Bloodlines (14 page)

“You smell really good,” Randall said, looking at Victor, immediately looking embarrassed. “God, sorry. I just…. You do, and my mental filter is… lacking right now.”

Victor blinked at him. He was suddenly tempted to take a surreptitious sniff of himself, just to see what Randall was talking about. But his nose was as human as it got. “Thank you? I’m pleased that I’m not offensive, at least.”

Randall grimaced in apology. “I usually spend the full moons hiding with a book. I just blurt things out. It’s rather embarrassing.” He paused and then gave Victor another sideways glance. “And you are definitely not offensive. Believe me.”

Aside from the jitters, aside from the lack of mental filter, Randall
looked
different too. Victor couldn’t quite pin down what it was at first. It was something about the way his eyes seemed darker, his stare more intense and a lot less hesitant than usual. The way his shoulders were straighter, his movements more fluid and graceful. He seemed ill fitting in his sweater and glasses right now, like they were a mask, a very literal sheep’s clothing.

It was, Victor realized, rather ridiculously attractive.

“What do I smell like?” Victor couldn’t help but ask. He recalled what Redford had said on the subject, tea and scales, and he found himself curious if Randall would have the same answer.

There was a beat where Randall seemed embarrassed, uncertain, color blooming on his cheeks again. But there was a heated look in his eyes, a sharp, hungry gaze as he leaned forward. One hand rested on Victor’s shoulder as Randall nudged in under his ear, taking a long, slow breath.

“Parchment,” Randall murmured, the warmth of his breath stirring along Victor’s neck, his lips just barely brushing against that scar that David had left behind. “And tea. But under that there’s oranges and spice and something like scales, dry in the sun. You smell like the earth under trees after a rain. It’s rather addictive, to be honest.”

Victor had barely heard what Randall said, too distracted by the feeling of what Randall was doing. For a moment, all he could think about was David. About the first time David had bitten him—reluctant to do so at first but finally giving in, fangs sinking into Victor’s throat with a pain that was much more like pleasure. At that very first moment, Victor had gotten addicted.

But now it was nothing but the gentle pressure of Randall’s lips touching against a scar left by a person who wasn’t in Victor’s life anymore. The murmur of Randall’s voice was a low rumble, pushing the memories away and replacing them with the present.

“Well, that is certainly a complicated scent,” he managed.

“Oh my God, Randall,” Anthony said, sounding scandalized. “Keep it behind closed doors.”

The wolfish confidence disappeared from Randall’s face, and he was pulling back, eyes wide. “Oh, God,” he started, running his hands through his hair. “God, I’m
so
sorry. I just….” He winced. “That was unforgivably forward of me. I apologize, Victor. That, um, that won’t happen ever again.”

Victor found himself absently rubbing over his scars, fingertips searching out both the too-smooth skin and the memory of the sensation of Randall’s lips. He almost wanted to tell Randall to not apologize. He certainly hadn’t minded.

But with that sensation came the full knowledge of exactly how Randall felt about him. Victor had seen every inch of it, the depth and breadth of a wolf’s passion and the conviction of family. The want that wasn’t merely physical, wasn’t even touching on sexual. It was no casual interest. It was a bone-deep need for connection in everything, in running under a moon, in sleeping, sated and content, in a heap the next morning.

And Victor’s feelings were the tortoise at the starting line, thinking of Randall as a nice friend to have. The responsibility of knowing Randall’s feelings was confusing, to say the least.

“It’s quite all right,” he told Randall. “I was just startled by someone touching, er….” Victor trailed off, taking his hand away from his neck. He was surprised at the low, possessive growl Randall gave, seeing the scars again. Then again, it seemed Randall was surprised as well.

The man briefly closed his eyes, shaking his head. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Yes, I noticed those. I should have been more careful. In fact, I shouldn’t have done that at all. It’s a wolf thing. A very intimate wolf thing and I was wrong to take that liberty. Your throat is….” Randall tried valiantly for a smile. He failed. “Not something I should be sniffing, that’s for sure.”

“Well, I did recently see all of your memories. I think we’re past apologizing for things we can’t help,” Victor murmured. He felt guilty, knowing he didn’t respond to Randall’s feelings. He felt like he was letting the man down. But he knew that was irrational—Randall’s emotions were his own and didn’t affect Victor’s. The possibility for more was there, which Victor had witnessed with stunning clarity, but there were several paths for Randall that didn’t have him in them at all. Knowing the potential did not immediately imbue Victor with feelings or an obligation to return them, regardless of any crushes Randall might have.

