Page 6 of Close Quarter
It cost quite a bit to hold on to a glamour so close to another when passions were high. It wasn't an issue on land, where he could reach about and draw his element in. Sex in the middle of a field was particularly good for that. Floating on water, he was cut off from that source.
He stared out the windows at the ocean.
Only he wasn't drained at all. The encounter had been brief but intense enough that he should have depleted some energy. Instead, he was brimming with power, as if he had drawn it right out of the ground.
He now held more than he had carried aboard.
That wasn't right.
Silas sank into a chair close to the bed. Yes, land was still close by, but it was harder to draw an element through another, took enough concentration that it wasn't worth the effort. The energy must have come from somewhere, though.
The American?
No. Impossible. Humans only had the most rudimentary elemental abilities and held only the smallest amount of the power themselves. The auburn-haired man, while quite delicious, was most certainly human. Had the man been fae or half-fae, Silas still couldn't have tapped into his energy--not without losing his soul.
No creature had the ability to act as an elemental reservoir for a fae. Such beings were myths, something from the oldest of their tales.
Unless, of course, they weren't. Every myth had some basis in reality, after all. That thought chilled.
Silas tapped the armrest of his chair. He needed to find out more about the American and put his sudden notion to rest. Before the sun set and the soulless came out to feed.
****
After a shower and a change of clothes, Rhys found the waiter whose tray he had knocked over.
The man was still in the lounge but stationed behind the bar instead of serving tables. From the waiter's initial expression, he remembered Rhys quite clearly, but that smoothed over into a professional smile. "Can I help you, sir?"
Eastern European accent. His name tag read Vasil Kutsera. "I hope so. The man who was here, the one I dumped the tray onto. Do you know his name?"
The frown returned. "We're not allowed to give out a patron's personal information to other passengers, sir."
"But I heard you say it. I just don't remember."
"I'm very sorry."
Exasperation made Rhys lean over the bar.
"Look, I tried to give him my card, but he left before I could."
The waiter remained unfazed. "I was there, sir. He chose not to take it."
Goddamn it.Rhys reached into the pocket of his suit coat, pulled out a folded fifty-dollar bill, and placed it on the counter. He slid it toward the waiter. "Would this help?"
The waiter stared at the money, his whole body suddenly tense. "What do you take me for?"
"I--"
"Do you think me some country idiot?" He gripped the edge of the bar. "Poor former Soviet who'd break any rule at the sight of the almighty dollar?"
Rhys felt his face grow hot. "It's not that. I just thought--"
"You thought I could be bought." The waiter took a breath. "I speak four languages. Have two engineering degrees. I'm not a fool. Keep your damn money."
"I just wanted to know his name." The words came out as a whisper.
"My name," said a deep voice, far too close to Rhys's ear, "is Silas Quint."
Rhys felt a hand press into the small of his back as the dark-haired man stepped next to him. It took him a moment to remember to breathe.
