Bloodlines

by Alex Kidwell

  Fuck.

  “Yeah, well, the woods doesn’t have a hot dog cart on the corner,” he pointed out with a sudden manic grin, gripping the wheel tighter. He wasn’t going to look over at Redford, at the way the dappled sunlight through the leaves was lighting up his whole expression. Wolves in cages were just a fucking sad thing to contemplate. Wasn’t that what he’d been trying to save Redford from all this goddamn time?

  “I do like the hot dog cart,” Redford agreed. “Jed brings me a whole pack of hot dogs on full moons,” he said to Victor, grinning. “I think I’ve gained five pounds.”

  Hot dogs, like that was somehow better than being free, and fuck, Jed needed to stop thinking about this right the hell now. It wasn’t doing anyone any good. They were here for a job, to meet the fur balls and get the details of what they needed to do to get paid. Any other random thoughts could be shoved aside until later. That was what insomnia was for.

  The drive curved, and all at once they were in a clearing, a low-slung log cabin in between two tall pine trees. Jed parked in front, vaguely surprised to see a sandy-blond-furred wolflike dog curled up on the porch, tail over its nose. When they piled out of the car, the dog raised its head and chuffed at them, trotting over with tail wagging to head-butt all of their legs. It wound up next to Redford, looking up at him with a happy doggy grin, tongue lolling out.

  Redford stared back in mute anxiety.

  Jed immediately dropped down beside him, grinning, scratching behind its ears. Hell, he might not be a dog person, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate a good petting. And he’d gotten way better at this since Redford. Apparently even growly wolves liked cuddles. “Who’s a fluffy puppy?” he crooned, rewarded when the dog immediately flopped onto its side, showing its belly as it wiggled ecstatically under Jed’s attentions. “Who is a furry, fluffy big boy?”

  “That would be Edwin.” The dry, faintly exasperated voice came from the doorway, Randall stepping outside with a worn flannel robe in his hand. “Who knows better. Ed, come on, you know the rules.”

  The dog—no, wolf—underneath his hands gave a forlorn sounding yip and nudged Jed’s hand with his nose a final time. He shifted, and then instead of fur, there was skin, a blond mop of hair, and a broad grin staring up at Jed.

  “Son of a bitch!” Shocked, Jed sat back on his heels while the kid—who wasn’t a kid and who was definitely naked—stood, and trotted up to where Randall was standing. Edwin shrugged on the robe and wrinkled his nose at Randall.

  “You’re such a stick-in-the-mud,” he declared.

  “Edwin is my younger brother,” Randall explained, arching his eyebrow at Edwin and looking completely unaffected by Edwin’s assessment of him. “And he apologizes for going wolf on you.”

  “No, he does not,” Edwin replied, arms folded, all sun-kissed skin and long limbs, defiant and proud. “We’re wolves, Randall. I’m not going to apologize to a bunch of two-legs about that.”

  Randall sighed. “Fine. Go see if Anthony needs help, would you, Ed?” As his brother scrambled inside, he called after Edwin, “And put some pants on, please!”

  When the door shut behind Edwin, Randall came down the steps, offering his hand to Redford. “I’ll apologize then, if Ed won’t,” he said quietly, gaze touching on each of them before finding Victor’s. “Anthony taught us not to shift around people. It’s common courtesy that Edwin sometimes chooses to forget.”

  There were rules for that kind of shit? Jed was just left to stand up again, staring, baffled, cutting little glances over at Redford. Sure, he’d known they were going to a little wolf family. The reality of it was slightly different. Redford had always seemed, to Jed, like a guy who just happened to go furry. Randall, though, and Edwin even more so, struck him as wolves who sometimes walked around like people. It was something in their eyes, in how they stood, in the way they carried themselves.

  Around Redford, Jed felt like he was the traditionally normal one, the one who was altogether human. He’d never seen a full moon as anything other than too much light for wet work before Redford, where Redford lived in fear of the goddamn thing. But now, standing there, Jed realized all at once he was the odd one out. He was the one who didn’t fit in.

  Seemingly bereft of words, Redford took Randall’s hand to shake it. Victor did the same. “You have a lovely house,” Victor complimented. “Did you or your parents build it themselves?”

