Page 70 of Close Quarter
And to think the night had started out so promising, even if a bit windy. Silas ran his tongue over his upper lip, but the salt he tasted there was from the sea air, not Rhys.
Close to sunset, they had left the lounge chair and returned to Silas's cabin. Rhys needed very little cleaning up--a side benefit to Silas sucking down his cum--and no change of clothing at all.
He, however, changed into something more appropriate for destroying soulless on the windswept decks of a ship. For the rest of the night, he had followed Rhys, a silent and deadly shadow, while Rhys enjoyed all the nightlife the ship had to offer.
Enjoy Rhys did. With abandon. While no soulless had taken the bait during his romp through the ship's clubs, plenty of humans had noticed him.
Most of his admirers had been women, but a few had been men.
N o wthathad pleased Rhys. For the gentlemen, his grin was true, his laughter infectious. He'd even danced with a particularly handsome blond, close enough that their hips had touched. Rhys hadn't cared one whit what anyone thought.
Silas's little experiment in the elevator had certainly unlocked the exhibitionist in Rhys. Or perhaps it was his fae blood finally showing forth.
Rhys's change in attitude should have delighted Silas. Glamouring the both of them could be tiring, even with an abundance of element. Rhys being comfortable in his own skin was a blessing.
It boded well for the future.
Silas repeated that thought during the very long five minutes he'd watched Rhys on the dance floor. It was a wonder he hadn't ground his teeth to nubs.
Jealous?Life was too long to worry about what any given romantic partner was up to. And Silas's life being what it was, his affairs had always been blessedly brief. He preferred it that way.
No, he was not jealous in the least. Never mind that he and Rhys were inexorably bound together, that looking at Rhys drove breath from his lungs and blood to his cock.
Silas shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Oh, he was quite the wretched liar.
"Do you dance, Silas?" There was too much amusement in Rhys's quiet voice.
"Of course I do." When this was over, he was going to thoroughly enjoy showing Rhys just how well hedanced.
At the railing, Rhys straightened and spoke louder. "Once more into the breach, dear friends."
"Come now, it can't be that bad." A woman's melodious and fluid voice floated down from the next deck. Footsteps on the metal stairs over his head followed, descending from above.
Silas felt nothing living above him. He loosened his grip on the gladius.
Rhys stepped away from the railing. Shadows sharpened his features, exposing the deep worry written on his face.
"You seemed to be enjoying yourself." The creature that stepped onto their deck had once been a woman. Long black hair, pulled into a braid, swung against its back. More details than that, Silas could not see.
The soulless clicked its tongue. "Why are you all alone, little Quarter? Where's your friend from the dance floor?"
The accent was Hindi. A surprise. The lust for physical immortality wasn't as strong in cultures that believed in reincarnation. Silas took two slow and silent steps away from the stairs and the bulkhead.
"He's probably still on the dance floor. I'll go check." The reply was cavalier, but a tightness in his voice betrayed Rhys's fear. He angled toward the door.
The soulless shifted, cutting off Rhys's retreat. "Why don't you dance with me, Rhys?"
A shudder ran through Rhys at the sound of his name. "Dead's not exactly my type."
Laughter, strangely close to the sound of glass bells, echoed across the deck. "Did he tell you that, your fae? That we're dead?"
Silas took three more steps. The last one took him within sword's length of the creature.
"And just where is Quintus Silvanus? Has he abandoned you already?"
"What do you think?" Annoyance and dejection flashed across Rhys's face. "I guess he had his own plans."
The soulless stepped forward and touched Rhys's arm. "He's more of a fool than I thought, to leave you alone for us to take."
