Bloodlines

by Alex Kidwell

  “Are you scared of me?” Redford asked. “Or scared of my instincts? Or something else?”

  Redford looked so damn worried, so pinched and guilty, that Jed couldn’t help but pull him in close. Nothing should ever make Redford look that way. Jed wanted to burn down the world, knowing it was his fault. Cupping Redford’s cheek with his hand, he sighed, thumb making a slow arc against Redford’s skin. “Never of you,” he said softly, holding Redford’s gaze. “Not ever.”

  “I know you said you left because you thought you’d turned me into a bad person.” Redford’s worried look took on a touch of confusion. “But if you’re not scared of me, and I know you still love me and you don’t love bad people, then I just…. I don’t get it.” Redford paused. “But we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. All I need to know is that you’re back with me.”

  It was an out. And if there was one thing Jed Walker was good at, it was taking the goddamn out. Playing their fingers together, resting their joined hands on his knee, Jed found it easier to stare down at them rather than hold Redford’s gaze. “I’m scared,” he tried again, tone thick, “that I’m your grandmother.” Shit, it sounded stupid when he said it out loud. “That I’m forcing you into a different kind of cage and that I’m the reason….” Fuck, did his voice actually crack? Goddamn it. “I’m the reason,” he continued, clearing his throat, “that your instincts haven’t settled down.”

  Redford shut him up by kissing him. Jed did have to agree that it was the more pleasant option, so when Redford drew back, Jed frowned, missing the contact already.

  “I don’t know why my head is screwed up,” Redford admitted. “But I know it’s not because of you. Don’t you get that, Jed? When I was with my grandmother, I was young, and I didn’t know any better. I’m strong now. I can think for myself. Do you think you’d be able to force me to do anything I didn’t want to?”

  Still resolutely looking absolutely anywhere but Redford’s face, Jed shifted slightly, wanting to keep protesting. It was easier to just blame himself. Hurt like fuck, but it was easier, because he could control that. He could bundle up all that self-loathing and have a nice, handy outlet for his grief. But Edwin had been right. Redford was right. Redford was a man, a very intelligent, very strong man. He wasn’t the scared guy Jed had found hiding in a dead woman’s house.

  And even then, even then, Redford had been beautifully strong. Even then, he’d been a better man than Jed ever would be.

  “I’m not a good man,” he said lowly, jaw tight. “I don’t have… good things in my life. Just you. You’re the best goddamn thing I’ve got going on, Red. What if I ruin you? What if my filth gets all over you? I think I’d just put a bullet in my goddamn brain, because you’re… fuck, you’re the goddamn moon, you know? And I’m just this…. I’m this shit-stain who doesn’t deserve you.”

  However much the words hurt to say, Redford looked even more wounded by them than Jed felt. “If you keep going, I’m going to hit you, because you’re talking about the person I love,” Redford protested. “And I don’t like it when people insult you.”

  Christ. Jed could feel his face crumple. Maybe it was all the booze still sloshing around somewhere in his system. Maybe it was the lack of proper sleep or the hangover pounding his head like a hippo doing tap dance. Maybe it was just Redford, the sweet sternness in his gaze, the strength with which he was holding on to Jed’s hand. Maybe it was that he still felt safer here, with Redford, than he ever had.

  Jed chased a lot of monsters. Real now, and the all-too-human kind. He’d been a monster; he still was sometimes. He was brash and he was bold, and he never flinched. He never backed down.

  Redford was the one goddamn thing that made him feel safe.

  One minute Jed was just sitting there, still reciting all the reasons why not, still not entirely sure. He’d been sure a few hours ago, but the drive had given him more time to think and for old fears to resurface. So he sat there and he thought, and he wondered if Redford was right. If there was a chance. Or if he should listen to reason and just leave. He was thinking. He was caught between the two. And the next minute, he was leaning into Redford’s shoulder, hot tears burning at his throat, caught there when Jed refused to let them fall.

  “Yeah?” he managed, voice almost gone. “Well maybe I should listen to you, then. You are the brains of this operation.”

  He could feel Redford smile against his hair as his arms came up around Jed’s back, gently rubbing over his shoulder blades. “I am,” Redford replied, holding him tight. “And I’m an expert on the subject of Journey Walker. So when I say you’re the best man I’ve ever met, you should listen to me. I have footnotes and citations and everything.”

  Huffing a laugh, pretty damn glad no one had seen his chick-flick moment, Jed just pressed his face into Redford’s neck, feeling all that sick tension ease away. “Yeah?” A low breath and he was sliding his lips along Redford’s skin, aching to feel him. God, it felt like forever. “I love it when you talk nerdy.”

  “That’s not nerdy, that’s just well-sourced research.” There was a hint of a laugh under Redford’s words. He bent his head, tucking his chin over Jed’s shoulder. They were so wrapped up together, a knot of limbs and sighs and smiles, that Jed wasn’t sure they’d ever untangle. What he did know, though, was that he never fucking wanted to.

