by Anna Zabo
Breathless, he collapsed onto Silas.
“You’re not going to pass out on me, are you?” Silas stroked his face.
Rhys coughed a laugh. “I should, just to spite you.”
Silas wrapped his arms around Rhys, drew him in for a quick kiss. “Impertinent and beautiful. Gods help me, but I do love you.”
“Good.” Rhys tangled his legs with Silas’s. “Because you’re stuck with me.”
“And you, with me.”
Rhys touched the scar on Silas’s chest and then stroked his cheek. “That works. Because I love you too.”
Silas was quiet for a moment, a slight smile curling his lips. “The world is full of wonders.”
It was. One lay next to Rhys. “Wanna show them to me?”
Silas pulled him in close, his lips nearly touching Rhys’s. “There is nothing in the world that I want more.”
Epilogue
Vasil Kutsera stood on the promenade deck and looked out into the New York Harbor. Early morning sun cast pale golden light onto the green hue of the Statue of Liberty. Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the inscription read. Well, he was one out of three. Tired. Very, very tired. He still couldn’t sleep at night, even after Mr. Quint and Mr. Matherton had told him the upyr were gone. Destroyed.
He’d cleaned up the ash in the garden before anyone else had discovered it. The blood too. Disposed of the razor-sharp shards of silver. Later that day, maintenance had replaced the cracked paver. Thank the Lord no one had asked about that.
Dreams haunted him. Nothing that made any sense. Fire and sand. Wings. The achingly beautiful face of a woman with long black hair and eyes as dark as storms.
Prayer helped a little. He’d taken to clutching the tiny travel diptych his brother Jan had given him before he’d signed on to the cruise line. The Pantocrator and the Theotokos.
“You’ll see such interesting things!” Jan had said.
Vasil swallowed a bitter laugh. If only he’d known.
The cruise ship moved lazily in the water, following the pilot boat. According to the logs, it had been an amazingly uneventful cruise. Except, of course, for Mr. Quint being leshii and Mr. Matherton being—whatever it was that he was. And the upyr biting him. Vasil rubbed his neck. No scar left, but for the one inside.
The one that allowed him to see what shouldn’t be seen. Streaks of color wound through the sky like streamers in the air. But overwhelmingly, green ribbons fluttered and wove, tying the land to the ship. They curled around the deck, around Vasil, and slipped under the door into the ship. When Mr. Matherton and Mr. Quint pushed those double doors open in tandem, Vasil was unsurprised to see the green light wrap around them.
He was also not shocked when the pair came toward him.
Vasil rubbed his eyes. The leshii was inhumanly beautiful. Everything the stories had ever said. Most of the time, it hurt to look at him, so Vasil focused more on Mr. Matherton. There was a touch of the wild in him, but he was merely humanly gorgeous. Today he wore jeans and a black T-shirt emblazoned with some rock band’s image in dark gray. Odd contrast to Mr. Quint’s tan slacks and red polo shirt.
“Vasil,” Mr. Matherton said. “How are you?”
“I’m well, thank you. And you?”
He liked Mr. Matherton, despite everything. Had he not been a passenger and had he not been so obviously in love with Mr. Quint… But it was what it was. Like so many other things in Vasil’s life.
“Are you?” Mr. Quint asked. Another stream fluttered against the breeze. It twined around the leshii’s arm.
Vasil smiled. Or tried to. “Of course.”
Neither man looked convinced. Mr. Matherton glanced at the deck before speaking. “I have something for you.”
“I’m not supposed to take gifts. Tips for the staff—”
“It’s not from me. Or Silas.”
Vasil glanced at Mr. Quint. He’d gone still in a way humans did not.
Mr. Matherton cleared his throat, his face reddening. “You asked me…that night…”
Oh. Vasil fought the urge to step back and won. But cold tendrils wrapped around his arms and legs, much as the strange light wrapped around the men in front of him. “You met an angel.”
Mr. Matherton nodded. His eyes were wide with memory. Vasil could almost touch the awe. “And I asked if he’d pray for you. He said he would.”
Lord have mercy. He struggled to find words in Ruthenian, let alone English. “Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”
“He also asked me to give you this.” Mr. Matherton fished into the front pocket of his jeans, then held out a chotkis. The beads glinted in the light, flashing the same colors as the ribbons that danced above the harbor.
Vasil’s heart felt like it stopped and then restarted. His chest hurt. Eyes watered. Breathing became difficult. His hand trembled, but he took the prayer rope from Mr. Matherton. The beads were warm. Vasil’s hands tingled as he moved the beads—they were stone—through his fingers.
A chotkis from an angel. The sensation spread up his arms and haloed his scalp. Merciful Lord. Vasil looked up.
“I don’t know what it is,” Mr. Matherton said.
Vasil glanced at the leshii. “Your Mr. Quint does.”
The dark-haired man nodded. “Though not the type of stone.” He paused. “I don’t think it’s of this world.”
Well, of course not. No stone shone like gold and sparkled like diamond while being dark as the empty places in the soul. It felt of peace and smelled of incense and— Vasil drew a breath. “Yes, I know.”
Mr. Matherton prodded his companion with a well-placed finger to the side. “Well, what is it?”
Mr. Quint raised an eyebrow and looked—pointedly—at Vasil.
“It’s a chotkis. A prayer rope. Like a rosary.”
“Oh.”
Vasil’s chest tightened again. “Thank you.” He held out his hand to Mr. Matherton. It was safer than the strange urge he had to hug both men. Kiss them like brothers.
Mr. Matherton took his hand and pulled Vasil into an embrace anyway. It was warm and quick. Exactly right. “Take care,” Mr. Matherton said.
Mr. Quint held out a business card to Vasil. “If you ever need anything.” His voice was soft, full of remorse.
This time Vasil ignored his better judgment. He wrapped Mr. Quint in a fierce hug. “Thank you.”
“You have nothing to thank me for.”
He let Mr. Quint go. Vasil’s head swam, whether from all of the light flowing around these two men or from the warmth of the chotkis on his arm, he couldn’t tell. But the weariness that had plagued him was gone. “No, I do.”
Mr. Quint was an exquisite picture of skepticism.
“You showed me the world as it is.”
“A curse.”
“A gift, Mr. Quint.” Vasil slid the beads down into his hand. Counted one off. “I need only to discover what to do with it.”
About the Author
Anna Zabo writes contemporary and paranormal romance for all colors of the rainbow and lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, which isn’t nearly as boring as most people think.
Anna has an MFA in Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University, where they fell in with a roving band of romance writers and never looked back. They also have a BA in Creative Writing from Carnegie Mellon University.
www.annazabo.com
[email protected]
Also by Anna Zabo
The Takeover Series
Takeover
Just Business (Takeover #2)
Due Diligence (Takeover #3)
Daily Grind (Takeover #4)
Coming Soon
Outside the Lines, A Bluewater Bay Book
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