Bloodlines (55 page)

“I love eating outside,” Randall admitted as they started to eat. “There’s something about having the stars as your chandelier or a beautiful afternoon as your lamplight.” He laughed, poking his fork into the steak. “Probably the most wolfish thing about me.”

Victor smiled as he ate. “I think medusas must have lived in caves,” he replied. “I’m at my happiest in dimly lit libraries. Then again, it may just have something to do with the fact that I attract mosquitoes by the flock.”

“I had my first kiss in a library,” Randall informed him, grinning, ducking his head. “I was, uh, sixteen I think. There was this boy in my class who I think might have been sent on a dare. I was back doing research in the history section. He came up and gave me a peck on the cheek and then ran away. We never spoke again.”

“I have a library at home.” Victor was giving Randall a look out of the corner of his eye. “With a far superior collection than you’d normally find in public libraries.”

A beat passed, and Randall could feel a flush starting on his cheeks. “Oh?” he managed, trying to sound casual. “That sounds very interesting.” Darting a quick look over at Victor, he tried to control his smile. “Do you have a history section?”

“An extremely thorough one,” Victor replied. “I even have a few books on subjects like Sarah Tarrant.”

“Oh, I have recently discovered how thorough you are,” Randall murmured. “I think I’d like to see further evidence of that fact.”

Victor flushed, though the hesitance he’d once worn didn’t make an appearance. “I’d like that too. Would you like to dance some more? You were….” Victor paused, maybe to gather his thoughts. “You were stunning out there.”

Taking in a slow breath, Randall stared down at his plate. No one had ever said anything like that to him before. His mind scrambled through every book he’d read, all the stories, trying to think how to respond. Nothing came to mind. No tale he’d ever read, nothing he’d experienced, prepared him for the exquisite jolt of warmth through him, the nervous flutter in his stomach, the way his whole being seemed attuned to the tone of Victor’s voice, the slight hitch in his words, the breath he let slide out as Randall remained silent.

Setting the food aside, Randall took a large gulp of his wine—it was stronger than he expected, and he coughed, wincing. But it gave him a little shot of courage, enough to stand, holding out his hand to Victor. Their fingers laced, and Randall pulled him in close, arms sliding around Victor’s waist. The music from the celebration was softer now, slower, with a raw throb through each of the notes. Randall rested his forehead against Victor’s as they swayed together, the red light of the fire bathing Victor’s skin.

“You are so beautiful,” Randall murmured. “I don’t even know what to say to you half the time. I’m certain you think I’m a complete idiot.”

“I think you’re the smartest man I’ve ever met.” Victor curled his fingers into the hair at Randall’s nape. “I went out to a bar last night. I wound up having a conversation with a brownie half blood. He managed to simplify things, about my feelings for you, for me in a way that I hadn’t managed in my own mind.”

“You met a brownie?” Pulling back, Randall searched Victor’s face. “Really? What was he like? Did you know, I read a theory once that the alleged English and Scottish versions are actually their gender divisions? The English are the females and the Scottish are the males. Well, their equivalent, it’s actually not certain how they reproduce, and one book I read heavily implied that they don’t actually have two separate genders at all.”

Victor laughed lowly and turned them slightly so Randall was looking over Victor’s shoulder to the bonfire. “You could ask him yourself. He’s right there.”

There was a redheaded man talking with Edwin, the two of them laughing and dancing together in a loose-limbed sway around the fire. Randall grinned, shaking his head. “Leave it to my brother,” he murmured. “I swear, he’d fall in love with anyone and everyone.” His gaze returned to Victor. “I think I’m fine right here, though. I’ve found a much more interesting topic of study.”

“As have I.” Victor huffed in amusement. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to go near him unless you want a secondhand high. Never in my life have I met someone who was that much of a stoner.”

Crap. Randall started to laugh helplessly, watching Edwin and the brownie dance. “Well, then. Oh, Edwin. I hope Anthony stays close by. I shudder to think of Edwin on a munchie bender.” But it seemed innocent enough. The two of them collapsed in a heap together, Edwin happily cuddling and staring up at the sky. Randall’s attention was caught by Victor’s fingers lightly playing through his hair. His eyes half closed and he sighed, rocking into the touch.

