Page 111 of Close Quarter
No way out of this.
There had to be a way out.
"Yeah." Rhys took a deep breath and angled himself between Silas and that blade. "Probably.
But you never know."
For an instant, Rhys saw a flash of doubt in the vampire's face, but then the black sword moved. And so did Rhys--right into Anaxandros, as close as a lover. Given their height differences, it was easy enough to duck under and grasp the vampire's good arm. Rhys pushed up.
"Silas!"
There was no way for the vampire to claw him off, not with a stump, and no way for the thing to strike him with the blade. Maybe he'd give Silas just enough time to get the other sword.
As Anaxandros snarled and fought against him, an odd sense of euphoria filled Rhys. They were going to survive!
Teeth sank into his neck. Spears of flame tore through his body, ripping apart his bones, shredding his lungs. All hope, all love, all the things that made living worth the time and effort flowed out of him. It was all Rhys could do to grasp on to the moments of his life as they slipped by. One by one, they slipped away, only to be replaced by acid and fire. Above them, the palm trees shook and groaned.
Silas yelled, his words unintelligible but full of malice and wrath. Only when Rhys fell hard onto Anaxandros's shoes did the burning in his body stop.
"Do you wish to see him dead, Quintus?" The point of the vampire's sword clicked against the stone mere inches from Rhys's eyes.
He wouldn't have moved had he been able to.
As with Radmila and Jarek, he was paralyzed, blood screaming in his veins, but he was also far too aware. Moisture blurred his vision.
So much for winning.
"Do you understand yet, Quintus?" The question was almost gentle. "You will never be strong enough to protect him."
Silas gave no answer. Nor was he anywhere in Rhys's view. All Rhys saw was a slice of black metal that twisted and danced before him.
The blade was alive.
It screamed in the same way Rhys wanted to, reached out toward life even as it killed all it touched. Fear crept into Rhys and mixed with the sparks of icy fire that burned through his organs.
"They'll take him from you. Pull you two apart. Try to force another to him." Anaxandros spoke in that same almost reasonable tone. One that seemed true. Caring.
Don't listen to him.But Rhys couldn't speak.
Could not help Silas see through the lies the vampire spoke.
The black blade whispered with the voice of a woman, with the voice of summer trapped in ice.
"He is not lying."
Oh God.In that moment, Rhys understood.
SILAS DIDN'T UNDERSTAND why Anaxandros had not attacked him again. Rhys lay at the soulless's feet--alive, thank all the gods for that, but unmoving. He had Rhys's sword, but Anaxandros surely saw the tremble in his stance.
There was no way Silas could withstand another series of blows like the ones that had shattered his sword. He could barely stand. His vision wavered, his blood still too thin to support him.
Every nerved tingled. He was on the verge of fainting.
Yet all the soulless wielded were words. It gave him a moment of rest he desperately needed, so he'd play this game.
"What do you know of fae?" Silas said. "Of Quarters?"
There was that smile again, the curl of contempt, those razor teeth coated with Rhys's blood. "Far more than you, Quintus."
