Bloodlines (57 page)

Laughing then, feeling an exalted sense of connection, of bliss that seemed far too big for his body to contain, Randall flipped them over. Victor on his back under him, Randall nudged their foreheads together, hand tightening on Victor’s cock. “Come for me,” he murmured, stroking him faster, twisting his wrist to hear that one beautiful moan. Randall nuzzled kisses down Victor’s neck. As Victor lifted his chin to bare his throat, Randall bit him softly, then harder, sucking at the skin to leave it flushed. “My beautiful medusa, I want to see you fly.”

Victor grabbed at his arm, squeezing hard—Randall took the action as permission to bite down a little harder on Victor’s neck, so that the skin dented under his teeth. Not enough to give a black-and-blue bruise, but hovering just at the edge of marking. Under the skin his teeth was gripping, Randall felt more than heard Victor moan, his muscles trembling, arching up underneath Randall as he came.

He was breathtaking. No one would ever look at Victor like this and think he was anything but magnificent, Randall was sure. He pulled back to watch him, slowly stroking him through the orgasm until Victor shivered under his touch. “But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought, save, where you are, how happy you make those. So true a fool is love, that in your will, though you do anything, he thinks no ill.” The words came out almost without Randall realizing he’d said them. He paused and smiled, sliding his thumb along Victor’s lips. “I once did a paper on that sonnet. I didn’t understand it until now. How you could want someone so completely that even the pain doesn’t matter as much.”

Victor just looked back at him, blankly dazed and still flushed. “Do you expect me to be able to understand Shakespeare when I’ve just had a frankly phenomenal orgasm?” he said breathlessly. “You think too highly of me.”

The grin Randall had as they kissed was absolutely impossible to restrain. “My poor professor,” he murmured, nudging kisses against the marks he’d left on Victor’s neck. “You are amazing. And absolutely beautiful. I should tell you that every day.”

“You sound rather coherent,” Victor said, his voice slow, dragging at the words. “Should I be insulted that I didn’t do a good enough job?”

“Am I not supposed to be?” Randall entertained himself by kissing down Victor’s body, dragging his lips down the dip in the middle of Victor’s chest, the soft expanse of his stomach, the length of his side. “You did incredibly. I have never felt anything that good. Ever.” Randall grinned wickedly. “I am very much looking forward to further lessons.”

Victor’s chest moved with a silent laugh. “We’re men, even if we are a half blood and a wolf. There’s a stereotype about men, where after we’ve come we roll over and start snoring.” Victor tilted his head in interest at Randall, his eyelids drooped low with contentment. “Perhaps that doesn’t apply to wolves?”

“I don’t know,” Randall admitted, circling his tongue around Victor’s belly button. “I know I want to devour you.” He lightly bit at Victor’s hip. “But if you’d rather I sleep, I think I can manage that for you.”

Victor gave a wordless hum, stroking his hand along Randall’s arm. “My body says sleep. My mind says I’m good for another round,” he mused, his fingertips reaching Randall’s shoulder in slow exploration.

“I wonder if I can change your body’s inclination,” Randall murmured. He traced his tongue experimentally down the length of Victor’s cock. Even soft, he was so beautiful and perfectly large. “What do you think?”

“I think that sounds like a very good idea.” Victor’s voice had dropped into a husk again. Randall lightly pursed his lips over the head of Victor’s cock, eyes locked on his face, watching as Victor bit his lip at the sensation, hips arching up into it. “Christ, Randall.”

Yes, he definitely enjoyed that reaction. He wanted more of that. Slowly, Randall lowered his mouth onto Victor’s dick. He couldn’t manage much, but he definitely liked the feel of Victor starting to harden against his tongue, the way Victor’s leg shook when he sucked a little harder.

The gunshot outside was not really part of his fantasy coming true.

Randall jerked upright, eyes widening, ears pricked. Silence pounded around them, throbbing with every wild beat of Randall’s heart, and after a moment, he’d nearly convinced himself he was hearing things. Victor was motionless underneath him, breath caught in his lungs in fear. Randall looked over at him, hand finding Victor’s, shaking his head. Surely it was nothing. He almost believed it too. Until there was an even louder burst of gunfire and a high-pitched wail of a howl.