“A terrifying thought,” Victor agreed in a hum. He sounded distracted. There was more focus in the movement of his fingers than in his words. Every stroke seemed to pull Randall in closer, like the sensation was a hook straight to his gut, and he found he was making a low rumble of noise in approval.

Around them, the music turned into a slow drumbeat, every pulse of it in the air seemingly matching the heartbeats of those around them. Randall could feel it in Victor’s chest, pushed close against his, could hear it whenever Victor swayed closer. Some of the wolves around them had turned, playfully chasing one another or slumped over one another in piles of fur.

“What was simplified?” Randall asked, blinking the heavy, languid pleasure away so he could try and focus on words and not the feel of Victor’s body pressed tight against his own. “You said… before, you said things were made simpler. What did you mean?”

“I’d be happy to tell you the specifics, if you like. For now, I’m not sure details matter.” Victor smoothed a hand down Randall’s spine, coming to rest at the small of his back. “I was very confused about how I felt about you. Now I know.”

Strange, how so few words could completely stop his heart. Randall wished desperately he could look into Victor’s eyes, just for a moment, to search out the meaning without having to hear the almost certain rejection. Victor’s hand was like a brand on his back, their breaths all but intermingling, but Randall couldn’t let himself believe this was happening. He didn’t want to feel the disappointment again. “What do you know?” he finally dared to ask, gaze dropping away. “Or… no, don’t tell me. This night, it’s perfect. And I don’t have many perfect nights. I can just pretend, if you don’t say it.”

“Now I’m not sure if I
should
respond.” Victor chuckled. “Isn’t it obvious, Randall? I’d hardly be dancing with you if I didn’t want to, and believe me, I’ve done some very out-of-my-way things to get out of dancing.” Their movements slowed as Victor looked up, his eyes coming so close to meeting Randall’s that he must be staring mere millimeters away from Randall’s pupil. “I can’t say for sure whatever our future would hold. But I do know that I’d like to see what happens.”

There was a long beat of silence, and Randall was careful, so very careful, not to move his gaze downward to meet Victor’s. Instead he just tried to parse out all Victor’s words, sifting through each syllable, each inflection and drop of tone, trying to make sure he understood. Trying to convince himself it was real.

“I’ve never been, uh, with anyone before,” he murmured, voice low and hoarse. “I want…. I want to. With you. If you do. I mean to say….” It was a lot harder to say this than Randall had been expecting. “I’d like it if you were my first.”

Victor obviously hadn’t been expecting that so quickly. He blinked, clearly startled, and had to close his eyes—maybe because he was afraid of instinctively looking into Randall’s. “Inexperience doesn’t matter,” he said, a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. “And I’d like that too.”

Relief hit Randall, and he grinned, giddy, so incredibly thankful he hadn’t said something horribly wrong. Fingers hooking into the front of Victor’s shirt, he lightly tugged Victor in, their lips meeting. The kiss unfolded with an aching slowness, a flame of want slipping in under Randall’s skin, hooking down into his gut, shuddering through him with a groan. “Your cabin?” Randall mumbled between kisses, hands sliding down to curl around Victor’s hips. “Please, Victor.”

“You’re sure?” Concern wasn’t an emotion immediately evident in Victor’s face, but it was there. “It doesn’t have to happen immediately, Randall. If you’d rather wait—” He broke off as a howl lifted in the air. “—that’s okay with me.”

The night was wild around them, the moon dancing with the stars. The fire burned brighter, painting the world in golds and reds. As the howl lingered in the air, Randall felt the surge of it in his blood, the answering sound tickling at his throat. Wolves around him lifted their own response, and Randall tipped his head back, his full, aching howl joining the chorus.

When he dipped his head back down again, Victor was looking rather flustered. “Now is good,” Victor agreed hurriedly.

The grin that stretched across Randall’s lips was positively feral. Lightly pushing Victor back against the wall of the cabin, Randall followed quickly, blanketing him, biting his lips, his jaw, nuzzling into his neck. “Now,” he murmured, voice a hoarse growl. “I like now.” The scent of the pack was difficult to ignore, the untamed celebration whispering to him, urging him to give in. To let his instincts run free. Randall was beginning to think that might not be such a bad idea. Victor certainly didn’t look like he minded.