That didn’t stop the vague guilt from nagging at the back of his mind, though.

“I can help this, though,” Randall told him with a slight, sad smile. With a low word to his brother, he switched seats with Edwin, going to sit in the row in front of Anthony. Edwin took his place beside Victor with a grin.

“You really do smell like tea,” the wolf informed him.

Victor gave a quiet laugh. “It’s
good
tea,” he clarified. “Not the weak dirtwater you Americans stock over here.” He glanced at Randall. He could guess why the man had moved.

“I don’t drink tea.” Edwin flopped back on the seat, legs restlessly jittering. “Randall does, though. By the truckload. He drinks more since Egypt. I think he has nightmares, and he’s a dork who tries to will them away through books and green tea.”

“Yes, I would expect anybody to have nightmares after that ordeal,” Victor murmured. “It wasn’t pleasant, by any means.”

“He won’t talk about it.” Edwin was watching Randall, who’d curled up against the window to flip through a book. His fingers were a bit too rough on the pages, tension seeped into his shoulders. “Not to anyone. Anthony barely let him out of his sight for a month after, and Randall wore stupid looking turtlenecks for ages.”

“You are aware that Anthony can hear you,” Anthony said dryly. “Randall can too.”

Edwin looked over at his brothers, baffled. “I know,” he said, as if speaking to a very slow child. “But Victor doesn’t know, so I’m telling him.”

Victor didn’t feel the need to tell Edwin that he
did
know. He’d seen the nightmares that Randall had, the way he hadn’t been able to sleep for a long time afterward.

Randall said, very casually, “Edwin chewed all his pillows to shreds until he was fifteen and still sleeps with a stuffed bear named Sprinkles.” At Edwin’s indignant howl, Randall looked back, eyebrow rising. “Don’t make me tell them about the first time you saw a train.”

Anthony barked out a laugh. “Yeah, Edwin, we’ve got plenty of embarrassing stories about you. Don’t get too smart.”

Grumbling, Edwin sprawled back down in his seat with righteous indignation. After a while, lulled by the motion of the van, Edwin’s agitated fidgeting calmed and he wound up sleeping, pressed up against Victor’s side. The first time Edwin had flopped over, Victor had given Anthony a helpless look, but Anthony had just grinned at him. Knievel had paced over and appropriated Edwin’s lap as her bed, the both of them happily pressed into the warmth of Victor.

Victor wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about all of this, but he didn’t want to disturb their rest, so he stayed as still as he could, even when his arm started to get pins and needles. He spent the rest of the drive watching the passing scenery, seeing the light grow dimmer and dimmer. By the time they arrived at the edge of the forest, Victor calculated that they had perhaps half an hour left, at best.

Though Victor was not the one sizing up the woods to see if it was adequate for running, he couldn’t help but think of it that way, taking note of how densely the trees were packed, that the ground was mostly made up of dead leaves and pine needles. It wouldn’t be pleasant for a human to run through, but he imagined it would be a very different story for a wolf. The sun all but vanished as they wound their way deeper into the forest, and Edwin woke up with a jolt, swaying away from Victor’s shoulder. Sleeping at an angle like that, his neck should have been killing him. Instead, Edwin was grinning, his hands going to his shirt.

“Ed, wait until the van’s stopped at least,” Anthony sighed, though he was sitting rigidly in anticipation too, his eyes glinting yellow in the darkened interior of the van.

Victor wondered if he should be scared, being in a relatively small vehicle with four wolves that were getting antsy. He wasn’t, though. He wasn’t even wary, which surprised him somewhat.

The moment Jed found a turnoff, Edwin was out of the van, clothes falling into a puddle behind him. Victor caught a glimpse of tanned skin and long legs before fur flashed in between the trees. A long, joyous howl lifted to the sky as Jed switched off the van and the headlights dimmed, halving the light that shone out into the woods.

Anthony was next, bounding out of the van. He grinned at them as he shed his shirt. “Have a good night, guys,” he said to Victor and Jed. “We’ll find you in the morning.” Then he too was stripping the rest of his clothes off, smoothly shifting and sprinting away on all fours, chasing Edwin with gleeful barks.

