Close Quarter

by Anna Zabo

  “Don’t.”

  “Please. This is important.”

  “You’re not going to die.” Rhys stepped closer to the map. “So there’s nothing to discuss.”

  Stillness behind him, then a sigh. “Do you know who Justin Peters is?”

  That lawyer? Good God. A million bucks an hour, or something like that. Rhys placed a finger on the engine area. The decks below that held fuel, water, and ballast. “Of Peters, Sebastian, and August?”

  “Yes.” Silas paused. “If something ever happens to me, go to him. He’ll know what to do.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to you.” Rhys studied the map as best he could, considering his damn eyes kept blurring. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  Silas kept his mouth shut. All he did was brush the back of his hand over Rhys’s cheek.

  Rhys jerked away. “Are you going to help me here or not?” If Silas kept talking like this, he’d lose it. Life without Silas was incomprehensible. There was no other path. He tapped the map. “Shall we start here?”

  Silas studied the layout. “Near the engines would be too hot,” he said. “The smells would carry too much.” Flat tone, clipped accent. No emotion.

  Smells. This time Rhys couldn’t suppress the chill that ran down his body. His heart ticked up a beat as a memory of cold darkness, the sharp stab of heat, and the ever-present scent of earth and blood invaded his senses. Silas’s memory. Someone rooting around in his side.

  Rhys ripped off the lid of his cup and downed the rest of his coffee—as warm as it was—in one gulp. His eyes stung. “The storage areas, then.” His voice sounded rough and high to his ears.

  “It’s a good place to start.” Silas moved closer and wrapped his free arm around Rhys’s waist.

  They stood like that for some time, staring at the ship plans. It was only once he stopped that Rhys realized he’d been trembling.

  Finally Silas spoke. “It happened long ago.”

  “But it did happen.” The torture. The pain.

  “Yes.”

  The bitter but comforting smell of coffee drifted between them, a much better scent than the iron tang of blood. “I’m going to make sure nothing like that ever happens to you again.” The words poured from Rhys, from his soul. “If I have to beg the angels to make me a sword.”

  “Are you to be my protector, then?”

  “Aren’t I already?”

  Silas pulled him closer. “The world is certainly strange and full of surprises. Even after all these years.”

  Rhys took Silas’s cup, shoved it into his own, and then planted a kiss onto Silas’s lips. “We should get started.”

  Silas caught Rhys’s face in his hands before he could pull away. “I love you.”

  Those words. That look. Rhys’s vision blurred again. “I’m not losing you.”

  “But if—”

  “Silas.” He said the name like a command. It seemed to work, because whatever protest had been on Silas’s lips died. “Promise me. Promise me you won’t leave me.”

  “I’ll try not to.”

  “Not good enough.” Rhys caught one of Silas’s wrists and held it as tightly as he could. “Promise me.”

  Time seemed to slow as a struggle played out over Silas’s expression. At last he shrank in defeat. “I promise I will do everything within my power to stay with you.”

  It wasn’t exactly what he wanted, but it would have to do. Rhys kissed him. Not a peck, either, but a kiss that would’ve dragged them both into bed, had there been one.

  Had they the time. If Silas weren’t so hurt.

  Rhys broke the kiss. “I love you too.” He moved away, tossed the cups into the trash, and looked back at Silas, who stood exactly where Rhys had left him.

  He recognized that dumbstruck expression, pretty sure he’d worn it himself at some point in the past three days. “We should start. While it’s still light.”

  Silas nodded. “Let’s go, then.”

  They headed to the nearest elevator.

  Two hours later, they had searched through the cramped storage areas and even the hot engine area. No signs of any vampires.

  “Fuck.” Rhys scrubbed a hand over his face. Silas’s color hadn’t improved. If anything, he seemed more drained. Maybe from the heat, maybe from the glamour he had to cast to hide them. He’d tried to push energy into Silas, but nothing seemed to improve. As far as he could tell, there was no flow to Silas. Which either meant he couldn’t accept any element or he refused to.

  Silas wiped a pale hand across his brow. “So we scout through the unused interior cabins.”

