Bloodlines (31 page)

“You’re the brains,” Jed reminded him with a smirk. “I’m the brawn.” He flexed his arms as if to prove his point. Ducking under a low-hanging tree branch, Jed grimaced as his boot hit mud. Going this fast through regular wooded terrain was bad enough. Add mud on top of it and it was a fucking picnic right up Satan’s asshole.

Redford just sighed at him, eyeing Jed like he was thinking about forcibly trying to take one of the packs off him. He shook his head, a small, fond smile lighting his expression. “So what do we tell the Gray Lady?” he asked.

Pausing by a rock outcropping, checking their twenty, Jed glanced over at Redford. He had a bag full of weapons that were definitely not made for hugs and sunshine, a bunch of silver bullets, and maps that made the Unabomber look like a teenage prom princess. He shrugged, giving the only answer there really could be.

“Shit just got real.”

I
T
WASN
’
T
that he didn’t just fucking
love
having mud getting really nice and cozy with his balls. Really, the whole thing was goddamn super. That and the smell of wet dog was doing just
loads
to improve his mood. Standing in the Gray Lady’s den of hippie incense, Jed tried to subtly remove wet jeans and about six feet of dirt from his ass crack only to get a far too haughty look from Victor for his efforts.

Whatever. Jed would just stop being subtle. It was hard enough doing that while sitting, he’d just stop caring about everyone’s delicate sensibilities.

The drive back to the Gray Lady’s camp had gone uneventfully, but once they’d gotten inside the gate they’d picked up their very own guard dogs, who hadn’t been amused when Jed had told them to sit and stay while he grabbed a shower and a fresh change of clothes. Which was why he was standing there, damp and muddy-assed, waiting for the great goddamn Gray Lady to stop futzing around with some big-ass candle and get this show on the road. Knievel jumped up on the table, meowing loudly and head-butting Jed repeatedly. Apparently she was displeased with how long he’d been gone. Jed leaned his arms on the table, giving the cat a place to curl up, her head resting against Jed’s wrist, tail flicking absently as she completely ignored the proceedings.

“Why are we here?” Randall asked, confused. The Lewises and Victor had been escorted in shortly after Jed and Redford had arrived. “What did you find?”

“Your balls,” Jed told him with an entirely earnest expression. “They must have dropped. I’m just so proud. You’re all grown up now.”

Randall’s expression didn’t change. “Funny, I could have sworn I had an enormous pair right here,” he mused. “Those must be yours. They look rather shriveled, but I hear humans do that when it gets cold.” Jed didn’t miss the way Victor tried to get a surreptitious glance in.

Jed just laughed. “Okay, fine. We’ll agree they’re Victor’s tiny balls and be done with it.”

Victor just sighed faintly, apparently not even dignifying that with a response. Randall darted a look over at him but didn’t say anything. Great. Nerd awkwardness. That was just going to be so much fun to deal with.

“Once you’re done comparing dick sizes?” Anthony’s voice cut in.

“
Ball
sizes, sweetheart,” Jed corrected with a wink. “Very different thing. Makes a whole world of difference.”

Anthony didn’t look entirely amused. He looked over to where the Gray Lady was preparing tea, then back at Jed. “Would it kill you to show a little respect?”

Eyebrows winging up, Jed barely restrained a laugh. “For what? Hocus pocus? Look, I went out and I did a hell of a lot more than I’m being paid for out there. I got forest gunk in places you’ve never even seen. So if you think I’m going to sit here and play reverent for no goddamn reason—”

“I didn’t say
worship
her,” Anthony said. “I said
respect
her.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but he took a deep breath and shook his head. “Please. The last thing we want is to get kicked out because you lot are too busy talking about your balls in front of the most powerful wolf alive.”

“That’s a load of—”

“That’s enough.” The Gray Lady’s voice was like thunder just before it crashed, the low rumble that almost ached in Jed’s chest. She sat at the head of the table, nodding to the woman on her left to begin pouring tea. “I appreciate your intervention, Anthony Lewis, but I hardly need you to keep my ears pure.” If Jed didn’t know better, he’d think there was a faint twinkle in her eyes. “I have been alive long enough to know what
balls
are, and I have never met a man who could match my own.”

Jed kind of thought he was in love.

Anthony shrank in on himself, his shoulders hunching. “Sorry, ma’am. I was just cautious about the, er, duration of our stay.”

