Bloodlines (53 page)

“No, no, not at all,” Victor assured. “I wanted to give you something.”

He held out the package to Randall. It was tidily wrapped in brown paper, and from the shape of it, it had to be a book. Stunned, Randall reached out, taking it and staring at it like it was something he’d never seen before. He looked back up at Victor, unsure. “You brought me a gift?”

“It’s merely something I wanted you to have.” Victor looked faintly embarrassed. “It’s not in the best condition, I’m afraid.”

Randall could feel the smile starting on his lips. He ducked his head to hide it, carefully tearing the paper from the package. It was, indeed, a book.
Carry On, Jeeves
, by P.G. Wodehouse. It was, as stated, in somewhat rough condition, the edges of the pages yellowed with age and use, but it was obviously not suffering from neglect. This was a cherished tome. Randall could see the love that had gone into turning the pages. The grin on Randall’s face couldn’t possibly be masked as anything but delight now. With reverent fingers, he opened it, caressing the well-worn paper. He leaned down and took a deep breath, delighting in the unique scent of a carefully handled old book. “I love it,” he told Victor honestly, eyes rising to him. “Thank you, Victor. I will treasure it.”

“It’s my favorite,” Victor replied, still sounding a bit awkward but obviously relieved that Randall liked his gift. He reached down to turn the pages back to the start, revealing the carefully handwritten notation on the inside cover:
Victor Rathbone, age 6
. “Have you read Wodehouse?”

It wasn’t just a book. It wasn’t just a nice title that Victor enjoyed, that he’d picked up in some used-book shop and passed on. This was
his
book, Victor’s, and Randall knew how people like them felt about such things. It was a nice gift, to share a story you had enjoyed. It was an intensely intimate, completely amazing gift to give away a book you’d grown up owning. Victor’s hands had touched this cover, had turned these pages, countless times before. He’d fallen asleep with this book, he’d woken up and reached for it, he’d carried it with him and read it over and over, delighting in the places and characters it held.

It was a part of him. It was a piece of who he was, of what made up the man he’d become. To receive a bibliophile’s book was like sharing in their soul.

Randall wasn’t easily impressed by material goods. He didn’t understand the point of jewelry. He thought flowers were nice but could be overdone. Chocolates were a decent dessert.
This
, though. This was the most romantic gift he could imagine receiving.

“I haven’t,” he managed, torn between staring at the pages and at Victor, stunned. “This will be my first.”

Did Victor intend for this to be so important? Perhaps it was simply an extra copy, or maybe Victor didn’t put such a hefty weight on his books. Maybe it was a consolation gift, given out of some sense of pity. Randall couldn’t tell. Victor couldn’t meet his eyes directly, the nuances of Victor’s scent were unfamiliar to Randall, and he hadn’t realized how much he relied on those things until they were taken out of the equation.

“I’m glad.” He could see Victor’s smile, though, the way it touched the corners of his eyes. “This book has always been the one thing I’d literally take to the grave with me, but… it’s helped me through some difficult times. I’d hoped it might do the same for you.”

Throat tight, Randall studied Victor’s face, feeling as though he should say something, do something,
be
something more, something worth receiving a gift like that. “Thank you,” was all he could think to say, his voice low and thick with emotion. He stood then, reaching out to lightly touch Victor’s arm before he forced his hand to fall away. “I truly can’t think of anything I could cherish more.”

Even if it meant nothing to Victor, Randall knew he would treasure the book. Even if Victor never felt the way Randall did, it didn’t diminish Randall’s own emotions. It just made them a bit lonelier, was all.

“Good.” Victor smiled tentatively at him again. “May I sit, if you’re looking for company?”

Randall really was trying not to read too much into this. He’d pushed twice, he’d kissed Victor, and while both times had been amazing, it had been abundantly clear that Victor was… well,
confused
at best. Randall had decided to step back and let Victor have the easy out he obviously wanted. But he was smiling at Victor as he nodded, gesturing to the steps of the porch and taking his own seat again. He was cradling the book carefully, absently rubbing his thumb along the spine.