  “I did.” A man wearing an apron and a cooking glove stepped out of the front door. “Anthony,” he introduced himself, giving them a bright grin in greeting. “Let me guess, the one who smells like gunpowder is Jed, the wolf is Redford, and the other guy who looks like Randall’s wet dream is Victor.”

  Jed choked out a laugh, a broad smirk tripping across his face. Randall immediately turned bright red, giving his brother a positively mortified, wide-eyed stare, and Victor turned much the same color. “I like you,” Jed declared, holding out his hand for Anthony to shake. “Right on all counts, although I’m not sure the princess could really wet any panties.”

  Instead of the handshake he’d been expecting, Jed found himself engulfed in a floury hug. Anthony then did the same to Redford, who looked stunned. Jed was still watching Anthony, shocked, hands instinctively going to make sure his wallet and his gun were still in place. The last time he’d gotten an unsolicited hug, his pockets had been picked cleaner than Tom Cruise’s straight genes.

  “Well, you’re all welcome to treat this house as your own,” Anthony said. “Randall has told me everything, and trust me when I say that all three of us are damn thankful you want to help.”

  Victor looked startled when Anthony grabbed him in a hug too. “He told me about Cairo,” Anthony continued, looking between them, his expression turning serious. “I can’t thank you enough. You three are the reason that he’s alive, and for that, I’m more grateful than I can tell you.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t try,” Jed said gruffly, shoulders rounded, hands in his pockets. “Seriously. We did a job, we got paid, your brother was just one of the lucky ones. No gratitude necessary.”

  Redford looked uncertain. “Are you the alpha?” he asked Anthony, obviously trying to put as much confidence in his voice as he could.

  “Am I the what?” Anthony’s nose wrinkled in confusion. As he took in Redford’s shrinking posture, though, he seemed to connect the dots, a faint smile touching his lips. “We don’t really use that terminology,” he corrected gently, like a parent nudging a toddler on simple manners. “I’m the oldest. I’m sure Randall can explain it to you much more academically if you want an explanation of pack dynamics, but I won’t be ripping your throats out for stepping on my territory.” He almost looked amused at the thought.

  Randall had disappeared inside the house. Jed was betting he was hiding from Victor. Which was just damn funny, really. “Someone promised us food?” he asked, clapping Anthony on the shoulder as they walked toward the house. “And then we can talk details. Redford will be taking point on this job, but I’m here as a consultant. Victor’s here because he’s tired of eating those little frozen meals alone and crying in front of his TV.” Jed looked over his shoulder, giving Victor a wide, innocent grin. “What was that show you liked so much, princess? The Everyone Hug and Dance and Sing and Twirl Fairy Story?”

  “Yes, that sounds about right,” Victor said wryly. “I do love that show.”

  “I’m making rabbit stew,” Anthony announced. “Don’t worry. It’s not from the supermarket either.”

  “So, you guys hunt and all that shit?” Jed was interested, his hand going, like always, to find Redford’s. “Like, on all fours? Or do you do it the old-fashioned way?”

  “Wolf hunting predates modern humans by a few years at least,” Randall pointed out dryly as he emerged from the dining room. “Even if you count the point where your ancestors were running around with blunt sticks, hoping they could find something slow enough for them to catch. So I’d say our way was the old-fashioned
manner.”

  The place wasn’t huge on the inside, but it was neat. Well, neat by Jed’s standards, which meant it wasn’t on fire. None of the surfaces had anything growing on them, so in his opinion the Lewises were right up there with Martha Stewart and his mom. It was obviously rustic, the axe marks visible on some of the roughly hewn walls. There was also a television and a record player in one corner, along with shelf after shelf jammed with books. It was lived-in and cozy, and Jed liked it, from the soft rug slung out in front of the fire to the dining table set with sturdy blue plates.

  “We make sure that we don’t overhunt, of course,” Anthony was saying, making his way back into the kitchen. He gave Edwin’s hair a fond ruffle as he joined him at the counter. “Does it need anything else, Ed?”

