Page 43 of Close Quarter
"No. Yes." Rhys swallowed. "Sort of?" He unwrapped the vine from his arm and tried to still the wild beating of his heart. "You're taking this in stride."
The waiter glanced back at the main path. He edged closer. "I grew up in the mountains, in the forest. Near old places. I know."
"Then you're ahead of me." Rhys stared at his hand and wiggled his fingers. Everything worked, despite the tight wrap of the vine. "This is all new."
"Mr. Quint. I saw him last night. He asked for you. Touched me, and I"--Vasil stumbled over his words--"I saw him."
As fae. Rhys wet his lips. "What about the others? A man and woman?"
Vasil paled, and his mouth pressed into a thin line before he spoke. "Upyr. Of darkness and death." His hands trembled before he clasped them behind his back, out of view. "The man asked after Mr. Quint, though not by name." Vasil looked away. "I sent him to you. My deepest apologies."
"If it was anything like what happened to me, you had no choice."
The waiter stared deeper into the garden. "It was nothing like what happened to you."
The waiter's words opened a yawning chasm inside Rhys. Icy threads of fear washed through him and tightened his throat. An attempt to speak only resulted in a croak of sound.
"But as you say, I had no choice. Not until Mr. Quint came."
Rhys tried again. "What happened to me?"
A distant and haunted expression transformed Vasil's face. For a moment he looked far older than Rhys would have guessed. "I did not see, but when Mr. Quint brought you back...there was flesh missing. Bites." He shuddered. "I saw a dog maul a man's leg in my village. Awful. Never healed quite right. You looked far worse." His gaze finally settled on Rhys. "That you are alive--it is a bit of a miracle."
For a moment, Rhys could not breathe. Eaten.
Literally. He drew a breath and spoke. "I don't remember most of it. I woke like this." He held out his arm, palm up. No bites, no marks.
"Mr. Quint's doing." Not a question.
Rhys nodded anyway. "Healed me. Didn't heal himself, though."
Vasil's smile was thin, strained. "Last night his only thought was for you."
"That make you uncomfortable?"
Vasil huffed. "Far from it."
Oh. Warmth touched Rhys's face. It was--it seemed--true what they said about assumptions.
"But a leshii on the sea? I can't imagine what brought him, but had he not been here, the upyr would have killed us all."
Rhys ran a hand through his hair. Could he trust Vasil? Dumb question, really. He already had. Too late to second-guess now. He plunged ahead. "Silas knew the vampires were here.
Called them soulless. Said he was sent to hunt them."
"Sent?"
"By the Messengers. But I can't think of what they are." Rhys hiccuped a laugh and glanced down the path. "I mean, who could send a fae after vampires, anyway?"
Vasil had lost several shades of color in his face by the time Rhys returned his gaze to him.
"Messengers?" Vasil whispered.
"Yeah," Rhys said. "You know who they are?"
Vasil opened his mouth, but no sound came out at first. Then he spoke a single, heavily accented word.
Rhys understood. Then heunderstood. Blood drained from his face as well.