“I feel a little useless,” Randall said, forcing himself to stop staring at Victor. “All this activity and I’m not doing much to help.” Their knees were budged lightly together. Randall stared at the point of connection, raising his eyes to Victor’s face as heat flushed his cheeks. He was being ridiculous. He really needed to stop overreacting to everything. “Have you ever participated in a solstice celebration?”

Victor gave a muted chuckle. “Only once or twice. I’m afraid parties aren’t really my thing.” Even from this distance, the light of the bonfire flickered over his features, reflecting off his glasses. “The celebrations I’m invited to tend to be quite different than this.”

When Randall looked back at the partying wolves, Edwin was dancing with one of the women he’d been trying to charm earlier. The food was out, and there were clusters of wolves coming in to eat, a small group of people with instruments playing a light, springy tune. The preparations looked to be finished, and now the party was beginning.

“Oh?” Randall wasn’t much interested in joining in. He’d much rather sit and get to know Victor. Which might be incredibly lame, but Randall thought if the pack really was going to be leaving in a week, he should take this chance. “I’ve never really been to, uh, anything like this. The group I went to Egypt with had a bar crawl the night before we left, but I didn’t last very long.” He gave Victor a sheepish look. “Not a big drinker, I guess.” He’d actually wound up singing bad karaoke and then passing out after kissing the bartender. Randall referred to that night as
the time we do not speak of
. There was a reason Randall didn’t go out drinking.

“Neither.” Victor was smiling, from what Randall could see of his face. “This is very wolfish. The solstice celebrations I keep getting invited to year after year are actually through contacts and friends that my parents had. I was never interested in joining that particular group for partying, but they keep insisting.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Edwin take the arm of another girl who was walking past, pulling her into the growing group of wolves dancing around the fire. It was, indeed, very wolfish. The stars were barely visible, the sun still hovering on the horizon, the smell of meat along with the smoke of the bonfire. Randall caught Anthony’s eye across the way and smiled at him, nodding to Edwin. Anthony grinned back. In that moment, Randall felt perfectly content. “Are your parents still with you?” Randall asked, turning back to Victor.

“Oh no, they died quite some time ago,” Victor replied. “They were good people, but I do despise their friends.” He turned his head slightly to look at Randall, and, as if knowing what he was going to ask next, said, “My mother was the one with the medusa blood. I was very young when they died, and I’m not sure if their car accident was the result of her mind letting go, but I suspect that was the case.”

A frown flickered across Randall’s face. “I’m so sorry, Victor,” he murmured, his hand, almost of its own accord, going to rest lightly against Victor’s arm. There was nothing more he could say, so he just sat there, turned toward Victor, fingers gently wrapped around his arm.

“Thank you.” To Randall’s surprise, Victor placed his own hand over Randall’s. “They maintained connections in the half-blood world. There’s a sort of, er, pretend high society where some of them are considerably snootier than other half-blood breeds. I want nothing to do with it, but the invites keep coming. Though I’m not a fan of parties, I must say I appreciate the honesty of wolves much more.”

Marveling at how warm Victor’s hand was, how dry and smooth his fingers were, Randall dared to hook one of his fingers around Victor’s. “They are rather enjoying themselves, aren’t they?” he half laughed, turning to watch. The food was a big hit, half the meat being cooked, the other half laid out fresh and raw. Edwin ran past with the two women, chasing after a man in a wild dance, catching the male wolf and swinging him around with a happy laugh. The four of them danced together, Edwin happily flinging his arms around whomever was closest.

“There’s food,” Randall pointed out, throat a bit dry, not sure what one did in circumstances like this. He desperately wanted to point out they were all but holding hands, but at the same time, he was certain that making an issue of it would mean it would end. “Should we try some?” He gave Victor a shy, hopeful smile. “I’ll be brave if you will. I’m sure they have to have something you’ll like.”

“I’m sure they will.”

Randall only barely picked up the murmured words, but before he could ponder too long about what sounded like a double meaning in them, Victor was standing beside him, using his free hand to dust off his pants. Victor released Randall’s hand but offered his crooked arm instead. Randall couldn’t even begin to stop his pleased grin. He tucked the book safely by the doorway, and, standing himself, he slipped his arm through Victor’s, laughing again lowly as they made their way together down to the celebration.

The drums started to thrum in the air as the bonfire grew ever larger, feeding on the wood underneath it. Summer solstice was a day more potent than the full moon.

