Bloodlines (85 page)

As he had with Victor’s bedroom, Randall slowly made his way around the room, fingers lightly sliding along book spines, nosing into the corners, inspecting everything. “You have a first-edition Nietzsche.” He carefully lifted one of the books from the stack. “The chapters here on the basis of good and evil are stunning.”

“It really is a lot better in the original German,” Victor said absently. “Though still very dry to read.”

“Viele Menschen warten ihr ganzes Leben hindurch auf die Chance, auf ihre Weise gut zu sein,” Randall mused with a slight smile, glancing over at Victor.

Victor snorted at the sentiment—“‘many people wait throughout their whole lives for the chance to be good in their own fashion.’ I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

“A philosophy of sorts.” Randall slid the book back into place, long fingers touching the cover lightly like a silent good-bye. “I think the idea of
in their own fashion
is fascinating. Good is such a slippery thing, after all. I don’t know if I believe in heroes. But I can believe in the idea that we’re all striving to be better.”

“I think Nietzsche would agree with you.” Victor closed the drawer he’d been looking through, hefting a stack of papers onto the desk. “I’ve also got some Aristotle there if you’d like to try your hand at ancient Greek. Not a first edition, sadly.”

“I’ve always wanted to learn Greek,” Randall said, immediately searching through the shelves eagerly. “Ancient, specifically, though honestly I’d be happy with anything. I could never find a class, though.”

Gathering the last of his work, Victor tucked it into the briefcase he’d brought with him and joined Randall at the bookshelf. “I’ve taught a few classes on ancient Greek,” he said, gaze caught on Randall studying the books. He was so in his element that it was impossible not to watch him. “I could arrange a few private lessons, I think, or I could just give you the textbooks. They’re dense but easily understood.”

“Anything,” Randall agreed, his eyes devouring the Aristotle like he’d been starved for weeks. “I don’t want to take up your time, so the books would be more than excellent. Thank you, Victor.” A pause and Randall looked up, expression softening. “Really. Thank you.” The words were said so gently, so
earnestly
, that it seemed one of the most intimate things Randall had ever told him.

Once again, Victor wanted to insist that Randall attend this college. He knew he could pull a few favors and get Randall in late, but Randall seemed to have given up on the idea completely, and Victor couldn’t force him into it. One day, perhaps, he would offer and Randall would take the chance. He knew other things had to fall in place first—like Anthony’s health.

“It’s my pleasure,” Victor said. If he could, he’d gladly spend all day in his office with Randall, but he’d rushed here for a meeting and he was still unfortunately late. “I need to go meet with the other linguistics lecturers,” he said apologetically. “You can stay here if you like, or if you want to wander, I can just call you when I’m done so we can find each other.”

“I’ll stay here.” Randall reached out, adjusting Victor’s tie, absently smoothing his hands down the front of Victor’s shirt. “I want to pull some more books for your personal research. And if you’ll allow me, go through some of those notes you were telling me about? From your past books. I think there were some excellent points you made about the propensity of humans to project their own internal struggles onto the supernatural community, turning us into fairy tale monsters, as it were, that I think will really add to the current chapter you’re writing.”

Even though Victor was getting later by the second, he had to stop and kiss Randall on the cheek. How he’d ever gotten something fully researched before Randall, he had no clue. “Hiring you was the best decision I’ve ever made,” he said. “Have fun.”

Then he all but ran out of the office, wincing to himself as he looked at his watch. He wasn’t normally late to these sorts of things, but there was so much else happening in his life that he was finding it difficult to multitask, especially when lecturing and research had once been the
only
things in his life.

His attendance at the meeting for the linguistics professors was largely ceremonial, as this semester was his scheduled time off. But Victor liked attending those sorts of things nonetheless, even if he had to stare at the table or the projection the entire time to avoid a room full of possible eye contact. It was supposed to go on for an hour, but since linguistics academics tended to favor the spoken word and embellish, it lasted for an hour and a half, a good portion of which was Victor’s fault for eagerly vouching that the students have to ask questions in the language they were learning.