  “We should rest for a bit.” Maybe if he concentrated more.

  Silas peered upward, as if looking through the decks. “Perhaps. There’s still some time before sunset. But if Anaxandros is about…” He pushed through a doorway into a service stairwell.

  They started to climb. If that vampire found them first, they were in a heap of trouble. “How the hell are we going to know which cabins are free?”

  Silas didn’t answer. Probably because he was gulping down air as they ascended the stairs.

  Rhys watched the play of fabric stretch across Silas’s ass. Nice. Too bad he could also see the slight tremble in his legs. “Are you okay?”

  Silas paused on the landing, his breathing shallow and fast. “I’d say yes, but you’d know it for a lie. But I’m as well as to be expected.” He turned the corner and continued up. “I’ll manage.”

  Crap, crap, crap. But what else was there to do? Rhys ran after him. “We could rest until sundown. Maybe if you slept?” He knew the likely answer but asked anyway. “Or the garden?”

  At the next landing, Silas leaned against the door but didn’t open it. “I need time, Rhys, to heal. We have none.” He pushed through the door on to the lowest of the common levels. “As to your earlier question, I’m going to check the ship’s hotel computer system, find the records we need, then borrow a master key card.”

  Rhys followed through the door. “You’re going to do what?” This was the same man who chided him for trying to bribe Vasil?

  “I’ll need you to sit out by the front desk and provide a distraction.” At the elevator, Silas punched the Up button and leaned against the wall.

  “Do you even know how to use a computer?”

  Silas drew himself up to his full height. “Likely better than you do.” A healthier color washed over him as Rhys felt the unmistakable pull of element.

  Ah, so he’d been holding back, the arrogant asshole. “Well, you are stuck in a different era.”

  The elevator dinged. Rhys entered, Silas close behind. The pull of element increased. Silas punched the main deck.

  “What, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?”

  “Pray tell?” Rhys mimicked Silas’s accent. “You’re about as modern as ice skates with keys.”

  Silas opened his mouth, and snapped it shut. A moment later, he burst into laughter.

  “What?”

  The elevator slowed to a stop; then the doors opened.

  “You,” Silas said. “It’s roller skates that had keys.” He sauntered out of the elevator.

  Rhys had to hurry to follow Silas’s spectacular ass before the elevator doors snapped shut. “Ice skates, roller skates.”

  Silas stopped by the grand staircase, near a cluster of chairs that faced the front desk. “I know what you’re trying to do.” He leaned near Rhys’s ear. “And I thank you for the thought. But I want you to keep as much energy as possible for later.”

  Heat rushed to Rhys’s face. “You’re not well.”

  Silas shrugged in his infuriating manner. “I’m not so horrible that I can’t function. And if Anaxandros is about, it’s better he think me worse than I am.”

  Oh. Rhys dropped his voice and gripped Silas’s shirt. “You could’ve told me, you know.”

  “You think better when you’re worried or angry.”

  Warmth washed over him, followed hotly by fury. “You li
ttle—”

  Silas stopped his words with a kiss that tingled every nerve in his body, from the tips of his ears down to his little toes. Desire coiled in his belly.

  When Silas broke away, he whispered in Rhys’s ear. “No glamour, my love.”

  This time it was heat that chased through his body. He probably had a blush so bright it would light a dark room. What conversation there had been in the area had gone silent.

  “Wait here.” Silas spoke loudly enough to be overheard. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

  “Right,” Rhys croaked, and sank down into a chair as Silas walked away. A quick glance around confirmed his fears. Everyone looked at him. Or at Silas. Or between the two of them. One woman tucked away her cell phone.

  Rhys cleared his throat and leaned back. Well, that’d probably put a stop to his womanizing rumors. At least for a while.

  Really, he couldn’t do any better than Silas. Rhys brushed the back of his hand over his mouth and tried not to laugh.

  A few moments later, Silas returned, but this time no one noticed. Rhys picked up a newspaper from the table to his right and flipped through it while trying not to watch Silas slip behind the front desk counter.

  Now he wore a glamour. One so good, no one saw him as he sat at an unused terminal. A minute or so after that, he scooped up a piece of paper from a printer, slipped past the man behind the desk, and lifted a key card.