“Perhaps my cabin would be the better idea,” Victor attempted to suggest. His hands were raised to Randall’s shirt, white-knuckled. “Otherwise I’m going to start removing clothes right here.”

No matter how much Randall’s instincts were pounding in his veins, howling in the back of his mind, he definitely had no desire to be caught out on a porch with Victor taking his clothes off. So he managed a nod, forcing himself to step back and running his hand through his hair. “Quite,” he agreed, straightening his sweater, pushing his glasses back up on his nose. “Please, lead the way.”

Randall stooped to pick up the book, cradling it close to his chest while they quickly made their way the short distance to Victor’s cabin. Alternating between unrestrained need and his own painful awareness of his inexperience, Randall was practically vibrating with nerves and want.

He needn’t have worried that Victor would be put off by that. As soon as they were inside Victor’s cabin and the door had been shut, Victor was hauling him close for another kiss, fingers working at Randall’s buttons. Neither of them had bothered to turn on a light. The flickering glow from the bonfire, streaming in through the windows, served as illumination enough.

“I have to say, you’re quite attractive when you’re all…
wolfish
,” Victor said lowly. “Not that you’re not normally attractive anyway. But there is a certain something when you are so truly yourself.”

The book was put down on whatever flat surface they happened on first, Randall fumbled off his glasses, blinking as the world swam into slightly softened edges, and his shirt was half unbuttoned before he could even begin to think. “I’m always myself,” he murmured, tugging Victor’s sweater off over his head, smoothing his hands down the broad stretch of Victor’s shoulders. “And you are truly stunning.” There was no point in talking about
him
, Randall thought. He was awkward, unimpressive. Victor, though, hidden under layers, had an absolutely magnificent form.

It seemed like Victor might be thinking the same thing of him. When Victor managed to get Randall’s shirt off, he stared like Randall had recalled he’d done on the night of the full moon. The smile that came over Victor’s face was the closest to a pleased grin as Randall had ever seen on him. Victor didn’t even seem to notice the vampire-given scars. His gaze skipped right over them as if they were just regular skin. Randall would have covered them up again, his hands were even moving to do so, to pull his shirt back up over them and hide, but Victor was right there, kissing him, smiling, as if there was nothing to be ashamed of.

“Bed’s right there,” Victor said, his usual thoughtfulness in his grammar and wording completely vanished. He ignored his own words, though, hands drifting down Randall’s sides as he kissed him again, the edge of need in their actions heightening with every touch. Randall pulled Victor’s T-shirt off of him, sucking in a breath when, at last, he had acres of skin bared for his consideration. Slowly, he dragged his fingers down Victor’s chest, bumping over his nipple, down to the dip of his stomach. Randall’s mouth followed, slow, sucking kisses mapping his trail. Randall hooked one hand into the belt loops of Victor’s trousers and tugged him back toward the bed.

Randall sat on the edge of the mattress, Victor standing between his legs, at the perfect height for Randall to do more exploring. He bit lightly at Victor’s side, tracing his tongue back up to the hollow of Victor’s throat. He stopped there, though, pulling back, unsure. “Can I?” he murmured, hand absently sweeping up and down Victor’s stomach. “Your throat. I…. I don’t want to overstep.” Because there was sex, yes, but baring a throat? That was something else entirely.

Victor had flushed a pale shade of red, his eyes glazed. He opened his mouth to reply and seemed to be unable to. Instead, he nearly met Randall’s eyes again and very deliberately tipped his chin back. “You can do absolutely anything you like,” Victor said lowly, his voice more breath than sound.

The permission sent a vicious thrill through him. Randall didn’t realize how
much
he’d feel that desire, how deeply Victor’s bared throat would affect him. With a rumbling, possessive growl, Randall wrapped his hands around Victor’s hips, yanking him in closer, rising up to stand with Victor, to press closer, stealing his warmth. He nipped at Victor’s shoulder, his chest, leading his way to his neck. Taking his time.

When Randall finally closed his teeth around that beautiful, pale arc, he had to stop, all but trembling, the growl deepening in his throat.

His
. It was thrumming through him, whole body pulsating with it. Victor had tangled a hand in his hair, his grip tight, almost on the verge of pain, keeping Randall exactly where he was.
His
. Randall bit down harder, just enough to dimple the skin with his teeth, to send a flush curling along the skin from his action.