When they were released, Victor was stopped no less than five times by students. Some of them wanted to know when he’d be back—they apparently liked his teaching style, which Victor found very strange, as most did not. Some, it seemed, appreciated the fact that he was blunt and to the point, and didn’t tolerate students sleeping or texting.

He returned to find Randall surrounded by books piled on the floor, various papers spread out around him. His office had been transformed into chaos, but if Victor had learned anything about Randall, he knew it would be an extremely organized chaos, one that could be cleaned up in a matter of minutes.

“You look like you’re having fun,” Victor greeted, carefully stepping over some books.

With a soft grunt as his only response, Randall frowned down at the page he was reading, lips moving as he silently worked through whatever language it was in. A quick glance showed that he’d found one of Victor’s Sumerian texts. Difficult to get through, especially since, as far as he knew, Randall didn’t speak it. But there was a translation guide open by Randall’s elbow, and a page full of notes in his messy, cramped writing.

“I can’t figure out the context of this verb,” Randall finally sighed, sitting back. He’d pushed his glasses up on top of his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s saying that the snake people were either worshipped or cooked, and I’d say that changes the ending quite a bit.” But he smiled up at Victor, leaning back in the chair. “Yes. I am having a great deal of fun. Your office is a bit like my idea of a dream vacation.”

“It’s one of those verbs that depends heavily on context, unfortunately,” Victor replied. He got himself over another pile of books to crouch down beside Randall. He pointed at the text that Randall was looking at, a few lines farther down. “See here? It lists ingredients.”

“Ah.” Randall wrinkled his nose. “So I’m guessing this is not a story with a happy conclusion.” He turned, kissing Victor lightly in hello. “Fascinating, even if it is quite brutal. They apparently, from what I can gather here, thought that by, er, eating medusas, they’d gain all the souls the medusas had taken. Worship probably would have been less messy and just as effective.”

“Exactly,” Victor agreed. “And, on the bright side, should you ever want to cook me, you now have a very nice soup recipe.”

“I have other ways of eating you that are far more pleasant,” Randall returned with a huge grin, obviously proud of his innuendo. Another quick kiss and Randall stood, stretching, having loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves while he worked. “Should I gather up what I think we should take? I believe we can make it in one trip.”

Victor eyed the fairly impressive collection Randall had pulled from his shelves. “I think you might be a bit overconfident in my upper body strength. Here, give me a second. I’ll enlist a minion.”

He took two steps to the door again and stuck his head out of it. The student he asked for help was one of the best in his classes. She was currently working as a research assistant for one of the other professors and seemed all too happy to take a break from the offices. Between the three of them, they managed to get all the books out to the car, where the student farewelled Victor with a hug after making him promise he would be back for the next semester.

Victor handed the small pile of older books to Randall for him to keep on his lap as they drove—the last thing Victor wanted was to turn a sudden corner and have a pile of near irreplaceable books fall over and get damaged.

As they drove back, Victor kept watching Randall out of the corner of his eye. He had looked so at home at the college that it pained Victor to know Randall was denying himself the opportunity. He understood Randall’s reasons, but he just had to ask. Just once more.

“Do you remember how staying at my place wasn’t the only thing I offered, before we left?” he said, keeping his tone neutral. He didn’t want to be too pushy in this. “I can pull the necessary strings to get you back into college as a very late enrollee, if that’s something you’d be interested in.”

Letting out a slow breath, Randall absently rubbed his hands together, staring out the window. “Victor,” he started before simply shaking his head. “You know I can’t.”

Victor knew he had to be very delicate about this conversation. Unfortunately, he wasn’t good at delicate. Nonetheless, he’d try, for Randall’s sake. “Not going to college won’t make Anthony get any better,” he said, wincing as he said it. It was true, though, however indelicate it might be to point out that fact. “Denying yourself a future will not make Anthony improve, just as allowing yourself to go back to school won’t somehow make him worse.”