Jed was carefully helping Redford take off the dog tags, the bracelet he wore. “I’ll be right here,” Jed murmured, kissing his forehead. Knievel seemed to join her owner’s mood, chirping as she rubbed against Redford’s arm. “Hell, go blow off some steam, and then I’ll race you and the little fur ball, okay?”

“Okay,” Redford replied, but he looked nervous. He kept darting glances at Randall, seemingly embarrassed. “I, um. I’m going to go find a tree or something so nobody has to watch.” He took Jed’s hand, a silent plea for Jed to come with him.

“Well, let’s find you a tree, then.” Jed smiled softly, kissing him, concern in his expression as they started toward the tree line. Edwin came barreling out of the woods, tackling Jed and licking his face before bounding happily around Redford’s legs. Apparently he was ready for that run now.

Victor stepped out of the van, taking a deep breath of the night air. He wished he could block his ears, because he’d heard Redford shift before, and it wasn’t pleasant. “You might want to concentrate on your book,” he said to Randall. “The sounds you’re about to hear are… well, somewhat horrifying.”

Randall looked up with a frown. “Because he’s not full Cano?” He put the book aside, coming to stand next to Victor, eyes sharp as he looked through the deepening dusk. “I can’t imagine going through the shift like that.”

Victor had anticipated that there might be a few more minutes to wait, but apparently the wolf in Redford had decided to come out early. It started with the sickening snaps of cracking bone, echoing around the forest, closely followed by the distinct sound of someone trying not to scream. Anthony had come back, a dark shape of fur hovering at the edge of the road. Edwin was curled up next to Redford, little rumbles of encouragement coming from him as he nudged his nose against the other wolf. Jed was on the other side of Redford, arms wrapped around him, the two of them holding Redford close as he changed.

When it was all said and done, Victor was just glad it was over. Redford was flopped on the ground, panting softly, but he happily nosed at Jed’s head, recovering quickly. He was more cautious about Edwin, but he looked fairly content to just accept that another wolf was there.

“When do you usually turn?” Victor asked Randall, curious. “I know you said you do it later, but is there a set time?”

Randall watched as Edwin nudged Jed toward the woods, butting against Redford, encouraging them both to take off running. “I don’t like to be ruled by a lunar object.” He shrugged. “I turn when I want to.” There was an implied
or when I can’t put it off any longer
that Victor recognized, the steel of control that was tempered by the knowledge that control could only go so far. But unlike David, Randall didn’t seem to hate the wolf instincts. It was merely preference. “Am I bothering you?” Randall looked over to him. “I can go elsewhere.”

Getting back into his seat, Victor dug out his own book. “Not at all,” he said. “Consider me relieved, actually. I’m not entirely sure about spending the night in a van, in dark woods, by myself all night.” He gave a wry smile. Not that Randall would be there all night, but it was nice to have some company.

“Oh, you won’t be alone,” Randall assured him. “Jed won’t last twenty minutes with my brothers. I’m actually surprised he isn’t back yet, or Edwin isn’t here to tell us all about the human that passed out in the woods.”

Victor snorted. He was surprised at that too. Though Jed was incredibly fit—he had to be, for his job—keeping up with excited wolves did sound exhausting. “He’s doing better than I would,” Victor admitted.

“Have you ever gone running?” Randall asked. His eyes weren’t yellow, not yet, but there was something intense about them that seemed to cut straight through Victor, even without being able to meet them fully, like Randall was the one who could read souls and futures.

“I’m a professor that reads books all day, and my idea of fun is doing the crossword,” Victor said dryly. “The only times I’ve ever run was when something was chasing me.”

Huffing out a laugh, Randall pushed away from where he’d been leaning against the van. He paced a little, movements languid, graceful. “It’s like nothing else,” he mused. “Not even just the
running
, but the experience of being out there. The ground under your feet, the breeze against your skin, like the whole night is just rushing through you. Like you’re captured by it, pulled in and enmeshed in every beat and throb of it.”

It
did
sound nice. But it also made Victor think idly about the similarities between wolves and vampires. Both of them had something that meant the world to them, something that they needed, otherwise they’d go crazy. He had to wonder if his own breed of half blood had something like that, and he just hadn’t discovered it yet.