Page 78 of Close Quarter
Vasil rose and took the vampire's hand.
"Sword." Rhys touched Silas's right hand.
"Give it to me."
"You don't know--"
Of course he knew nothing about swords, but this wasn't the time to argue. He wrenched the hilt from Silas's grip and ignored the hiss of pain that followed.
"Let him go." Rhys took a swing at the vampire.
It laughed, avoided the blade, and pulled Vasil against its body. Vasil, held in the vampire's embrace, faced Rhys--a living shield.
"Careful. The angels don't like it when you harm one of their precious humans."
"Rhys!" Silas hissed his name. There was pain there and fear too. The vampire must not have been kidding about the angels.
But what else could he do? He adjusted his grip and tried to find some memory of Silas's that might help.
Nothing.
Vasil's eyes tracked the blade of the sword.
So he wasn't entirely in the thrall of the vampire.
Whatever Vasil wore beneath his shirt, he still clutched at it.
Silas must have noticed as well. "Vasil," he said, then spoke words Rhys didn't know, but they held the same clip as the waiter's speech.
The vampire bared its teeth and answered in the same language, talking over Silas.
Vasil closed his eyes. When he spoke, it was in English. "I'd rather die by an angel's blade than from the bite of an upyr." Then he began to sing in his own tongue.
It was, Rhys realized, a prayer.
The vampire snarled. "You're a fool if you think that will save you." It bit into Vasil's neck.
The chant broke off into silence. Though Vasil mouthed words, no sound came from his lips. Tremors raced through his body.
Rhys gripped the hilt of the sword with both hands. He might not know how to swing the blade, but he damn well could run it through something.
He lunged forward while the vampire gnawed at Vasil's neck and pierced its side. Smoke and the smell of searing flesh rose into the night air, as did the wail of the vampire. It let go of Vasil.
And took hold of Rhys. Claws pierced his arms. Ice and fire traced up his veins as the burning vampire held him close. "At least I'll take one of--" Flame licked out of the vampire's mouth, before its face fell inward.
"Rhys!" Arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him backward. Metal clanged against wood --he had dropped the sword. He felt nothing in his arms below where the vampire had held him.
There was no way to break his backward fall.
Rhys toppled over onto Silas; then a different kind of fire burned in his arms--pain, yes. But the itch and fire was of healing flesh.
"No!" He threw himself away from Silas. He scrambled a bit farther and lay still on the deck.
Cold, uneven grain ribbed his cheek and smelled faintly of damp wood and blood.
Once more, Silas called his name. This time it was a mere whisper.
"Sorry," Rhys said. "I'm not letting you die for me."
