Bloodlines (28 page)

“Just because you can see the future, medusa, doesn’t mean you have to live there all alone,” Randall murmured.

The rain had turned to a soft whisper against the window. Randall saw the confusion still in Victor’s expression, the hesitance. But their lips met once more, so gently it ached through him, before Randall pulled away, wanting to cup his hands around that moment and keep it just so.

He let the blanket fall for the few moments it took him to shift back into his wolf form. As soon as Randall was on all four paws, Victor knelt down, one of his hands resting lightly on Randall’s back. “Thank you,” Victor said, so quietly even Randall barely heard it. “Just….” Victor shook his head. “Thank you.”

Nudging his head under Victor’s chin, Randall sat there for a few long seconds. They were warm, Victor smelled of tea and old books and, very faintly, like him. It was good.

But Anthony would be waking up soon, Edwin would be looking to warm up, and they both would be hungry. The real world was waiting outside. Randall had taken enough time away from it for now. So he nuzzled Victor’s chest, tail wagging faintly, before he left the man there in the cabin alone.

Perhaps he didn’t believe in perfect moments. That didn’t mean he couldn’t stumble across one now and again.

Jed

S
O
HERE
was the thing. Everyone talked about how great goddamn rain was. They sang in it, they skipped, they set fire to the damn stuff. Truth of the matter was, when you were out in it? It fucking sucked.

“Son of a
bitch
.” Jed flicked his last match out into the woods, watching as it made a soggy arc and practically disintegrated under the deluge.

“I don’t think that’s working,” Redford pointed out helpfully. He, like the aforementioned crazy people who enjoyed the rain, was goddamn
grinning
at him, wet hair plastered to his face.

“Yeah,” Jed grumbled. “No kidding.” They were about fifty miles up from the hippie wolf commune and had only gotten a mile into the hunt before the skies had opened up and dumped Noah and his goddamn fucking ark straight on their heads. They’d taken shelter under a small outcropping of rock, but the wind was making building a fire just about as hard as a cock in a glory hole. Jed’s emergency pack of flares, a grenade, and matches hadn’t been the most helpful things in the situation. Although, thank God, he did have his crisis stash of condoms, an extra tube of lube, and a chocolate bar. Just in case.

But it was clearly time for plan B. Squinting as the water poured down his face, Jed turned in a circle, trying to see their surroundings. But before he could scope out much, half of his vision was obscured by Redford’s jacket being held over their heads. One of the wolves had given Redford a rainproof poncho before they’d left, and Redford had looked exceedingly proud of it for the whole drive. Now he held it above them, looking at Jed like he’d just solved the problem completely.

And yeah, okay, it was still fucking pouring and lightning was arcing across the sky, but Jed found himself grinning. It was nearly impossible for him to stay irritable too long around Redford. It was goddamn annoying, really. “Okay, we’re going to need to get to a real shelter.” The van was downhill, and the path behind them had turned to pretty much mud. Wading through that could take hours. So Jed grabbed Redford’s hand and led him to higher ground. At least Knievel was safe back at the camp. She probably would have clawed his face off for daring to bring her out in the rain.

Quickly, Jed searched the surrounding area, picking out trees, rocks, dismissing each one as not what he needed. Finally he came across two large birch trees that had grown leaning into each other. “You stay here,” he hollered above the crack of thunder, hauling Redford with him in between the trees. The whole “no trees in a thunderstorm” thing only applied to the tallest objects in the area. These birches looked plenty sturdy, but they were fairly young, sitting dwarfed by the larger growth. “I’m gonna go get us supplies.”

He had a knife on him but no rope. Somewhere, his special ops director was trying to kick his ass from halfway around the world. Okay, so he’d improvise. Now
that
he had a lot of experience with.

Ten minutes later, he’d hauled a load of branches back to the birch trees. Most of them were thick and strong, but he had several very thin, flexible ones as well. Working quickly, rain streaming down his face, soaking him right down to his ass crack, he got the logs leaning against the birch trees, using the thinner branches to weave them together. He’d gotten lucky and found a pine tree. The long, thick-needled branches were perfect for a rain-resistant roof.

