Bloodlines (42 page)

“Where the fuck do you get that idea?” Jed bit back.

“Because you’re fighting it so damn hard.” Randall squared his shoulders, meeting Jed’s eyes boldly. “If you really just thought we were idiots and it was a bad idea, you’d insult us, get in your van, and go. But you’re actively arguing for the other option. You’re scared.”

“Fuck you.” Jed folded his arms tight across his chest. But he also didn’t deny it.

“I’m scared too,” Randall murmured. “I don’t want to fight. That’s not who I am. But it’s the logical choice. Running will only prolong this.”

Redford only had eyes for Jed right then. He took Jed’s elbow, getting his attention. When he spoke, it was so low that Victor barely heard him. “I know why you don’t want to do this. I know it’s hard. But if we leave without helping them, they
will
die. By being here we can help make sure they survive.”

Head bowing, Jed let out a slow breath. “What are you going to do when they die, Red? How am I going to look you in the eye when I force you to kill someone? That’s what
I
do, babe, not you.”

“I’ve already killed,” Redford said gently. “And it hurt. And I felt bad about it. But then I remembered that I did it for us. Because I love you, and because I’m not the guy stuck in my grandmother’s basement anymore. I’m free, and I chose this, because you showed me a better life.”

Once again, Victor was starting to feel supremely awkward. Did he have a talent for walking in on intimate conversations?

“And when these wolves go to war,” Redford continued, “some of them will die. And I’ll be upset about that too, but at least I’ll know that we
tried
.”

“It’s not better,” Jed muttered, stare firmly fixed on the ground. “Doesn’t matter how right it was to kill those guys, there shouldn’t ever be blood on your hands. Not yours. Jesus, Red, it’s not
better
. It’s a cage. I’m keeping you in a goddamn cage, just like….” He broke off, rubbing a hand across his face, all but biting back the rest of that sentence. “Fine,” he sighed, louder, refusing to look at anyone. “Fine, I’ll fucking train the Lassie squad.”

“
We’ll
train them,” Redford corrected. Victor noted that he didn’t bring up the cage comment again.

“Yeah, great. We’ll train them.” Jed’s arms were crossed tightly across his chest, brow furrowed.

“Thank you,” Randall attempted, only to have Jed growl under his breath and stomp off in the direction of his and Redford’s cabin. Randall looked a bit deflated, but he turned to Redford, sincerity in his voice, and tried again. “Thank you. For what you’re going to do.”

Redford looked uncomfortable at the praise, but he did smile slightly. “We’re all wolves, right? Wolves should stick together.”

The first time Victor had met Redford, the man had practically hidden behind anything bigger than he was to avoid seeing other people. The fact that he was smiling at Randall and tentatively including himself in a group was a rather big improvement.

“Although I don’t know how much gun training would really help,” Redford admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Everybody here would rather fight as a wolf.”

“Then you and Jed can teach them that.” Victor nodded over at the group of wolves lazing around near the fire. “See them? They may have hunting instincts, but that isn’t knowledge of what to do in a fight against someone with a gun.”

“You are going to save us,” Randall said, so fervently, so absolute in his belief. “Think of the security, the patrols, all the dozens of tiny details that no one here considers. Those are what’s going to be the difference between survival and being wiped out.”

Redford seemed even more uncomfortable now, his gaze firmly fixed on the ground. “It’s… um. Just—it’s nothing,” he stuttered, unable to get words out. “You’re welcome? It might not even be an issue. The Gray Lady still hasn’t decided what she wants to do. But if she decides to fight, we’re, um, we’re glad to help.”

Randall took an awkward step forward, arms going half out, almost as if for a hug. Redford gave him a startled glance, and Randall wound up patting Redford’s shoulder, looking highly uncomfortable and very much like he wasn’t sure what to do with his body. “Yes, well. Right. Just in case. Thank you again.” A beat and he sighed, shoving his glasses farther up on his nose. “I’m sorry. My brothers are so much better at this sort of thing.”

Victor rubbed a hand over his mouth to hide his amused smirk. This was the third awkward thing he’d seen so far today, but this one was actually quite endearing.

