Bloodlines

by Alex Kidwell

  With that, Jed took off toward Mallory and the Gray Lady. Randall and Edwin had followed their brother’s lead, shifting, Edwin keeping close by Jed’s side. Redford shot Anthony a sideways look, searching for stiffness or signs of pain. If he was feeling it, he was better at hiding the symptoms than Redford expected. Then again, he suspected adrenaline might be playing a part in that. Redford contemplated changing as well but decided against it—his shift would only take up time. Instead, he went to Victor and dug around in the pack for his gun, buckling the shoulder holster on.

  “I don’t know what you think you’re going to do,” Mallory was saying. “We can’t go running after every wolf in trouble. Put the guns down.”

  “These people are getting attacked, possibly as we’re all standing around, jerking each other off.” Jed’s voice was rising to a shout with every word. “Are you seriously telling me you’re just going to let them die? Ten miles away, and you’re going to what, shut your doors and pretend it isn’t happening?”

  “Every pack looks after itself,” Mallory argued. “We’re in danger enough as it is. We don’t want to piss these hunters off even more and bring retaliation down on our heads. We’re not ready for that.”

  “What about you, sweetheart?” Jed turned to the Gray Lady, hands spread in supplication. She stood slightly behind Mallory, likely through no choice of her own—Mallory looked every inch the guard right then, standing tall, shoulders squared. “Tell me this bozo isn’t speaking for you too.”

  “There are laws, human.” Her voice was low and sad but firm. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Jed paused, glaring at both of them. His guns were strapped to his hips, a long machete across his back, standing so at odds with the soft, unarmed dress of the Gray Lady. She was fierce and restrained, but Jed looked like barely contained fire, like a storm just about to break. His fury was nearly palpable in the line of his shoulders, the scorch of his glare. “Yeah. That’s me,” he gritted. “Just a goddamn human.”

  He turned away, going to where the rest of the pack was mingling. “Listen up.” Jed raised his voice to be heard, ignoring any incredulous looks from the rest of the wolves. “If I wanted to let people die while I sat around and pretended I didn’t hear them screaming for help, I’d have stayed in my old job. As it is, I’ve got a bag full of guns, enough explosives to take down a building, and a direction to point both in. If you want to come, fall in behind tall, dark, and furry over there.” Jed motioned to Anthony. “He’s going for a run. I’ll be your friendly neighborhood backup van. If you’d rather stay here, well, fuck you.”

  The pack around them fell silent. Jed didn’t wait for a reaction. He was already striding across the field toward their van, whistling sharply at Anthony. “Let’s go, Lassie.”

  Anthony didn’t look impressed, but he turned, looking back over his shoulder at the gathered pack. One of the wolves, a young woman with dark hair, stepped forward to incredulous murmurs, shifting smoothly and falling into line alongside Anthony. Then another did the same, and another, until five of the younger adults of the pack were grouped with the Lewises.

  They didn’t waste another second. Anthony raised a howl—a call to arms—and they started running, streaking out of the camp. Redford followed suit, making a quick pace toward the van, joining Jed and Victor there. They didn’t speak, and Jed only gave them two seconds to buckle up before he hit the gas.

  “Need that big, beautiful brain of yours, Fido,” Jed muttered, pushing the van faster, the old vehicle rattling dangerously. Once they got off the main trail leading to the camp, the road to the northeast was little more than a well-worn dirt track. “You got those maps memorized?”

  “Well enough, I hope,” Redford replied. He’d gotten himself into the backseat, and he nudged Victor to move so he could lean over the back to sort through their bigger equipment, one hand holding on to the seat to steady himself with the bouncing of the van. “Do you think you’ll want your grenade launcher? Or are we going smaller?”

  “Big Bertha definitely should come out to play.” Jed’s voice was grim, and as he banked a sharp turn, the van practically bounced up onto two tires. “I’m not feeling in a subtle mood.”

  “You have a grenade launcher?” Victor squawked.

  “You’d actually be surprised how useful they are,” Redford said. He tugged Big Bertha up and laid it over two empty seats. “Jed, I’ve got explosive rounds, hollow points, and jacketed. The jacketed’s probably a bit overkill. What do you need to know about the maps?”