He could see Randall’s jaw tightening, his profile difficult to read. “I know that,” Randall finally admitted. “It just seems… wrong. It’s a long drive from our house here, and that would be hours and hours I wouldn’t be with him. I can’t just go on like nothing is wrong, Victor.”

“I know.” Victor couldn’t argue with that. He understood Randall wanted to spend every moment with Anthony he could, and to tell him otherwise would be nothing short of heartless. “I don’t want to seem pushy, but if you all stayed at my place, things that like would no longer be an issue.”

“A week is very different than an indefinite stay,” Randall pointed out after several long moments of silence. “And as much as I would love to just say yes and move in, it’s not that simple. Our cabin is the only place we’ve ever lived. We built it ourselves. Our parents lived and died on that land.” Randall turned, studying Victor, obviously searching for the right words. “And what we have, what we’ve started, it means too much to me to ruin it by rushing. You say you want us there now, but you’ve not even had time to get sick of us. I’d rather go slow and have a lifetime to get to that point than to push it because of a few good dates.”

In response, Victor reached over the seats and took Randall’s hand. He wished it
were
a very simple matter of them just moving in, but everything Randall said was true. There were other factors in play here, ones that were big decisions.

However much he wanted to help Randall, he couldn’t
force
that help on him. And he certainly couldn’t get annoyed when Randall refused.

Instead, Victor nodded. “I understand.” He gently squeezed Randall’s hand. “I just want you to know that the offer is not on a time limit. If in five years you decide that’s what you want, I will still gladly accept.”

Randall pulled Victor’s hand up and kissed his knuckles. “Do you think we’ll still be together in five years, then?” he asked, tone light but something achingly sweet in his expression. Something so very hopeful.

“If we’re not, I’ll be very cranky,” Victor replied.

“Well, then.” Randall breathed out a quick laugh. “Anything to avoid that.”

Victor’s hand remained in Randall’s for the remainder of the drive. Upon arriving back home, they had to enlist Edwin’s help in bringing the books into the house—and Victor very carefully took responsibility for the older books himself. As soon as Edwin had dumped the textbooks onto the desk, he was gone again as quickly as if he’d just vanished into thin air.

He and Randall spent the rest of the day neck deep in research, only surfacing for cups of tea or water, or to stretch their legs. Over time, though, Victor started to notice that Randall’s concentration was slipping. As time went by, he would, more and more, have to pause to put the book down to look out the window where Anthony and Edwin were working in the garden. They seemed jittery too, Edwin dropping his rake to chase a rabbit across the lawn, human form merging into wolf and then back again in shifts so quick they seemed almost unreal.

When Randall seemed completely incapable of focusing, Victor offered to cut their work day short—but as Randall got more restless with the proximity of the full moon, he also got more stubborn, so Victor was treated to a frown and a passionate insistence that Randall could continue reading. And Randall certainly did seem to try.

An hour before it got dark, the wolves corralled themselves into the kitchen for dinner, which was a rather more growl-filled affair than usual. On one occasion, Randall really did growl seriously at Edwin for attempting to steal something off Victor’s plate, a protective note to the rumble that just made Victor smile. Victor spent the rest of the dinner with Randall practically forcibly dividing him from Anthony and Edwin. He clearly didn’t think Anthony and Edwin were threats as such; he just seemed to be feeling possessive.

When Anthony and Edwin abandoned the dinner table to go outside, Randall lingered. Victor glanced at him as he finished the rest of his meal—he knew Randall often held off on the change, simply because he didn’t want to be ruled by his instincts.

“What’s your plan for the night?” Victor asked. He cast a look at the table and silently despaired. Wolves were apparently rather messy when they got jittery.

“Well.” Randall turned toward him, even the simple motion so much more graceful now, a predatory stalk in the way he walked across the room to Victor. “I was thinking about how hard I could fuck you over the back of the couch.” A slow smile eased across Randall’s lips. “Which is less a
plan
than an
impulse
, really.”

There was very little in the world that could make Victor speechless for even a few seconds. That, apparently, was something that could. “Oh? Well, never let it be said that I would have you deny your impulses.”