Page 40 of Close Quarter
Nothing Silas had ever done had made him uncomfortable. Fucking horny? Yes. Last night had been the only time Silas's touch had caused pain, but they had both been badly hurt. And he, not Silas, had been the one to reach out. Because Silas needed him.
A memory of Radmila's pale face hovering over Rhys flashed through his mind and set his heart racing. And a rock of cold fear sank into his stomach. The vampires had loved his pain, encouraged his fear. Drunk his blood.
Silas, he would touch again--if the stubborn fae would let him.
The vampires? He'd rather die.
Rhys exited the elevator with three other people. None of them paid him much mind. Good.
The sooner his fifteen minutes of fame were up, the better.
Rather than take the inside path to the garden, he chose to walk the deck, a route that took him past the table he had lain across last night. The table was still there, exactly where it had been. A family sat in those chairs now--a mother, father, and young daughter, eating ice cream. No ashes on the deck. No sign of violence.
A cold chill rose up Rhys's back, along with the memory of being pressed against that metal top.
He had screamed and screamed, but no sound had come out.
Rhys gripped the railing and stared at the knuckles of his hand.
Silas had slumped here against these bars.
Dying. And Rhys had risen from that table, had crossed that short span of deck to be with Silas, to save him.
Rhys touched his shoulder where it met his neck. Radmila had bit him there. It had been Jarek who'd moved lower.
Rhys exhaled and took a deep breath of the ocean air. No more memories came. Beyond the hull, the ocean swelled and fell, little caps of white forming and disappearing into the deep blue water. Salt water dotted his face.
He had wanted to run from Jarek.
Remembered the steel grip of the vampire's hand, his whispered words.
Damn it, why couldn't he remember more?
He let go of the railing and turned his back on the sea. The ocean wouldn't help him--nor help Silas. The garden might.
One foot in front of the other, then.
The glass doors slid open as he approached.
Across the threshold, the scent of mulch, fruit, and crushed leaves wove into his body. Rhys stumbled but caught his balance a moment later. Everything smelled of summer. Or spring. A forest. A field on a hot August night.
Silas.
The garden felt like Silas. Rhys drifted to the closest empty table and lowered himself into a chair. Or perhaps Silas felt like the garden.
A mass of green towered above him, though two palm trees had turned brown. Dead, like the tree in Silas's cabin.
Drained.
How had that happened? What had Silas done? Why had the vampires taken Rhys in the first p l a c e ?Damn it!He'd burst from all these questions!
Rhys scanned the bar and caught sight of Vasil. The waiter gave him a quick nod before he turned back to his patrons.
Well, hell.Now that he had him, how would he ask?
A few moments later, Vasil hurried across the tile floor, menus in hand.
"Mr. Matherton!" He placed a drink and a lunch menu on the table. "You're...well? Yes?"