Edwin was now with a huge group that had turned into one of the most primal, raw dances Randall had ever seen. They all looked more wolflike now than they did in their actual fur, eyes gleaming yellow in the dying light, toothy grins and casual touch. Edwin danced with Mallory, a woman with bouncy blonde curls behind him. He raised his chin to the sky and howled. The others echoed his cry, and Randall felt a surge of heat through him, a sudden wish to
run
, to strip down and dance under the moon, to greet the summer with fur and teeth and a full-throated yell.

Randall stumbled to a halt, eyes closing, taking in a deep breath. His heart was echoing the beat of the music. The howls that reverberated around them thrummed through his veins. Even on the moons, he’d never felt a pull
this
strong. He knew his eyes would be yellow, his voice dropping to a low growl as he shook off the sudden thrill through him. “Sorry,” he murmured, rubbing a hand through his hair. “That’s…. I don’t know what that is.”

Victor had come to a stop beside him, watching him curiously, a strange light in his eyes. “Er. Yes, no, that’s quite all right. Absolutely all right. You—yes. Carry on.”

Randall took another deep inhale, smelling meat, smelling wolves, but above all he could smell
Victor
. Tea and dry scales over rock, books, power, and cinnamon, all the things Randall knew as Victor, only
more
somehow. More immediate. More urgent. Randall’s hand slid up Victor’s chest, heat flushing through him as he tangled his fingers into the hair at the base of Victor’s neck. “Come on,” he murmured, more daring as the music rose higher, as the sun disappeared and the half-full moon slipped into her rightful place.

Tugging Victor with him out into the throb of wolves dancing, Randall grinned, moving with the music. He wasn’t graceful, no, but God it felt good. “It’s the solstice,” he said, leaning in close to Victor’s ear to be heard. “I think we should participate. For research purposes, of course.”

“You want
me
to dance?” Victor looked nothing less than terrified at the idea. “I’m not sure that’s a very good idea. Not unless you want to unleash chaos.”

Randall just laughed. He wouldn’t normally be doing this either, except there was the beat of the drums, the high thrill of the music, the sound and scents of an entire pack of wolves welcoming the solstice. He felt so
wolfish
that
not
participating seemed impossible. “Come on, medusa,” he teased, arms wrapping loosely around Victor’s neck. “It’s not a ritual dance. The old gods won’t be displeased if we’re terrible. Unless you’d rather I stop bothering you and let you go back to your cabin?” It was a legitimate question, Randall waiting, unsure, for the answer.

He could see his own yellow gaze reflected back at him in Victor’s glasses, the man’s downcast eyelashes providing only the smallest peek at Victor’s actual eyes, blue lit brighter by the fire. And although he still looked horrified at the idea of dancing, Victor started to relax. He put one hand on Randall’s hip, unsure of his movements.

“If there’s dancing to be done, I cannot think of a more ideal partner,” Victor said.

Randall’s smile was softer. He rested his forehead on Victor’s, closing his eyes so that Victor wouldn’t have to worry about meeting them by accident. “You confuse me so much, my Beatrice,” he murmured. “And yet I’ve never been happier to not know the answers.”

They moved together, somewhat slower and definitely more restrained than the wild whirl of wolves around them. But it was perfect. Randall relaxed into Victor’s arms, laughing as they experimentally spun around. Randall caught sight of Jed and Redford at the edge of the group, swaying together, completely caught up in each other. He nudged Victor and nodded toward them. Apparently someone had finally made up.

Victor made an amused noise low in his throat. Where he might have speculated, he instead just turned his attention back to Randall. Even when Edwin spun by in the arms of yet another partner, dragging Mallory behind him, Victor didn’t seem to notice. All that was happening around them, and Victor was focused only on Randall. He had to admit, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with the attention.

They gravitated closer without conscious thought, at first only their knees and arms brushing together, then more, then closer still until there was no space between them at all. Victor pressed his cheek lightly against Randall’s, his arms hooked low around Randall’s back. Every inch of Randall responded, every part of him feeling as though it had been formed only to fit in against those parts of Victor. Taking a low, shuddering breath, Randall turned his head, nudging his nose in under Victor’s ear.