He knew that voice. “Edwin,” Randall gasped, surging off the bed and scrambling for the door. As soon as he’d jerked it open, he was shifting, changing. He leaped from the porch on two legs and landed on four, skidding on the loose dirt and powering his way toward the bonfire, ears laid back and body a low streak against the ground.

There were hunters.

Anthony was at his side in a second, fangs glinting in the bonfire light. They shared a wordless look, then ran toward where Edwin’s howl was still echoing. God knew where the hunters had come from. Edwin came tearing back into the camp, the redheaded brownie in front of him. Edwin was herding him with bumps of his head, shoving the brownie into a nearby cabin with a growl.

Relief hit Randall. He and Anthony charged toward their brother, meeting Edwin halfway. More gunfire, another howl, and the wolves were panicking. Randall looked at Anthony, crowding around Edwin as if to protect him, but what could they do? He couldn’t even tell where the hunters were. The half bloods that had traipsed through the camp earlier had confused the scents, and now it was taking him longer to pick out where the humans might be.

The wolves around him were having the same problem, noses lifted to air, and huffs of confusion filled the camp.

Until Jed came storming out of his cabin, gun in each hand, Redford as a wolf by his side. “Anthony, you gorgeous bastard,” Jed hollered. “Get your pert ass over here.” He clicked the safety off, striding toward the woods. “Get behind me. I’m going to lay down cover fire; you’re going to take three wolves to the right. Redford? You get three more and go to the left. Circle around. We’re pinning these fuckers to the goddamn ground.”

Redford bumped his side against Jed’s legs in acknowledgement, his head turning to seek out wolves. Silently, three stepped forward to stand by his side. Mallory joined Anthony, Randall and Edwin standing shoulder to shoulder with their brother. Redford tipped his head back, letting loose a long, hoarse howl before he and his three followers darted into the woods. Anthony followed suit. They kept their bodies low to the ground and their paws away from twigs and loose rocks as they silently slipped into the forest. Jed was smart, not drawing the hunters out. It was dark in the woods, the firelight and the moon doing nothing to pierce the dense leaves overhead. Wolves could see just fine. The humans, however, would be limited.

There was a rapid burst of gunfire from the camp, aimed high over the wolves’ heads. Then return fire, indicating exactly where the hunters were clumped together. As Jed kept them busy, Randall followed Anthony, the four wolves moving rapidly toward the humans, silent and deadly.

There were six of them, hunters in camouflage gear, guns spread out and ensconced behind a barrier of fallen trees. They had a clear view toward the camp, and Randall watched as one of them took aim and fired at Jed, nearly hitting him. Jed kept moving, strafing back and forth, firing nearly unceasingly, keeping himself as a difficult target to pin down. Across the other side of the hunters, Randall could see the other group of wolves approach.

None of the hunters noticed the wolves until one of them—Redford, Randall thought it might be—leaped forward, jaw snapping down on his arm. There was a flurry of movement, cursing, gunfire. One of the wolves jumped at the hunters, only to be cut down in midleap. Randall knocked a hunter over, ripping at his arm, tearing the skin open and leaving him lying there, unable to grip his weapon.

It was chaos, howls and whimpers of pain, shouts and bullets and blood. Randall tried to keep his eye on Edwin, but he lost him when a hunter rushed at him, kicking him aside and aiming a gun at his head. For a moment, it was all over, Randall struggling to get his legs under him again, the bullet one squeezed trigger away from hitting him.

The hunter didn’t see Anthony leaping at him until it was too late. The gun went off, the bullet hitting a tree a few feet away from Randall, and the hunter screeched in pain as sharp fangs bit into him. Randall managed to get himself up, joining Anthony, thumping the hunter’s head back and knocking him out.

Jed had arrived, and he was calmly, efficiently finishing off the last of the hunters. All except one. He hauled the last one up by the throat, baring his teeth and aiming a gun directly between the hunter’s eyes. “Go home,” Jed told him roughly. “Piss your pants, thank your fucking lucky stars, and
go home
. And when you’re there, you call your boss and you tell him to back the fuck off. I mean you’re done. All of you. If I see one more fucking hunter here, I will personally track everyone down and I will slaughter you. Name’s Jed Walker. You don’t believe me? Look me up.”

He shoved the hunter back to the ground, watching impassively as the man scurried away into the woods, one of the wolves chasing after him for good measure.

Randall nudged his nose against Anthony, checking that he was all right. He was moving slowly, but there was no blood on him—a long night and dancing probably meant that his joints weren’t as fluid as they should be. Anthony leaned his side against Randall, and they trotted over to Edwin.

