Page 72 of Close Quarter
What is it you Romans say about the liver? The seat of passions? You always had too many."
Oh great and powerful gods, preserve him.
Silas tasted blood in his mouth. Not again. He couldn't bear this again.
Under the roar in his ears, metal clattered to wood. His sword falling to the deck. His muscles spasmed, and every nerve shrieked in time to the squeezing of Anaxandros's hand. He shouldn't be standing, yet he was, held upright by Anaxandros's arm about his waist.
"Are you in such a hurry to join your court?
Have you truly lived long enough?" Words murmured against his throat.
No.Not nearly long enough. Wait--horror snaked through his thoughts--what was he thinking?
Another sound cut through the cacophony in his mind--Rhys yelling. "You leave him alone, you fucking bastard." Rhythmic banging followed.
"Let him go!"
Anaxandros did, with a cry that was half a snarl and half pain.
Silas crumpled, but falling to the deck hurt less than having his liver palpitated through a hole punched into the side of his body. His vision cleared enough for him to stare at the painted steel underside of the deck above.
"Have you lived long enough?"
"No."
He wasn't ready to lose-- Oh Great Father Jupiter. Anaxandros would tear Rhys apart.
"Rhys!" Silas tried to push himself up. A searing like hot iron on flesh burned down his spine, and his limbs spasmed. "Rhys, run!"
"It's okay." Rhys loomed over him. Knelt.
"It's gone." Blood--and something else--coated his hands. "Don't move."
Easy enough. Silas closed his eyes, took a painful breath, and then opened them. Element whipped around Rhys like tongues of flame, but his faint color and the rising panic in his face betrayed his youth and humanity. "God, what do I do? How do I stop the bleeding?" He stripped off his coat.
"Not like that." He had no idea what his side looked like, but from the blazing stabs stripping his veins, he had a good guess. Cloth against that would likely hurt more than Anaxandros's claws.
"Give me your hand."
"I have to stop the bleeding."
Silas grabbed Rhys's arm and pulled as much element as he could into his body. Contact made it so much easier.
Rhys hissed, and his face twisted. After a moment, he relaxed, and the flow of element increased.
"Sorry," Silas said. "First aid's a bit different for fae."
"It's okay. I wasn't thinking."
"That makes two of us." He let go of Rhys.
He needed more element, but there wasn't time. He struggled upright. "We need to move. Anaxandros won't be gone for long."
Rhys sat back on his heals. "Actually he might."
Silas took a closer look at Rhys's hands.
Then surveyed the ship deck. A metal box--an ashtray from the railing--lay on its side, one end mangled and covered in blood, flesh, and hair.