  Their exchanges were rapid-fire, Jed not even having to look up from the road to check on Redford’s work. They knew each other now, they knew how to anticipate the other’s thinking, what the other would need or where they’d go. It was a partnership that Redford hadn’t even realized was fully forming until it gelled so easily. “Best route,” Jed shot back. “River or mountain.”

  There were two main fire trails. One followed the meandering path of the river, sticking close to water, and the other went up onto the mountainside, getting the higher ground. Both headed in the right direction, and both wound up by the lake a hundred miles up, but if they took the wrong one, they could wind up too far away to get to the wolves in time. Trying to think of the best route was a little difficult when Redford was hanging over the backseat. Closing his eyes, he pictured the maps in his head, seeing his finger slide along the trails, zooming through both of them in his mind’s eye. “The river.”

  He didn’t need to explain his reasoning, and Jed immediately turned in that direction. Low-hanging tree branches were starting to smack against the roof of the van, and Victor was clinging to his seat for dear life, paler than usual. Remarkably, perhaps in respect to the situation, he didn’t bitch at Jed’s driving.

  Every so often, Redford thought he could see flashes of wolves through the dark tangle of tree branches. Edwin’s blond fur stood out against the shadows, Anthony little more than a dark silhouette, the chase of fur and paws darting through the underbrush like it was a dance. Then the trail curved away, no longer making a straight line toward their destination, and the wolves were gone.

  “Shift?” Jed asked. When Redford looked up, Jed’s eyes met his in the rearview mirror.

  Redford glanced at the clock. They had a few minutes before they arrived. Time enough.

  Damn it. He didn’t want to shift, but it was the better option. He’d be faster, he’d have better senses, and no matter how much time Jed had spent with him at the gun range, he still didn’t shoot with the same natural effectiveness. As little as he wanted to admit it, Redford’s best weapons were his teeth and the brutal instincts of his wolf form.

  “Yes,” he confirmed, hurriedly tugging off his necklace and dropping it in the cup holder. His bracelet went the same way, and Redford didn’t have time to worry about Victor’s sensibilities as he stripped. Jed, however, seemed to have that covered.

  “Look away, princess,” he growled, threatening.

  If Victor had a response, Redford didn’t hear it. The rush of blood was too loud in his ears as he closed his eyes to try to focus, to shove aside all the external stimulation and concentrate on the change.

  It hurt. It always did.

  But Redford didn’t have time for recuperating in the aftermath. He got himself into the passenger seat and shoved a paw against the window button to get the air rushing in. The eight wolves—the Lewises plus the five from the pack—were making better time than the van, which had to stay out of the thickest parts of the forest, and it looked like they’d arrive a few minutes earlier.

  He thumped his tail against Jed’s leg twice, for two minutes, and pointed his nose in the direction of the wolves. They’d worked out a whole silent communication system. It had had some failures, like the time Jed had misunderstood unknown criminal coming from behind as you should come in my behind. That hadn’t been a good conversation to have in the middle of a job. By and large, though, it was an incredibly useful tool for when Redford didn�
��t have proper vocal cords.

  Jed’s fingers pushed lightly through the fur at the back of Redford’s neck, gently hanging on as he pushed the van even faster. The whole vehicle rattled and shook, the three of them bouncing around painfully inside. All of a sudden Jed swore loudly, jerking both hands back to the wheel and slamming so hard on the brakes that the van fishtailed, skidding on the dirt path and spinning nearly completely around. Redford only narrowly dodged as Big Bertha made an appearance between the front seats.

  A large tree blocked the road. The van was stopped, facing back the way they’d come, inches from the trunk. Jed didn’t waste time, though. One quick glance to make sure everyone was still in one piece and he floored it, driving a ways down the road before stopping again.

  “Bertha,” he snapped at Victor. Victor handed over the grenade launcher. Jed dove out of the car and took off at a run, shouting back, “Cover your ears!”

  There was several beats of silence, Victor’s eyes going wide. “Tell me he’s not.”