He left one corner mostly uncovered except for a thin layer of pine before ducking inside, hauling the few branches he’d found underneath trees with him, the dryer handfuls of leaves, and several stones. Kneeling, shoulders hunched over as he worked, Jed made a small circle with the stones in the corner under the hole. He used his body to shield it as he worked. The rain was still thundering down, but it was slightly quieter in here.

The kindling was laid out, then the sticks, cut down to the right length and made into a teepee. Jed took the stones and started striking them together, waiting for a spark. It took him a few tries. He was out of practice—it’d been a long-ass time since he’d had to do survival shit—but eventually he got a tiny tendril of smoke curling up from the leaves. He bent down, ear on the ground next to the fire pit, pursing his lips and blowing gentle, encouraging breaths to fan the start of the flames.

Several aching minutes later, they had a fire.

Sagging back, Jed ran a hand through his hair. “You okay?” he asked, turning to Redford, rubbing his hands briskly along Redford’s arms. “Cold? Come on, switch me spots. Get closer to the fire.”

Redford was too busy beaming at him, like he’d
invented
fire. “You’re a genius,” he told Jed, holding his hands out to the flame. He didn’t look especially bothered by being soaked, instead leaning up close against Jed to share their mutual shivers. “Can you predict the weather too?”

“If I could do that, we’d still be in the damn car,” Jed grumbled. He hauled Redford into his lap, frowning as he kept up his brisk rubbing down Redford’s arms and then to his chest, trying to get him warm, to stop him from shivering. “Seriously, Fido, let’s focus on getting you warmed up.”

Redford shifted, getting comfortable in Jed’s lap, hooking his own arms over Jed’s to keep both wrapped tight around his waist. “In those books I’m reading, everybody always warms up using body heat,” he said, so matter-of-fact. “You know, in
Her Lovelorn Wolf
.”

And that was the last time Jed let Redford have free rein of the library. The guy totally judged all books by their covers—and once he’d seen that title, the wolf on the cover, the Fabio look-alike, there’d been no talking him out of it. Cheesy, bodice-ripping romances weren’t exactly Jed’s thing, but Redford had devoured it with the same enthusiasm as he’d ripped through Chaucer and that really big book of sexual positions. Apparently, Redford was the pansexual of the book world. If it had writing, he’d read it, and then earnestly quote it to Jed for the next week.

He shouldn’t find that as endearing as he did.

Jed nipped Redford’s shoulder with a low, rumbling sigh. “That is a terrible title,” he said for the umpteenth time. But Redford did have a very interesting point. First Jed dug his gun out of the holster, his knife out of his boot, checking both. They’d stayed nice and dry, thankfully. Jed never bought a holster that couldn’t stand up to a flood.

After peeling off his shirt, he found a twig to hang it on. He did the same with Redford’s. Hopefully they’d dry out a bit. Hauling Redford in close, arms wrapping around him, Jed rubbed his chin along the slope of Redford’s shoulders. “This more like what you’re imagining, darlin’?”

“It’s not exactly what the books describe, but on the bright side, neither of us has potential pneumonia.” Redford laughed, taking Jed’s hands in his. “And that is a
great
title.”

“You’re crazy,” Jed murmured, far more interested in tracking kisses along the back of Redford’s neck. “Are you going to tell me what we’re missing?”

“Well,” Redford said thoughtfully, “at that point in the story, the protagonists aren’t certain about what they feel for each other. But they realize, by being vulnerable, that they really do love each other. And then there’s declarations of love.” He paused, leaning his head back against Jed’s neck, and said, perfectly genuinely, “I love you, Jed.”

Well, who was he to argue with that? Jed huffed a laugh, trailing fingers across Redford’s cheek. “I love you too.” And then, with absolute sincerity, “Please stop reading romance novels.”

