Page 44 of Close Quarter
Of course. Messengers.
Angels.
Chapter Eight
Silas woke when his door lock whirred and unlatched. A moment later, someone entered.
Tendrils of energy slid around the bed, brushed against and into him.
Rhys.Footsteps sounded in the foyer but not enough for Rhys to fully enter the room.
Mercury's balls, how long had he been asleep? Silas peered at the clock on the nightstand:
4:27. Too long. He braced himself for the pain and rolled over to face Rhys.
No ache. Not even a twinge. Silas didn't know which was more shocking, that or the sight of Rhys.
The man leaned against the wall closest to the foyer entrance, his hair more copper than it should have been, face too lean. Fae-like. Stunning.
Silas sat up. "What have you done?"
"I don't know." Rhys's mouth quirked upward. "But I see it worked."
Quite. Legs, arms, chest--any part of Silas's skin not covered by his robe--were pristine.
Healed. Probably all the skin underneath too. He wasn't about to disrobe to discover whether he was correct.
Gods above and below. Even he couldn't manipulate the element like that. Silas balled up the bedclothes beneath his hands. "It more than worked."
Rhys's expression turned sharp. "I thought you'd be happy."
That wasn't one of the emotions churning through him. He clung to anger, because fear and awe would do neither of them any good. "Go look at yourself in the mirror."
Rhys pushed himself off the wall, strode toward the dresser, and came to an abrupt halt.
"Oh shit."
Silas snorted. "Indeed."
"But I'm not fae." Rhys touched his face.
"What the hell?"
"Enough of you is." The half-fae could change at will--a trick of breeding and power. But a Quarter doing it? Silas had never heard of such a thing.
"I don't underst--" Rhys looked away from the mirror. "Can you fix it?"
"Fix it?" Silas couldn't quite keep the scorn from his voice. "Not I."
Rhys's stricken look and reddening face tempered Silas's wry and dark humor. Impulsive though Rhys might be, he had--somehow--healed all of Silas's wounds, pushed so much element into him that he could last for weeks in the middle of the ocean even if he decided to glamour the whole damn ship into a giant squid.
Silas exhaled. His next words were soft.
"Did you kill the plants in the garden?"
"No," Rhys said. "If anything, they're better than they were. I even fixed the palm trees."
All amusement fled Silas. He craned around to examine the ficus he had drained. Lush green leaves sprouted from every limb. It had grown taller as well.Dea Dia.
