Page 63 of Close Quarter
Exasperation was written on Rhys's face.
"You're too hard on yourself. What you went through..." He frowned down at his steak, then commenced cutting it. "Hell, I kind of lost it around that thing."
The bread was soft and warm. Silas took another sip of wine to wash it down. "You were magnificent. Like wind. I couldn't touch him, and you pierced his flesh." He paused, watched Rhys's hands. "With a steak knife."
Rhys laid the knife on the edge of his plate.
"Is that something else I shouldn't be able to do?"
Rhys's lips twitched upward.
Cheeky little fox. "Yes." Silas picked up his silverware--and it was real silver--and set about consuming the honey-braised chicken in front of him. At first he nibbled, but the food was surprisingly good. Tender meat and sweet spices.
Before long, most of the chicken was gone, and he had to force himself to slow down before he stole Rhys's steak.
"I think we make each other better," Rhys said. "I feel you when you"--he waved his fork about in a circle--"do whatever it is you do. And I just know."
"Know when I manipulate the element?" Silas rotated his wineglass, watched the merlot coat the sides. Someone who complemented him in every way. Gods above. "We do seem to share a connection."
Rhys finally looked away, his gaze drifting toward the sinking sun. "Maybe that's why."
RHYS KNEW WHAT Silas's next words would be. He wasn't disappointed.
"Why what?"
He studied Silas. Color had returned to his tan face, stability to his arms and hands. Good.
That had been a close call. "Why I followed you."
Silas leaned back in his chair, elbow propped up on the arm, chin resting on his fingers.
A familiar motion. They had been together a day, and yet he knew that gesture nearly as well as he knew his own. He kept speaking, as Silas wished. "I have horrible boyfriends. Everyone I know tells me I'm always picking the worst men."
He scooped up his wineglass, drained it. "They're wrong."
"You don't pick up the worst men?"
God, he loved that accent, the little dip in Silas's tone that dried his words out. Might as well be a finger trailing up his spine. "I don't pick up men. They pick me up, I fall in love, they use me, then toss me aside."
Silas furrowed his brow as if remembering, then dropped his arm. His mouth flattened into a thin line. "I see."
He would. Rhys had Silas's memories, a massive tangle of images and emotions. It only made sense Silas would have his. "I'm not exactly a carpe-diem kind of person when it comes to relationships. I'm...somewhat passive."
"That," Silas said, "is the last word I would use to describe you."
"Now," Rhys said. "Two days ago?"
"I didn't know you two days ago." Silas stroked the condensation on the outside of his water glass.
Rhys doubted he'd ever get tired of how Silas's fingers caressed everything they touched.
"Yeah, exactly." Rhys tossed his napkin on the table and stood. He held out his hand.
A moment later Silas rose, twined those long fingers with Rhys's. "What do you have in mind?"
He couldn't heal Silas, not from the wounds the vampire had carved into his soul, but he could create ties of his own. Stronger ones. "Wait and see."
A gentle tug was all it took for Rhys to lead Silas from the room. "I would have liked a coffee." Silas's protest was only a halfhearted murmur.