Who was standing over a corpse. The man’s throat had been ripped out. Edwin’s muzzle was covered in blood. Edwin wasn’t moving, didn’t acknowledge them. He was staring down, horror evident in his eyes, the way his tail was tucked between his legs.

Edwin had once cried over a bird he’d accidentally knocked from a nest. They’d killed to eat before; they’d killed what they needed. Edwin was too kind to harm anything for any other reason. And now there was a human lying on the ground, bloody and ravaged, and Edwin had put him there. However justified, however much it’d been in self-defense, in protection, Edwin couldn’t seem to see that right then. He was whimpering, Randall realized, low in his throat, a heartbreakingly ragged sound.

Anthony nudged his nose against Edwin’s neck, pushing down slightly. He waited until Edwin had lain down, and very carefully started grooming the blood from his face. Randall remembered Anthony doing that countless times to them as children—when Randall had broken his leg after slipping in mud, Anthony had just pinned him down and groomed him until Randall had fashioned a splint and set the bone. It was a comforting action, a reassurance. Randall went to lie down next to Edwin, grooming his other side, nudging his nose in behind Edwin’s ear. Surrounding him with family.

Jed came over, studying the scene and sighing heavily. “Oh, Lassie,” he murmured, shaking his head. He grabbed the dead hunter’s arms, dragging the body away to lay it with the others. There were two men still alive and unconscious. The rest had been taken down by wolves or Jed’s guns. Randall wondered what Jed would do with the survivors.

Nudging his face against Anthony’s, Randall pulled away and shifted back. The pine needles of the forest floor were cool under his feet. “What are your plans for those two?” he asked, moving toward Jed.

“Haul them back to the camp, bind up whatever’s bleeding, and drop them off at the nearest town before they wake up.” Jed’s eyes flicked over to Randall. “I’m not a monster, kid. I’m not going to kill someone I don’t have to. At this point, there’s no reason to kill anybody else. Won’t send a message we haven’t already, and they’re sure as hell not going to be shooting back anytime soon.”

Randall nodded. “I’ll help.” He and Jed muscled one of the wounded men up between them, carefully carrying him back toward the camp. An older man was waiting for them, a black bag in his hands. No herbs there, just actual medicine.

“Cedric,” Redford greeted gratefully. He’d shifted back to two legs, and looked as unconcerned as any of them about being naked. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”

“Get this guy good enough to travel. Can you keep him unconscious?” Jed lowered the hunter to the ground, Randall gratefully dropping his end of the burden as well.

“I could keep him down with a sedative. Or I could paralyze him and let him feel the pain of his wounds.” Cedric seemed positively gleeful about that last idea. “Your choice, Mr. Walker.”

Jed was just studying the hunter, jaw working. “Sedate the bastard,” he muttered, stomping back toward the woods, Redford on his heels. “He was just doing a job.”

Randall found himself pinned under the weight of Cedric’s gaze. “You, there. Are your wits intact enough to hand me equipment?”

“My wits are fine, thank you.” Randall crouched next to him, studying the man. “You’re a doctor, then? Not, uh, someone who uses odd-smelling pastes?”

Cedric made an irritated grumbling noise under his breath. “I have a degree and decades of hospital experience. Pastes are for cavemen, and we are in the twenty-first century.” A snort rumbled through him, reminding Randall rather vividly of a warthog in an irritated slump. “Not that all their ideas are bad, mind you. Had a nice conversation the other day about natural painkillers. Sometimes the old ideas are the best. But broken bones and cancer, now. Those need something more than incense waving. At least, that’s this old doctor’s opinion.” He looked at Randall, his hands paused above the hunter’s body. “Are you one of the Lewis brothers? Redford spoke to me about your eldest brother.”

“He has canine Parkinson’s,” Randall said quietly. “Human doctors are out of the question. We came here for help, but…. I honestly don’t think they’re doing anything. I had hoped alternative medicine might lend us some sort of relief, but….” Randall hadn’t wanted to admit any of this. How profoundly he’d failed. How
wrong
he had been. This was supposed to be their great cure, their last-ditch effort. And nothing was working. “I think he’s getting worse. He’s in a lot of pain right now. Do you have anything that could help him? Even getting a full night’s sleep would do wonders for him.”