Page 105 of Close Quarter
Anaxandros frowned.
"I'm not his Quarter. He'smyfae." He put his arm around Silas's good side. "Come on. Let's get out of here." Retreat seemed the best plan. Heal, regroup. Rhys steered Silas toward a set of stairs that led down to the outside deck below.
"Rhys Alexander Matherton."
His name--his full name--on the vampire's lips caused him to stumble.
"Rhys," Silas said, "don't look back."
He didn't. This time he listened to Silas. But the words from Anaxandros lashed out anyway.
"The sun will set, Quarter. Soon. And then you'll both belong to me."
Rhys helped Silas down two flights of stairs and into the garden, oblivious to the people around them, heedless of the fact that both he and Silas carried swords. Maybe they were glamoured, maybe not. It didn't matter.
All that mattered was healing Silas as best he could in the time they had left. He would not lose Silas to that thing.
Chapter Thirteen
The sunlight that streamed in the greenhouse windows was tinged orange, a color Silas had grown to hate over the long years of his life. It brought death and blood and fire and pain. He closed his eyes and let Rhys walk him through the garden. What he could still feel of his arm burned as if it had been dipped in acid.
Only when Rhys sat him down on a bench did he open his eyes and speak. "You should leave me."
"No. Never. So shut the fuck up."
The words that poured from Rhys's mouth were perhaps the most violently loving and curse- laden statements anyone had ever said to Silas.
"You beautiful shit-head, why would you even say that? After all we've been through?"
Rhys balled his hands into fists.
It hurt to laugh. The daemon-forged knife had cut deep, spreading its venom into his blood. What was left of that, anyway.
He'd truly been blessed to find this man. "I don't want you to die," Silas said.
"Yeah, well, I don't want you dying either.
And I'm not having thatthingtake you." Rhys laid his sword on the ground.
Element pushed into Silas, almost painfully.
He didn't bother to ask Rhys to be gentle.
Rhys has a sword.
Silas lifted his own blade and stared at it for a moment before handing it to Rhys. "Put both of them back into the Aether. If we lose them here, we can't get them back."
Rhys's rage ticked down a notch. "Why are there two swords?"
"I don't know." Truth, but Rhys looked dubious. "I truly don't. The Messengers must have known." They always knew.
"But you got your sword years ago."
"Two thousand years ago. Yes."
Rhys exhaled. Inhaled. Croaked.
Silas knew that expression well. He'd worn it several times because of the Messengers. "It's not important right now. You needed it. You have it."