  Redford just whined softly and ducked his head, paws over his ears as instructed. A count of ten later and there was a fizzing sound, a whiz through the air, a bright burst of light, and a very loud explosion. Scraps of wood rained down on the van, but nothing threatening, and Jed climbed back in. Despite the hurry, he still somehow managed to look extraordinarily pleased with himself.

  The van ricocheted forward down the newly cleared path. Jed seemed to be pushing it twice as hard, the engine grinding in protest at the speed. If the engine gave up completely, Redford wouldn’t care, as long as it did it after they got to the pack.

  All at once, Redford could smell it, the concentration of wolves, the peppery tang of gunpowder. He nudged his nose against Jed’s arm, and Jed stopped immediately, skidding to a halt and throwing on the parking brake. He left the engine running as he grabbed his bag. “Lead the way, Red,” Jed muttered, quickly climbing out of the car, barely managing to fit Bertha in his duffel bag, gun already out. “Get to the wolves and tell them to stay back. You guys are going to get the pack to the van, got it? Victor, you’re in charge of survivors.”

  Since the door wasn’t easily opened with paws, Redford had to leap across to the driver’s seat and out the door that Jed had opened. He lifted his nose to the wind to figure out where the other wolves were—a brief bump against Jed’s legs and they were off. The acrid stink of the explosion was still lingering in the air, the stench of burnt wood and the sweeter smell of gunpowder overlaying the whiff of gunmetal and other wolves. They were close. There was no way the noise of Jed’s blast wouldn’t have alerted everyone to their arrival. Jed was running flat out, jumping over downed branches and underbrush, gun at the ready. His urgency spurred Redford faster, his ears flat against his head, the ground blurring underneath his pounding paws.

  Everything in him wanted to stretch his muscles and run, to soar across the ground like he knew he could, but he couldn’t leave Jed and Victor in his dust, even if part of him wanted to leave Victor. Either that or nip him on the heel for being so noisy, crashing through the forest like an asthmatic elephant.

  A sharp yip of pain rose in the air, an angry howl following behind. At the bark of gunfire, Jed cursed, digging somehow deeper and increasing his speed. Redford could smell his sweat, could hear the deep gasps for air, but Jed didn’t let himself rest. As they rounded the bend and came upon the cave, wolves racing through trees, the flash of guns after them, Jed didn’t hesitate even a moment.

  He climbed up onto the top of the rocky crevice, the cave under him, and he started firing. “Red,” he bellowed, aiming for where the hunters seemed to be, laying down cover fire. “Get them out of here!”

  If Redford ever wondered how Jed had been before, how the man who kissed him so gently, who smiled with genuine joy at silly things like a home-cooked meal could have done the things he casually referred to, he got his answer then. Jed was hard, unflinching. When the hunters began firing back, he coolly ducked behind a rock, reloading and continuing on as if this was just another day at the office. He trusted Redford to find the wolves, to start directing them back toward Victor, and he never once lost focus from what he was doing. Redford had only seen a glimpse of Jed like this back when they’d first met. This was truly Jed in his element.

  When one of the hunters broke free of the rest and went after the wolves who were forming the front line, Jed left his birds-eye perch and went running, sniper rifle left behind in favor of his beloved pistols. “Get back,” he barked at Anthony. “Victor’s got the van. Now move.”

  One of the hunters was down, several of the wolves were bleeding, there were howls and shouts and the constant bray of guns. How Jed was keeping track of everything in the semidark, in the thick of the trees, Redford didn’t know. Jed was constantly moving forward while trying to give everyone else room to fall back, like he really did think he was bulletproof.

  There were a few steps in the undergrowth to Redford’s left, the noise barely loud enough to be noticed above the gunfire. Someone was approaching Jed’s left flank.

  Jed was in danger.

  Redford kept low to the ground, running behind Jed so he wouldn’t distract him. Grass tickled against his belly, his paws barely making a sound against the dirt. The hunter was coming closer, shotgun raised, aiming straight for Jed’s head. Redford could see the man’s finger tightening on the trigger, the muscles in his arm tensing as he prepared to fire.

  Jed could die.

  Redford didn’t think. He didn’t stop to debate the morals, because right and wrong had been washed away in the howl of fury that rose from his instincts.