  Holy hell. Fae were born thieves. Rhys struggled not to stare as Silas worked.

  Silas slid back out into the lobby and vanished around a corner. Rhys continued to not read the newspaper until he felt the press of Silas’s fingers on his shoulder. “Back so soon?” He leaned back and looked up at Silas, who stood behind him.

  Not nearly as pale as before, Silas smiled and kneaded Rhys’s shoulders. “Shall we go somewhere more private?” The rich, deep tone of that question fired Rhys’s blood and dried his mouth. God. What Silas did to him.

  “Sure.” He folded the newspaper, set it down, and then rose.

  A number of folks in the lobby still watched them, some with admiration, others with curiosity. A few with fear. He ignored them all and followed Silas to the elevators.

  Rhys dropped his voice to a near whisper. “I’m going to fuck you so damn hard the next time I get a chance.”

  When the elevator opened, Silas pushed him inside. “I’ll hold you to that.” He hit the button for deck four before he leaned against the wall. “Thanks for providing such an enticing distraction.”

  “I think that was your kiss.” He still felt that warmth of Silas’s lips, the plunging of his tongue.

  “I’ve never kissed anyone in public like that before.”

  Rhys would’ve laughed, but the seriousness in Silas’s tone and in his expression spoke truth.

  “Not even Isatis?”

  “No, not even Isatis.”

  The elevator opened. Once more Rhys had to rush to follow Silas before the doors closed on him. In two thousand years? Never a passionate kiss in public?

  There was no lie in those words, though. “I’ve changed you.” How could that be possible?

  Silas drew a piece of paper from his back pocket and unfolded it. “You have, yes.” He paused, as if choosing his next words. “Mind you, that is not such a bad thing.” He handed the paper to Rhys.

  Room numbers. All the unoccupied rooms on the ship, the ones the staff didn’t need to clean until they arrived in New York. One hundred five in all. “This is a crap-load of rooms.”

  “Ah, however, all but twenty-five are external.” Silas pointed to a second column.

  So they were.

  They searched, very carefully, starting with the cabins on deck four. Nothing.

  Nor on five or six. Seven had no cabins, and eight only had balcony rooms. As they exited the elevator on nine, Rhys’s skin itched. His room was on this deck.

  “I think I’m going to be very wigged out if they’re my neighbors.”

  Silas scanned the room list. “There’s only one unoccupied interior room on this level.”

  Much to Rhys’s relief, it was like all the others. Empty of anything other than furniture, fixtures, and towels.

  Two unoccupied rooms stood next to each other on deck ten. As they approached, Silas clasped Rhys’s wrist. Pulled him to a stop.

  “What?” And then he felt it. A tug of element, but not toward Silas. Every hair on his neck rose.

  Here. They were here. Sandwiched between Silas’s deck and his. Holy shit. “They must have felt everything.”

  Silas’s face was unreadable. He reached into the tumult of the Aether and drew his sword. “Stay back. Behind me.”

  The pull came from the door to their left. Cabin 1013.

  Figures.

  Silas unlocked the door and pushed it open. Stillness from inside. And something else—the sticky smell of decay. Silas’s sword was already in motion when he ran into the room.

  Rhys remained outside, waiting. The stillness shattered into an unnatural howl, followed by an angry guttural cry.

  “Rhys!” Silas shouted. A vampire burst through the door and hit the opposing wall. It recovered quickly. No beautiful seduction here, this one came at Rhys with fangs and claws, its face twisted into a snarl. He threw himself down the hall away from the thing but tripped as the boat bobbed, and he fell onto the carpeting.

  No way Silas could save him. No time. Rhys plunged his hand into the Aether in hopes that something—anything—would be there. A familiar touch of leather against his skin, then the sword was in his hand. A moment later, the vampire impaled itself on it. Flame burst out of the vampire’s leering mouth and blackened its teeth. Eyes boiled off with a hiss. Hot ash stung Rhys’s face as he scrambled backward away from the sudden inferno consuming the vampire.