“It’s okay,” Redford told Randall. “I’m not very good at, um, hugs either. But you are welcome. I don’t think I could stand by and do nothing to help. Even if I have to drag Jed, kicking and screaming, with me.”

“Redford!” The dulcet tones of Journey Walker came floating back toward them. “Come on. I ain’t doing this alone. Let’s look at some goddamn maps.”

Redford ducked his head, but Victor could see the curve of a pleased little smile tug at his lips. “I’ll see you two later,” he said and took off at a quick pace toward Jed.

Victor still wasn’t entirely sure what was going on between Jed and Redford, but as long as they were willingly working together and not gouging each other’s eyeballs out, he frankly didn’t care all that much. He watched Randall as Randall’s gaze followed Redford, a small tinge of what might have been longing touching his expression.

“I should probably let you get back to… well, whatever it is you were going to do today.” Randall didn’t look at Victor, purposefully keeping his eyes anywhere but Victor’s face. “I’m sure that watching paint dry would be more interesting to you than following me around.”

“I rather think following you around would be the highlight of my day.” Victor said the words before he really thought about them, and was surprised to find himself genuinely meaning them. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

Blinking rapidly, Randall fumbled off his glasses to clean them aggressively on the edge of his shirt. “Uh. No. I haven’t yet.” Shyly, he glanced over at Victor. “I suppose I did promise Ant to have fun. And I don’t think that counted.”

“Awkward hugs don’t count as fun?” Victor lifted his eyebrows, pretending to be surprised. “I’m shocked.”

“Yes, well, I am out of practice.” Randall’s mouth twisted up into a half smile. “Usually I leave the emotional displays to my brothers. I’m a sorry excuse for a wolf, I’m afraid.”

“Who said that wolves have to be emotionally open?” Victor wasn’t entirely sure where
that
particular myth had come from. “Is there even a basis in reality for that stereotype?”

They’d fallen into step beside each other. Victor couldn’t remember if he’d moved first or if Randall had, but their gaits were in easy sync. “Not really.” Randall rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, I suppose the idea comes from the fact we’re all supposed to be wild creatures, howling at the moon. But in my limited experience, wolves are pretty much like people. We have personalities. We have different opinions and emotions. We feel things… more intensely than humans, I think. And there are certain things, like the idea of mates or pack, that I think might be unique. But not being rough and tumble doesn’t make me any less wolfish, no. At least, not in my opinion.”

From anybody else, Victor would—rather hypocritically, he was aware—get bored of the lecture. From Randall, however, he found himself listening intently to Randall speak, wanting to ask him for more information. “Not in any opinion, I should hope,” Victor replied. “It does make me feel thankful that medusas are quite rare. We have no stereotypes.”

Other than eventually going crazy, but that was less of a stereotype and more of an absolutely certainly. And this conversation was rather pleasant. Victor didn’t want to make it morbid.

“I have observed that you wolves do seem to feel things rather intensely,” he then agreed. “But I must admit I’ve never understood the ‘mates’ thing. Isn’t that just… falling in love, the same way everybody else does?”

Randall huffed out a little laugh, as if amused by Victor’s assumption. He didn’t answer straightaway, though. They climbed the steps to the dining hall, slipping in easily with the last stragglers of the breakfast rush. The room was nearly empty when they found an out-of-the-way table to sit at, their trays filled with tea, muffins, and bowls of fruit. Randall had a small plate of sausages, thankfully cooked, but he ignored them in favor of sipping his tea first. He kept glancing at Victor, as if trying to decide how much he should say.

“It’s like….” He paused, taking off his glasses to fiddle with them, long fingers twirling the earpiece like he needed something to do with his hands. “It’s the difference between a paper cut and breaking your arm.” Randall cut a quick look over toward Victor. “Both are injuries, yes, but the degree between them is enormous.” Again that little huffed out laugh, almost embarrassed, and Randall took a sip of his tea. “I think, from my interactions with humans, that wolves feel things so much more intensely. We hold onto them so much more tightly. My brother, for example. Anthony fell for this guy who used to live near us. Vilhehn. God, Anthony was head over heels. Never knew he was into men, and maybe he isn’t. Maybe it was just Vil. But then Vil’s family moved away and him with them. This was something like eight years ago? And Anthony still isn’t over it. Sure, he’s dated a couple of times, but nothing… nothing at all like that again. Maybe not ever.”