  Eventually, they did make it into their cabin. As much as Jed wanted to stay curled up in Redford’s arms forever, they probably shouldn’t turn into the crazy woodsmen who lived on a fallen log. Hand in hand, they walked back toward the camp, shoulders pressed tight together. They passed the van, which was parked… interestingly. Points for effort to Edwin, in any case. Probably having the van half up on a small hill of dirt was not the best choice, but at least it was right side up.

  “I let Edwin drive,” Jed told Redford with a slight laugh. “Holy crap, I nearly died.” It all hit him then, and he started to laugh, cheeks hurting with how wide he was grinning. “He showed up naked, Red, and I was so drunk I passed out, and then I let him drive home. That was the weirdest goddamn night.”

  Redford just smiled at him, squeezing Jed’s hand tighter. “I’m guessing you’ll never let him drive again?”

  “I am pretty sure I let him pop his driving cherry,” Jed snorted. “So no. Never, ever again.” They reached their cabin. Jed was only distantly surprised to find Knievel sitting on the porch, waiting for them. He probably should have let her drive home. It would have been safer, and she had two fewer thumbs than Edwin.

  The cabin looked exactly the same. Jed had almost been expecting some kind of significant change, but it had only been a day. And Redford didn’t tend to get drunk and throw alcohol bottles everywhere like Jed did. Redford shut the door behind them and flicked on the light, his gaze never leaving Jed.

  “Hey,” Jed whispered, tugging Redford into him, a faint smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. Redford came easily into his arms, leaning his weight on Jed to topple them onto the bed, where Redford seemed to have a moment of thinking he was some kind of octopus in wrapping every limb around Jed.

  “Do you know what I learned when you were gone?” Redford asked lowly.

  “How to do origami?” Jed guessed, trailing kisses along his jaw. “The secret of the universe?”

  “Close,” Redford huffed. “I learned that you’re my pack. And some wolves need lots of pack members, and some don’t. And some need to be outside, or to be with another wolf, and some don’t.” He lifted up on his elbow to look at Jed. “But that first realization was the most important one.”

  Rubbing his thumb along Redford’s cheek, Jed studied his face, throat oddly tight. “You think I’m your pack?” Two years ago, he was pretty sure he would have laughed right out loud at the idea. And the terminology. But now he could feel warmth spreading in his chest, a terrifying sense of rightness at the thought. “Isn’t that kind of a big deal for you?”

  Redford frowned. “A big deal in admitting
that, or a big deal, period?”

  “Kinda both.” Jed let his fingers trail lightly through Redford’s hair. As far as he knew, the whole pack thing meant… family. It meant something a lot bigger than Jed could handle. He wasn’t anyone’s family. He wasn’t that guy.

  “It’s not.” Redford bumped his chin against Jed’s chest in an affectionate gesture. “I liked saying it. And you being my pack is probably the most right, natural thing I’ve ever felt. You’re everything I need.”

  Silent for a few moments, rubbing his hand absently up and down Redford’s back, Jed struggled to come up with a response. Redford just said it so easily. He honestly wasn’t sure what to do with that. “Have I ever told you about my family?”

  Redford blinked at him, startled, and an eager look started to light his eyes. “No, you haven’t. I’d love to hear about them.”

  Grimacing, Jed just kind of shook his head. Yeah, he didn’t have many Walton family Christmas stories. And he honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked about them. Maybe sometime in his early army days. When he’d enlisted, he’d had to write down his family’s medical history, and he hadn’t even known if he knew their latest address. “I, uh.” Sighing, half hating that he’d brought it up, Jed shrugged. “I’ve got an older brother and sister. Two parents.” He trailed off, scowling. Christ, how did he even talk about this?

  Redford started to look concerned. “If it’s bad, you don’t have to tell me about them.”

  “No, no, fuck, it’s not… bad.” A lot of people had assumed Jed came from some horrifying background. The truth of it was probably a lot more mundane than one might guess. “They were just… they were nice.” Jed sighed, flicking his gaze away from Redford to stare up at the ceiling. “They were all really nice. Normal. I just…. I don’t know. I never fit. Ever. I grew up feeling like I was some tacked on piece of a puzzle that didn’t belong there. I hated it, not because they were bad people, they weren’t. Just because I never felt like I should be a part of them.”

  It made him seem like an asshole, Jed knew. He’d known it back then. His parents had loved him, probably. They’d certainly never abused him. He’d had food and clothes and a roof over his head. All common sense dictated that Jed should have been grateful. He should have stuck around. And he hadn’t. Even as a kid, he’d been the guy who ran away when shit got too hard. Give him a war any day. He’d never figured out how to handle family.

  Redford rubbed Jed’s arm. “That sounds like it was hard,” he said sympathetically. “Are they all still alive?”

