.
Not truly dead, though. Rhys still breathed.
But for how long?
Silas extracted himself from beneath Rhys, bent to take a pulse, but hesitated. He still wanted --desired--more energy. The poison of the soulless still lurked within him. What would happen when he touched Rhys again?
Well, he couldn't leave him here. Silas closed his mind, his emotions as best he could and laid two fingers against Rhys's throat. A pulse-- quick but regular. Also a tiny trickle of energy.
Rhys's breathing turned to gasping; his pulse fluttered too fast. Silas snatched his hand away.
Gods, he couldn't control himself. The soulless was right--there was very little difference between him and them.
Silas crawled down the deck and reclaimed his sword, then sheathed it back into the Aether.
He clutched the railing and, after a few attempts, managed to pull himself up.
He couldn't leave Rhys here, not naked and bloodied--misused by the soulless. Nor could he pick the man up, not without violating him anew, stealing the last bits of energy he had.
How far was the garden? He looked down the deck, judged distance, his own strength.
Damn all the gods. Silas bent, picked Rhys up, and fought not to drop the unconscious man.
Pulses like stabbing knives cut through Silas's chest. Silas staggered to the garden as fast as he could manage. As the doors slid open, he reached for the garden's energy and wrapped a glamour about Rhys and himself.
There were fewer patrons in the bar, and those who remained were too intent on each other to notice anything more than a weary man walking in from the deck.
Silas threaded down a side path and laid Rhys down on a bench. He stepped away and forced himself to draw from the nearest plants, not from Rhys.
That was a struggle. Even with all the energy about him, he still wanted to take it from--and through--Rhys.
Silas rubbed at his forehead. What had the tales said about Quarters? Endless energy. Wars for control. Fae dying when their Quarter was killed. Or was it the other way around?
Silas's fingers shook. Oh, the gods truly were not merciful at all. He tucked his hands under his arms.
Bonded.
He truly had taken Rhys--as the soulless had said--without any thought and without any regard to Rhys's will. Silas doubled over and bit down on his tongue to keep from screaming.
Monster. Evil.
Silas called the gladius back to his hand and inverted it.
Rhys moaned and whispered Silas's name.
If he killed himself, what would become of Rhys? Would he live? Die? Be claimed by another?
Silas pointed the sword at the floor. Now that would be utterly unfair, to condemn another to death for his mistake.
No.He sheathed the sword.
There had to be some way out of this. Some way to give Rhys his freedom back.
****
When Rhys woke, he wished he hadn't. The light in the room--even with the blinds drawn-- made his head hurt like he'd spent the night inside a bottle of whiskey.
Where the fuck was he, anyway? Vienna?