“That,” Victor said, feeling the need to be perfectly honest, “sounds horrifying. You mean he’s incapable of moving on?”

“It is horrifying,” Randall sighed, meticulously cutting into his sausage. “I don’t know. I don’t know if he
can’t
or he
won’t
. I’ve never been in love like that. I don’t know what it does to lose it again.” He very quickly looked up at Victor before redirecting his gaze firmly back to his breakfast. “I’ve heard of wolves pining for dead mates for decades. For the rest of their lives, even. It’s just… a
mate
isn’t something you simply get over. Once you find someone you’re compatible with, once you fall that deeply, you want to bring them into your pack. All you want is to make them a part of your life, to protect them. Pack, for wolves, is more than family. It’s more than blood. It’s a survival instinct. We have a biological need to surround ourselves with those we care about.”

Victor would point out that the biological need for family wasn’t limited to wolves alone, but he knew the distinction Randall was attempting to make. “So wolves are a lot closer to their ingrained biological instincts than humans are,” he concluded. “Does that play into exactly who you fall in love with? It’s not star-crossed or predestined, surely?”

Randall snorted loudly. “Oh, yes. We smell them from afar.” A quick grin crossed his face. “No, we date, we break up, just like humans. Just like medusas, I expect, though I don’t have evidence to support that. But once we fall, we fall so much harder than it seems like others do. We….” Randall seemed to be struggling to find the right words. “We
ache
for them. We yearn. It burrows down into our bones. To mate means a lifetime commitment. A wolf is very particular about who they’re going to spend time with, because if we fall in that kind of love, it’s difficult to find our way out again.”

Victor fell silent as he digested that information, picking at the fruit salad he’d gotten. It was all rather fascinating, and he was glad that Randall was so willing to discuss it with an outsider. “I have no clue if anything about my medusa blood determines how I fall in love,” he said, amused at the idea of it. “Likely not, and I’m grateful for it. Can you imagine if it did? I’d probably turn people to stone or become a raging snake.”

“I don’t think that’s a medusa’s true ability.” Randall said it blandly, as if they were discussing an academic matter. His expression, though, was warm as he studied Victor’s face. “You know people. You pluck the future from their heads, the past from their hearts. You share that with them. For one who keeps himself so alone, Victor, you are a very intimate, entwined being. It’s confusing.”

“I’ll agree with you there,” Victor said wryly. He didn’t aim the wryness
at
Randall. Instead, he included him in it, giving him a smile as they silently acknowledged the trouble with everything that Victor had seen in Randall’s mind. “I’m actually rather lucky to not have a stronger strain of medusa blood than I do. They never turned people into stone, but they did hollow them out and remove them of all feelings and memories.” He stabbed a strawberry with his fork, frowning. “I’m not sure I’d feel comfortable even going out into public if I did
that
.”

“Do you regret it?” Randall spoke after a long moment of silence, chasing a grape around his plate. “Seeing me?”

“No.” Victor didn’t even have to think about that answer. “I’ve never regretted it with anybody. I fear what it one day may do to my mind, yes, but it’s….” He trailed off, for a moment unable to think of a suitable way to say it. “It
is
intimate, and I miss out on a great deal of intimacy by never being able to look another person in the eye.”

Quiet for several beats, Randall reached out to take Victor’s hand. He lightly guided it up to rest Victor’s fingers against the corners of his eyes. “You’ve seen me,” he pointed out, very softly. “Would you see it all again if you looked?” Victor could feel the gentle crinkle of his smile under his fingertips. “Don’t risk it. I’m just curious.”

“I’m not sure,” Victor admitted. “I have a theory that I’d see nothing, if nothing had changed since the last time I looked at you. But there’s no way to be sure of that, and I’ve never tested it.” He’d never been able to find any accounts of it either. Medusas were notoriously bad at writing down things for later generations, seeing as they all went insane.

Randall’s hands dropped away from his, but Victor was a little slow in removing his own hand from Randall’s face. He had one cupped around Randall’s cheek, his thumb brushing the very edge of Randall’s eye. For a long few seconds, Victor didn’t move, feeling Randall lean against his palm.