Redford’s laugh was a rusty purr of a noise, louder and freer than Jed had often heard from the man. When he’d pulled Redford out of the cage of his dead grandmother’s house, he hadn’t looked like a man who even knew what laughing
was
. Now his shoulders shook with it, the corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement. “Never,” Redford said solemnly.

God, Jed loved that laugh. He wished he could bottle it, could wrap it around himself like a comfortable coat. If he could hear just one more thing before dying, just one last sound, it’d be those words—
I love you, Jed
, said like he mattered, like he meant something—and that laugh, it’d be Redford’s voice surrounding him.

Which is not to say he didn’t hitch up an eyebrow at Redford before very deliberately flipping them over. Blanketing Redford, Jed leaned in, biting his lower lip. “Never?” he asked, threatening. Really, he was very threatening, as he slowly rolled his hips against Redford’s.

“Never,” Redford promised, a light of mischief—and heat—in his eyes. “We’ll have a pile of them on our bedside table until we’re eighty.”

There was an emotion choking in Jed’s throat at that, some intense vulnerability that Redford always seemed to draw out of him. “Eighty?” he asked, rubbing his thumb along Redford’s jaw. “Promise?”

“I’m actually planning for us to live longer than eighty,” Redford said, leaning into Jed’s hand. “But I’ll get rid of the romance books then. I’ll spare you a few years of seeing me read them.” His teasing expression softened. “I promise.”

Leaning in, Jed caught those words in a kiss. He pressed them between them, fingers threading through Redford’s hair, a smile lost against Redford’s lips. “You’re not going to get sick of me before then?”

“Never,” Redford murmured. He reached up to cup Jed’s face in his hands. “Since you’ll still be trying to do these jobs when you’re eighty, I’ll be close behind every step of the way.” That mischievous little smirk came back. “Except then I’ll be trying to nag you sit down instead of handing you your gun.”

“You like to handle my gun,” Jed returned, grinning. He leaned in to nuzzle kisses against Redford’s throat. Their fingers laced, and he guided Redford’s hand down to cup the front of his jeans, laughing against Redford’s skin. “See? It’s just your size.”

He felt Redford turn his head, pressing his nose to Jed’s throat. “You smell like other wolves,” Redford muttered.

“Yeah, probably.” Jed frowned, turning to sniff his own arm. He just caught a faint whiff of deodorant and the slightly earthy scent of mud and rain. Then again, he didn’t have Redford’s nose. “Kinda surrounded by them.” This was not really the topic he’d been going for, so he smirked, lightly nipping at Redford’s jaw. “Not a lot of room in here, but I think we could try for some of that body heat if we’re careful.”

Redford shifted under him like he wanted to roll them over—Jed recognized that movement of his shoulders, the way his expression would get a little stubborn—but there was a tree on one side and a fire on the other. Instead, Redford hooked a hand around the back of Jed’s neck, bringing him down again so Redford could kiss his throat, inhaling deeply. “Telling you to stay away from other wolves would probably be weird, right?”

“Maybe impossible,” Jed agreed, voice dipping down to a rumble. He turned as much as he could, back now pressed against the tree and the logs, lying on his side to face Redford. There was a flare of yellow in Redford’s eyes, a flash of instincts rising to the surface. “I’d say we just go home but…. I don’t know. I guess I feel kind of responsible for the furry idiots. And the princess. Something stinks here, for sure.” Jed paused, frowning, thumb touching the corner of Redford’s eye. “You okay, sweetheart?”

There was that saying, leopards changing stripes or whatever. Spots. Whatever the fuck leopards had. In any case, in Cairo, he’d seen that look on Redford’s face. Some mix between hurt and insecurity and the
possession
he craved. His instincts craved. Whichever—maybe there wasn’t a difference at all. Point was, Jed knew that expression, and he used to think he knew what caused it. He’d gotten so used to flirting with every older guy with a fat cock he’d kind of forgotten how to
not
. But Redford had hated it. Never really said much, a few things here and there, but Jed had put enough pieces together to realize that it was hurting Redford.