  Edwin, dressed now, thank God, took another taste from the stew pot. “Nah, it’s perfect,” he said, giving his brother a wide-open grin, nudging his shoulder against Anthony’s. Edwin didn’t have a trace of guile in his expression, nothing hiding or held back. He just was, this kid who looked to be all of twenty, broad shouldered and so goddamn alive. He looked like Redford did sometimes, when Jed did something good enough to shake off the years of care and worry and fear for him, when Redford stopped hiding behind the ghost of an old woman and his own scars.

  “Good.” Anthony nodded. “Make yourselves at home, please, get comfortable. Do you want anything to drink? We’ve got water, beer, tea, and coffee. I’m sure we have juice in here somewhere.”

  Redford picked out a seat close to the roaring fire, the tense expression slowly leaving him. “I’d love an orange juice,” he ventured.

  “Let me get that, Ant,” Randall said, immediately going to the stove and putting a coffeepot on. Jed was brought a beer, and he nodded his thanks to Randall as the man went out to hand Redford his juice. “Why don’t you sit? I’ve set the table. Edwin and I can take care of the rest.”

  Jed watched Anthony carefully. Up until that moment, no one would think the guy was sick. He was bustling about, equal parts wolfish and strong, still wearing that goddamn apron. In a flannel shirt and equally worn jeans, he looked like the grinning love child of Martha Stewart and a lumberjack, messy brown hair and bright-blue eyes, dark stubble lining his jaw. But right there, when he reluctantly handed off the pot of stew to Randall, Jed saw his left hand shake. Anthony frowned, quickly curling the trembling hand into a fist, and stuffed it in his pocket to hide it.

  Under the smiles, under the easy warmth, Jed saw the tension. This whole family was holding their breaths, desperate and hopeful and terrified. And they were making them dinner. Instead of pushing for their help right the hell now, instead of demanding, they were setting out plates, Edwin cutting up bread, Randall finding the butter. It was a family here, but more than that, it was one that wasn’t afraid to let them in. Maybe that was just because of what they wanted from Redford, but shit, the stew smelled good and he had a cold beer. Jed wasn’t going to complain about ulterior motives.

  Redford tugged Jed down to sit next to him on the wide couch, nudging his side with an elbow. He looked at Jed, then tilted his head toward Anthony, silently asking if Jed had noticed. Letting out a slow breath, Jed wrapped his arm around Redford and nodded, eyes narrowing slightly as he went back to watching the brothers. “Yeah,” he murmured lowly. “Yeah, I know.”

  “You’re a wolf.” Edwin had appeared at Redford’s side, easy grin as messy across his face as the faint freckles and the wild tangle of blond hair. “I mean, you’re a wolf like us. I can smell it.” Leaning in, he took a deep breath as if to confirm. “Nice to meet you.”

  “I—I’m not really like you. Sorry.” Redford had leaned backward slightly from being sniffed. “I used to be a werewolf. Now I’m somewhere in between.”

  Cocking his head, Edwin studied him. It was the longest Jed had seen him be still yet, those pale-blue eyes tracking across Redford’s face. Then he shrugged, tapping the side of his nose. “Yeah, well, I can smell you. And you’re near enough to a wolf to count. Come on.” He held out his hand. “Dinner’s ready, and Ant’s stew is legendary.”

  Anthony gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Yeah, a legend in this household.”

  “It smells amazing,” Victor piped up, eagerly migrating toward the table. “Thank you, once again, for all this. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in quite some time.”

  As much as Jed gave the guy a hard time, he had to kind of feel for Victor. Not a lot, but he knew what it was like to think “homemade” meant the instant noodles you’d heated up using the coffeepot because your microwave had something stuck to the inside that smelled like death. Or maybe that was just him. In any case, Jed knew he was damn lucky to have Redford, and Victor…. Well, even with David, he hadn’t been lucky like that. Most people weren’t.

  “You’re always welcome here,” Randall ventured, though his head was bowed over the bowls as he ladled up the stew. “I mean, we take turns cooking, and there’s usually something edible around.” His gaze cut over to Victor quickly, before he determinedly looked away again. “After all, I owe you quite a bit more than a simple dinner.”