“I have accepted you into our pack.” The Gray Lady waved one elegant hand, the bracelets around her wrist clinking like bells. “You are to stay here. So long as you abide by the code of the wolves, you will not be asked to leave.”

Jed felt a nudge against his shoulder. It was Redford, leaning over to scoop Knievel into his own arms, giving Jed a meaningful look. His gaze went to the tea being poured, meaning the Gray Lady was obviously ready to hear them speak, then down to the bag Jed had placed by his side. Huffing out a breath, Jed slung an arm around Redford’s waist, turning his attention back to the Gray Lady.

“You went hunting,” she murmured before he could speak.

Which kind of took the wind out of his sails a bit. “Yeah,” he muttered, deflating slightly. “I haven’t blown anything up in days. I get itchy when I’m bored.”

A faint smile touched the Gray Lady’s lips, and she inclined her head. “Tell me what you found, human.”

Said like he was an armless man at a circle jerk—just taking up space and getting nobody off. It still struck him as so fucking weird, how
human
could be an insult. Like everything he knew about how things worked was, in fact, just the inane ramblings of the dumbest kid in class. Everyone else had read the book, and Jed was busy picking his nose. There was a whole goddamn
world
that he not only wasn’t a part of, he wasn’t even invited into.

“You’re being hunted,” Jed confirmed. “But it’s not by Cletus and the good ol’ boy crew. This isn’t a bunch of guys with a six-pack and some time to kill. They’re organized, and they’re specifically hunting
you
. Not just wolves.” Four faces stared blankly back at him. The Lewises and the Gray Lady all looked like they were patiently waiting for some idiot to realize he was being insulting. “I mean, they’re hunting
wolves
wolves. Not… you know. Wolves. They’re… it’s not wolves. It’s wolves like you, not wolves like….” Jed waved his hand helplessly toward the woods. “Those wolves.”

He heard Victor’s muffled laugh in the resulting silence. Jed scowled. “Oh, fuck, you know what I mean. Jesus, what am I even supposed to call you?”

“The correct term is
Canos
,” Randall piped up, looking all too amused. “Werewolves and Canos and then the common wolf.”

Oh. Well, that made this easier to talk about. “What about Redford?” he asked, curious.

Randall hesitated, eyes flicking over to Redford. “Redford is….” Randall smiled faintly, voice kind. “Redford is something else entirely.”

Hell yeah he was. Jed rubbed his hand along Redford’s arm, looking as proud as a fucking peacock. “Werenos,” he decided. “That sounds badass enough for you.”

“That’s linguistically appalling,” Victor said witheringly.

“It certainly doesn’t make sense,” Randall agreed, stifling a laugh. “Werewolf comes from the Old English
werman
, which used to simply mean ‘man,’ as opposed to the female
wifman
. It turned into
were
and
wolf
, man-wolf. So you just named Redford a man… well,
nos
which doesn’t actually mean anything. Man nos.” Apparently that was a joke in dork-speak, because Randall was practically giggling.

“It’s absolute gibberish.” Victor still sounded personally offended by Jed’s attempt to make up new words.

“I like it,” Redford reassured Jed in a whisper.

“I like your man nos.” Jed winked at him. “I could take your
nos
all night.”

“Jed,” Randall said, exasperated. “You can’t just make random words mean your penis.”

“Try and stop me.” Jed was grinning, pretty damn proud of himself. Anthony looked like he might start knocking heads together, and as amusing as that was, Jed figured he should get to the point. “Okay, so the hunters are definitely going after the Canos variety of you furry fuckers.” Pulling out the bag, Jed laid out the guns and the bullets, watching as the Gray Lady’s eyes got wider.

That was practically a fainting fit from the likes of her, who had patiently sat through their naming conversation with barely a blink. “Where did you get these?” she asked, half rising, reaching out to pick up one of the bullets.

“Redford found the hunters’ cabin. Well, one of them. These were in a hidden room. They’ve got a shit ton more. More than enough to make life very difficult for your pack.” Jed frowned, reaching out to grab his own bullet, turning it over to examine the etching at the bottom. It still was vaguely familiar, even though he couldn’t quite place it. “Don’t know why they’re all silver, though.”

Anthony took the same line of thought that Redford had. “Why does it smell like cow?”

