Page 60 of Close Quarter
The sun hung in the sky, golden in its descent.
These two disparate images clashed in Silas's head, stilled his motions for less than a heartbeat.
That moment of inaction let Anaxandros reach Rhys a fraction before the tip of Silas's sword would have met the soulless's flesh.
He pulled the blow when the soulless's hand closed around Rhys's neck. Silas stood frozen, sword in hand.
Rhys's eyes were wide, his hands nearly as white as the tablecloth they pressed against. He tried to rise. Anaxandros pushed him back into his chair. There was no blood. Not yet.
Sunlight filtered through the windows, though they were in shade.
Impossible.
"Quintus Silvanus."
Terror ripped through Silas.
ItwasAnaxandros who stood before him, holding Rhys's life in his hands. Time had not changed one iota the soulless he had once called master. Taller than his own six feet and far broader, he looked like frozen gold. Blond. Pale. More angular than any fae.
Coldly beautiful. His eyes were black, his teeth very sharp.
His deep voice still made Silas's arms shake, his insides liquefy. Silas said nothing, could say nothing. The tip of his sword wavered six inches from Anaxandros's chest.
The soulless smiled. "Sit down."
Silas almost did. Nearly bent to that will.
Blazing fury overrode fear and kept him on his feet. "Let him go."
The words came out in Latin. He refused to speak in the soulless's tongue.
"Such a pretty boy." Anaxandros drew a talon up Rhys's cheek, leaving behind a line of blood.
"Do you enjoy raping him, Quintus? Sucking down his energy when he screams under your cock?"
Rhys trembled beneath the soulless's touch, a deep anger burning in his forward stare. Only then did Silas realize Anaxandros had switched to English.
He switched languages as well. "Let him go."
The tremor of his hand did not extend to his voice.
"If you harm him, I'll cut you down right here."
Anaxandros laughed, a sound that sliced through Silas like screeching metal.
No one else in the dining room noticed.
Once more, the soulless changed tongues, this time to Latin. "Sit down."
Those words wrapped around Silas and tightened like a noose. His sword slipped from his hand and clattered against the dishes on the table.
His knees bent. Only his iron grip on the table kept him upright.
It had been more than two thousand years.
Why did he still need to obey this monster?
As if reading his mind, Anaxandros answered him. "Little fae, your kind never forget. And I worked so very hard to train you."