  “Oh no, you don’t owe me anything,” Victor replied, looking startled but pleased at the offer of further dinners. “You have Jed to thank for your rescue in Cairo and Redford for helping here. I’m merely tagging along, though I do hope to be helpful.”

  “Jed and Redford are more than happy to accept dinner in trade for lifesaving.” Jed waved Randall off. “In fact, if you get me another beer, I’ll say we’re even.” He’d rather have a simple meal than a bunch of thanks he didn’t know what to do with, any day.

  They took their seats. Jed held out Redford’s for him and claimed the chair next to him. Edwin easily took the bowl from Anthony, almost seeming as though the gesture meant nothing. He and Randall got Anthony’s food ready, filled up his glass, all without missing a beat or appearing like they were even deliberately helping him. It was a choreographed dance between people who didn’t want to acknowledge why they were doing what they did.

  Anthony took a few moments to encourage everybody to put more on their plates than what was really necessary, making sure they had enough to drink, fussing over bread. Jed noticed that he subtly switched out his bread plate for Edwin’s, giving the larger slice to his brother. He did much the same thing with his bowl of stew and Victor’s, like it was ingrained in him to make sure everyone else had enough before he let himself relax into his own place.

  “Well, before we get started,” Victor said, lifting his glass, “may I propose a toast? To working together, and to hopefully finding a solution.” His gaze went to Randall, a reassuring smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “With Jed and Redford on your side, I’ve no doubt they’ll find a way.”

  Jed laid his hand over his heart as he raised his beer. “Was that a vote of confidence? Professor, I’m touched.” He mimed wiping away tears, sniffing loudly. “God, and I didn’t get you anything. Red, remind me to stop at the pocket protector store on the way home. Victor deserves something pretty.”

  Victor looked thoroughly unamused. “As an addendum,” he continued, as if unaware that Jed had spoken, “I apologize for any explosion, property destruction, or loss of limbs. All three regularly happen in Jed’s vicinity.”

  At that, Jed laughed genuinely, leaning over the table to clink his bottle against Victor’s glass. “Now that I’ll drink to,” he said, giving the man a grin. “And to the professor. If we play our cards right, he might just use that big brain of his for good instead of putting me to sleep.”

  “Cheers,” Randall said with a sideways little smile, raising his glass. Everyone else followed suit, and they settled down to eat.

  The rabbit stew was fucking fantastic. Jed had eaten some weird shit in his life—once, while embedded in Cambodia, he’d eaten roaches the size of his fist off of where they were crawling all over him after his rations ran out—but this was less well, it’s eating this or my own foot and more just pla
in delicious. “Goddamn, this is great,” he enthused, reaching for a second helping, sopping up the last drops in his bowl with the bread. “Seriously, holy shit.”

  Beside him, Redford gave a low laugh and nudged Jed in the side. Yeah, okay, Jed was well aware that he said the same thing every time Redford cooked. But come on, they’d taken a bunch of nothing, and now it was something way better than frozen chicken patties. That was like a form of magic in Jed’s book. Forget water to wine, this shit was the real miracle. Besides, he was more of a beer guy anyway, and no holy son of God had ever made a decent brew.

  “I suppose we may as well get down to business,” Anthony said, leaning back in his chair as Edwin reached over in front of him for more bread. “The first thing we’ll have to do is find the Gray Lady’s pack.”

  “Which might be easier said than done,” Randall said, offering Victor more stew with a hopeful little look, which Victor returned by happily handing his bowl over. “We’re going to need to find a place where people will be willing to talk about such things.”

  “And where would that be?” Redford piped up. “Do you know of any places like that, Jed?”

  “Oh, yeah, me and the Easter Bunny were hanging out just last weekend.” Jed snorted quietly, giving Redford an apologetic wince. “I’m kind of thinking my contacts are going to be about as worthless as tits at a bathhouse.”

  “You could go to Murry’s Bar,” Edwin offered, stealing the spoon from Jed to dish himself up yet more stew. “There’s always a bunch of naturals hanging around there.” Catching Anthony’s look, Edwin immediately tried for an innocent expression. “Not that I’ve ever been there! I just heard. You know, from other people.”