  With a guttural growl, Redford leapt. He landed heavily on the man, knocking him back, the shot firing off into the woods. Under him, the hunter twisted and turned, hands closing around Redford’s muzzle, fingers caught between his teeth. With a snap, Redford ripped his hand open, and when the hunter brayed in pain, Redford took the opening and tore out the man’s throat. Blood gushed over his tongue and soft skin parted easily underneath his fangs, and for a few moments, Redford was lost.

  Kill, his wolf chanted, the throb of his heart beating to a primal frenzy. Kill hunter, protect pack.

  The roar of a semiautomatic caught his attention. Anthony growled. Redford didn’t look at Jed. He didn’t think about all the times they had trained for this kind of scenario, all the times they had gone over the fact that if Jed had a clean shot, Redford should stay out of the way.

  But Redford could smell the blood in the hunter’s veins just waiting to be spilled, and all the danger of potentially getting hit with a stray bullet didn’t matter. He ducked past Anthony, coming up on the back of the hunter, and closed his jaws around the man’s knee. The bone shattered easily under his bite. Redford used the grip to drag the man down onto the dirt, his snarl an undercurrent to the hunter’s scream.

  Pain blossomed in his temple. He turned on the attacker, jaws wide, teeth flashing. A forearm was thrown up, and Redford latched on to that instead of the throat he’d been aiming for.

  He bit down, going to crack the bone, but he stopped on his next inhale. Gunpowder. Pine.

  Jed.

  A strong hand on the scruff of his neck dragged him back, away from Jed. Anthony, human now, was growling at him, threatening and deep. That growl said, get down and stay down.

  Jed’s arm was painted in red. The one remaining hunter lay still on the ground, Jed’s gun aimed at him, never wavering. Some of the other wolves gathered in a loose circle. Jed was talking, voice like steel. Bodies were lying around, strewn carelessly like fallen autumn leaves. The hunters. Redford could count four, including one whose throat was a bloody, gaping wound, eyes glazed and staring sightlessly up at the leaves above.

  Jed knocked the last hunter out with the butt of his rifle, one sharp movement across his temple. He stood with his left arm hanging uselessly by his side, dripping blood down the tips of his fingers to leave a trail. “Everyone accounted for?” he asked Anthony lowl
y.

  “Everyone’s fine,” Anthony replied. Redford could smell injury on him, but not much. Slowly, the wolves filtered back in, most still shifted. Edwin’s muzzle was bleeding. Randall was limping, blood winding its way down the fur of his back leg. Victor, pale and shaken and reeking of fear, was crouching near Randall, his quiet words a meaningless buzz to Redford’s mind.

  “Okay, princess, start loading up the van. Anyone who shouldn’t be running goes there. We can probably fit everyone, if they don’t mind sitting close.” Jed’s voice.

  Victor smelled confused at first, then resolved. “You heard him. I don’t want anybody playing macho and trying to run back if they shouldn’t.” The wolves started making their way to the van, and Redford growled under his breath, staying close to Jed to make sure none of them attacked.

  Would they attack? Redford didn’t know. All he could smell was blood and death. The lack of immediate danger calmed his racing heart some, but every movement was still suspicious.

  Randall, dragging his injured leg, stayed behind with Anthony. Edwin was sitting close to Redford. Victor glared at them. “You three, in the van. I won’t tolerate people not being sensible here.”

  Anthony gave a sigh but followed the order. He trudged toward the van, Edwin trailing behind him. Randall gave Victor a perfectly calm stare and sat at his feet, at which Victor threw up his hands in exasperation and moved toward the van himself. Randall limped after him, looking just a bit like a sheepdog herding a wayward lamb back toward the pen.

  Redford blinked slowly, wondering if he should follow suit. He didn’t feel injured, but a strange numbness was creeping into every muscle, every breath of air that carried the scent of blood making him feel dizzier.

  Some of that blood was Jed’s.

  He’d bitten Jed, he started to realize. He’d hurt Jed.

  He’d done it once before, when they’d been playing harmlessly and Redford had lost the battle against his instincts. It had been a human bite then, blunt and only deep enough to warrant a few stitches.