Edwin grabbed a box, practically burying his nose in it. “Not cow,” he corrected his brother. “Not… exactly. Steer, maybe? Kind of, it smells a little bit like when we went to the fair and I was in the livestock tent.”

Jed could just imagine how well that went over. “Stampede?” he guessed.

Edwin flashed him a self-satisfied grin. “Who, me?” He looked so innocent. Jed didn’t believe it for a second.

“It was like a meat grinder,” Anthony sighed. “But to get back on topic.” He gave them all a significant look. “What does this mean? All of these bullets and maps? Are we dealing with just a few little groups of hunters, or a
war
?”

“War.” Jed didn’t even hesitate. He knew war; he knew what gearing up for it looked like. He sure as hell knew that those guns weren’t peashooters. Eyes flicking to the Gray Lady, he arched an eyebrow at her. “You’re awfully quiet down there.”

“Yes,” the Gray Lady agreed. Her voice was distant. “I am.” She set the bullet down, frowning at it. “Were the hunters all human?”

“I couldn’t smell any traces of anybody not human, ma’am,” Redford said. “No half bloods or vampires.”

“So,” she mused. “Someone is telling fairy stories.”

Okay, that didn’t make any sense. Jed looked around the table, scowl deepening when no one else seemed confused, except for Redford, who shared his bafflement. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means that needing silver bullets to kill a wolf is a myth, Jed,” Anthony explained. He glanced at the Gray Lady, looking like he was making sure he wasn’t stepping on any toes by speaking. “Werewolves, Canos, we all die from regular bullets.”

“That I know,” Jed snorted. Which, maybe he shouldn’t talk about the wolves he’d killed in Fil’s little shop of horrors, because the Gray Lady gave him a look, the kind of expression Jed normally reserved for deciding which side of the burger to bite into first. “So, uh, what does that mean?” Changing the subject seemed wise. Too many things with teeth in the room and his pants were starting to stick to his ass, meaning his gun would be harder to draw. Also that he’d probably walk funny.

“A long time ago, when humans were just starting to move about and explore the dark, we started telling stories about ourselves.” The Gray Lady’s eyes had dropped back to the bullet, one long, graceful finger running along the length of it, like she was touching a sacred object. “Those stories grew as they did, fitting the times. Silver bullets were ours. They made us seem harder to kill, and most humans were content to stay inside and leave us be. But someone is feeding into those old tales.”

Randall was leaning forward, attention rapt. “They’re not all stories, though,” he pointed out quietly.

“No,” the Gray Lady acknowledged, tilting her head. “Silver, iron, holy water, all of these things have their places. But not for most.”

“Why silver?” Jed found himself asking. “I mean, the silver knife thingy worked on Fil. You guys got a hard-on for mining or some shit?”

The Gray Lady looked at him, eyes flaring yellow. Once again, Jed thought that perhaps rubbing the whole
I killed your ex
thing in her face might not be wise. He wasn’t afraid of her, but shooting his way out of this place wasn’t exactly on his to-do list. “There are many reasons. The silver comes from deep in the earth, from the purest heart of it. It will kill many of the older ones if smelted properly and mixed with sacrificial blood.”

“And the bullets wouldn’t do anything to you,” Randall said slowly, puzzling through it. “They’d kill a lesser wolf or a were simply by virtue of being a projectile weapon, but for you they’d be nothing at all.”

“True. At the time of the first telling, silver was rare. Expensive. Telling the humans to make bullets out of it ensured we would have some peace.” The Gray Lady shrugged. “A little truth mixed in with the lie.”

“So all this means is that the hunters have bad information,” Anthony said. “Did they stumble across that myth on their own, or is, as you said, someone telling them fairy tales?”

“These bullets are made special.” Jed turned it over, facing the flat end of the bullet toward Anthony. “That’s the maker’s mark. We figure out who’s supplying these and we know who’s bankrolling the whole operation.” He shot a glance down toward the Gray Lady. “One thing that hasn’t changed, your royal furriness. Silver is still going to be fucking hard to come by for your average redneck. Especially enough for as many bullets as we saw. Not to mention the cash someone splashed for those guns.”

“Of course.” The Gray Lady examined the bullet a final time, then rolled it back over the tabletop to Jed. She took a breath, looking like she was gathering herself—her shoulders straightening, her expression hardening. “And how long do we have before this war arrives on our doorstep?”