  Rhys choked back the bile rising in his throat. The smell of charred flesh lingered in the hall. Rhys stared at Silas, who stood, sword in hand, just outside the cabin door.

  No alarms. No sprinklers went off. Silas let go of the door frame, took two steps forward, then stopped. He stared at the floor.

  The sword Rhys had pulled from the Aether lay on the carpet amid a pile of ash. Rhys sat up and touched the hilt.

  Yup. Real. Just like the one in Silas’s hand. “Oh my God.”

  “I thought…” Silas took another step forward, and ash fell from his blade. “When you drew before…” He stopped. “Pick it up. We need to get out of here.”

  “But—”

  Silas’s tone changed to a command. “Now. Anaxandros will have heard that.”

  Shit. Rhys staggered to his feet and grabbed the sword. “Which way?”

  “Whichever is fastest to the outside.”

  “That would be behind me, Quintus.”

  Rhys dodged to one side as Silas skittered down the hall, his whole body pale and tense. His eyes were wide.

  Anaxandros stood between them and the closest set of elevators, as well as the only outside deck on this level. In his hand, he held a black blade twice as long as the ones Rhys and Silas carried. Looking at it made Rhys’s stomach churn. Something about the metal—it crawled through his mind.

  “Run,” Silas said.

  He didn’t have to say that twice. They tore down the hall toward the other set of elevators, Anaxandros’s laughter pounding off the walls behind them.

  Rhys hit the door marked STAIRS and pushed it open.

  “Down,” Silas called. They both half ran, half jumped down to the next landing.

  And then Silas screamed.

  A knife jutted from his shoulder, and he bounced off the stairwell wall into Rhys, nearly sending him tumbling down to the next level.

  “Get it out!” Raw words. Silas flailed wildly but couldn’t remove the blade without dropping his sword that he clutched so hard his fingers had turned white.

  Rhys wrapped his hand around the hilt of the knife, and it seared into his flesh. He shouted as agony traced up his arm, but he ripped the knife out of Silas a
nyway. The flesh of his hand didn’t blacken—it turned gray, then white, rimmed with red. His whole hand hurt as if he’d stuck it in glowing coals.

  Silas shoved him. “Go!”

  Too late.

  Anaxandros landed on the platform and kicked Silas down the next flight. The cry and the sick thud that followed turned Rhys’s vision red. He dodged. The vampire’s black sword screamed as it cut nothing but air.

  Rhys gripped his sword like a bat and swung. The tip scraped along Anaxandros’s chest. Smoke curled into the air. The vampire hissed and stepped back.

  That gave Rhys enough time to flee. He jumped down the stairs to where Silas stood near the door to deck nine.

  Silas stood. Thank God. But his left arm was bent in a way no bones should ever be. Silas kicked open the door. “Aft. There’s a deck aft.”

  Sunlight. They sailed east. There’d be sun behind them. As they ran, Rhys didn’t dare look back. From the thudding footsteps, the vampire had to be close. At the same time, they pushed through the double doors to the small observation deck and shot out into the sunlight. Silas crumpled against the rail. Rhys turned to face the vampire.

  Aside from a few deck chairs, they were alone. But the murmur of passengers on deck eight filtered up from below.

  The vampire was still fucking tall, still had hair the color of the sunlight.

  Anaxandros stood just inside the shaded part of the deck, his lips pulled back to expose his jagged teeth. It might have been a smile. “This,” he said, sweeping the tip of his black sword through the air, “is your doing. Quintus would never dare hunt during the day, never approach a lair.”

  “Yup,” Rhys said. “My idea.” Swollen flesh peeked out from the cut Rhys had made in the vampire’s shirt. It pulsed and wiggled like a nest of maggots. “By the way, how’s your head?”

  Anaxandros’s expression darkened. “I’m going to enjoy cracking open your bones and drinking your marrow, Quarter.”

  “And I’m going to enjoy watching you turn into a pile of ash, you fuck.” Rhys stepped back until he stood next to Silas. “Can you stand?”

  “Yes.” And he did. Once on his feet, he faced the vampire. “It’s just you now, Anaxandros.”