Page 62 of Close Quarter
Cold rushed through Silas. He fell back away from the door, the very words he had spoken to Rhys echoing in his mind."You can't killsomething that's already dead."A moment later, he sheathed his sword. Arms now trembling, he'd barely held it properly.
Anaxandros could still affect his mind. More than two thousand years later, the soulless still possessed a piece of him. He ground his mouth closed to keep the wail inside.
A warm arm slid around his waist, fingers stroked the side of his face, gently turned his head back toward the dining room.
Rhys, all copper and green-gold. No blood on Rhys's neck. Who had healed the wound?
"Come eat dinner," Rhys said.
Dinner?Silas looked around the room. They stood in the middle of the restaurant. Not a soul looked at them. His glamour was still intact.
It should not have been. It was Rhys who held the better part of it, his energy propping Silas's weave up.
Silas didn't know a damn thing about Quarters. How in Hades's name was he supposed to protect Rhys?
Rhys pulled him toward their table.
"I'm perfectly fine." Silas shook off Rhys's grasp.
"Liar." Affection and concern softened the reply.
Silas grasped the edge of his chair, pulled it out, and sank down. He would have reached for his wine had his hands not been shaking.
Rhys sat, plucked his glass from the table, and sipped, expression unreadable.
Silas looked away. Anaxandros still played him like a puppet. Had he followed, no doubt the trail would have led him back to a lair with four other soulless. "If you hadn't stopped me, I'd be dead."
"Yeah, I know," Rhys said. "But I'd be dead without you, so it works out."
Silas hazarded a chance at drinking the wine.
His hands held steady. "I didn't think--" He stopped, set down the wineglass. "I can't think around him. I'm sorry."
Rhys swirled his wine. "I want to rip that thing apart for what it did to you."
"You have no idea."
"Actually," Rhys said, "I do."
Oh great mother Gaia.Rhys had felt Silas's whole life, that part included. He cast around for words to put together and found nothing.
Thankfully their dinner came, providing Silas with a respite from his thoughts and from Rhys's watchful inspection.
Though how he would stomach his food, Silas had no idea.
Rhys smiled up at the waiter. "I seem to have dropped my steak knife."
They brought Rhys another.
An image of Rhys's blood welling beneath Anaxandros's claws flashed through Silas's mind.
His hands shook too much to lift his water glass.
He flattened them against the tablecloth. "Jupiter's hairy balls, what the hell is wrong with me?"
Rhys handed him the bread basket. "I don't know. Maybe you just saw the monster that spent a hundred-and-eighty-some years abusing you for the first time since you escaped?"
Silas took the basket, forced himself to pull out a piece of bread. "I should be better than this."
