Page 33 of Close Quarter
"If you want to help me," Silas said, "go away."
Go away.Rhys's father had said those words --both his fathers, really. Five different lovers had spoken the same three syllables. A tightness grew in his chest.
Now Silas, who made him feel more true than he had ever felt, who had set the world aright by turning it upside down. Now those words came from his mouth. Discarded.
Rhys stepped back. Whispered two words of his own. "You promised."
"Promised?"
"That you'd explain. Tell me what this was all about."
Silas's sharp laugh cut the air. "I lied." He raised his head and stared at Rhys. "Get out."
Rhys hadn't realized how far he had backed up until he clipped the frame of the bed with his shin. Pain flared up his leg, and he caught himself before he fell.
Fucking hell!
But the sharp stabbing cleared his head. This wasn't right. Terror lurked in Silas behind those harsh words. Pain too. He hadn't lied in the garden. If anything, he was lying now.
Rhys watched Silas. All those wounds. What had the vampires done to him?
A flash of memory--hands and teeth ripping clothing from his body--sent another tremor through Rhys.
Rhys straightened. "I'm not leaving. Not until I've had my coffee and my answers." Not until he found out what happened on the deck of the ship.
"I don't want you here. Leave me alone."
There was hesitancy in Silas's beautiful voice.
Got you."You're a horrible liar, you know."
The wild fury in Silas shattered. He swayed again and placed his other hand on the floor.
Silence filled the room, punctuated only by Silas's rough breathing. Then he whispered a plea. "Rhys, please."
His name. The knot loosened in Rhys's stomach. "I'm not leaving you. Besides, I can't just walk back to my cabin like this." Buck naked was certainly not part of the ship's dress code. "I can't glamour clothes onto myself. I'm not fae."
Silas sat back on his heels and stared at the tan carpet. "There're clothes in the closet. We're close enough in size."
"And coffee?"
Silas raised his head at that. Terror still lurked in him, but the blue tinge to his flesh had left. He gestured over to the side of the room.
"There's a machine at the bar."
Rhys opted for the closet first. He took the only pair of jeans. They were an inch longer than he liked, but he did share the same waist size with Silas. Same shirt size too. Rhys quickly buttoned up one of Silas's white shirts. Then he inspected the bar. The creeping start of a headache lurked at the base of his skull, but he ignored it. Coffee would help.
The coffeemaker was a pod-style that brewed by the cup. Impressive. In Rhys's cabin there was just an old drip machine. He poked a finger at the coffee selections. "Hazelnut, mocha, bold, or French roast?"
"I don't want coffee."
Rhys gripped the marble bar countertop, glad that he no longer faced Silas. The thrum of his headache kicked to full force, stretching his patience thin. "If you don't choose, you're getting French. And you're going to drink it, even if I have to sit on you and pour it down your damn throat."
Nothing but the hum of the fridge, then something that might have been a laugh or a sob.
"Bold, then. I can't stand French."
Of course not.He set the pod into the machine and pressed Start. "Pity there's no Italian roast."