  Snorting a little laugh, Jed shook his head helplessly. “I don’t know.” Christ, Redford was going to hate him. “I, uh. I left home when I was sixteen. Haven’t talked to them since. I don’t even know where they are.” The guy who could find anyone, and he didn’t have a fucking clue if his parents were dead or alive.

  Redford looked like he wasn’t sure what to make of that. Jed hadn’t told many people about his parents: a few army buddies, way back when, when he’d been so drunk he couldn’t control his words and someone had brought up the topic of family. It’d never gone over well, saying he just didn’t talk to them. For some reason, it was assumed that whatever unit you were put into—by fate, design, a broken condom, or some adoption agency—you were supposed to like them. Hell, you were supposed to love them. If they didn’t beat you, if they fed you, took care of you, it was a biological imperative that you have some kind of emotional connection. And Jed just… didn’t.

  Redford, who really had had it bad, finally just nodded and smiled at Jed sadly. “Okay,” he said simply. His hand stole up to find Jed’s again, and when they were joined, Redford brought them up to rest under his chin. “Do you think you’ll ever want to contact them, someday?”

  Jed had to admit, he was still waiting for Redford to react differently. To realize that if Jed couldn’t even hack it with the people he’d been born into, how the fuck was he supposed to make anything else work? “I don’t know,” Jed answered, fidgeting a little.

  That was a lie.

  “No,” he sighed, eyes still locked somewhere above Redford’s head. “Shit, Red…. I know, I know that I should be different. But it always felt like they were strangers. I’m sure they loved me, I don’t doubt it. But I never could figure out how to be a part of something like that. I don’t do families. I don’t know how.”

  “And you don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Redford replied softly. “You didn’t pick them. You didn’t get on with them, and that’s okay.” He hesitated, bumping his chin against Jed’s knuckles. “You can choose me to be your pack, if you want.”

  Jesus Christ. It wasn’t even a conscious decision to finally lower his gaze to Redford’s. He was drawn like a goddamn magnet. “I’d pick you a hundred times over,” Jed whispered, the words sinking down into him. They were true. He knew they were true. For the first time in his life, he honestly felt like he was home. “I don’t know how to do this, Red, but you make me want to figure it out.”

  “Me too.” Redford smiled. “We can figure it out together.”

  A very slow smile started curling across Jed’s face. “Now that sounds like something I can handle.” They were a team. They were partners. Jed trusted him. He trusted Redford with his back, his guns, his life. He sure as hell could trust him now. His slid his hand down, bumping fingers over the dog tags and whistle Redford wore. “You and me?”

  “Always.”

  Chapter 13

  Randall

  IT WAS the summer solstice.

  As the longest day of the year, it was a traditional day of ceremony and marked observance in numerous cultures. In some places, it was a holy day. In others it represented an instance of celebration, mirth, festivals or grand parties. It was a day out of time, one where bacchanals and fertility goddesses danced together. It was a day where one was encouraged to step outside the normal grind of planting and harvesting to give thanks to the sun that grew their crops, to the ground that held them.

  To wolves, it apparently meant an absolutely obscene amount of food and an even larger bonfire.

  Sitting on the porch of their cabin, watching the preparations, Randall couldn’t help but marvel at how some traditions never changed. The pack was preparing to move, furnishings being packed up, arrangements being made. A small group of scouts had even been sent out yesterday to check out the possible spots Jed had found for the pack to settle. But today, it was all about the celebration.

  Edwin was out there, chasing after a platter of freshly butchered meat, trying to charm a predinner snack from the women carrying it. Anthony was hovering nearby, eyes firmly fixed on Edwin. After their brother’s little disappearing trick the other day, Randall was frankly surprised Anthony hadn’t put Edwin on a leash.

  If he squinted, he could just make out Victor hovering on the other edge of the gathering, some kind of package in his hands as he scowled at everyone. He looked like he was trying to make his way through the crowd, though he wasn’t being very successful.

  Phoenix, the half blood, was scheduled to talk at the celebrations today. Later, Randall had heard, a few local half bloods from the nearby area would show up, granted access for one day only. Rumor had it that the Gray Lady had initially refused them, but since she planned to move, she obviously felt safe enough to give out their location to a select few. The knowledge would cease to be relevant in a week, after all.

  Randall wasn’t sure how he felt about the whole thing. Moving, leaving everything he’d known, Phoenix being there… he just didn’t know. Maybe it didn’t matter. Anthony needed the pack, and that was the most important thing.

  Good thing he’d already dropped out of school. Not that his brothers knew that, but moving several states away would have put a huge cramp in his commute.

  “Randall!” He looked up to see Victor had finally made his way through the crowd, his free arm held in front of him like a barrier to stop overly friendly wolves from bumping into him. “I wanted to
catch you before Phoenix spoke. I think after that happens, the alcohol will start to flow freely and I’ll have to hide in my cabin.”

  Randall had to admit that he stared blankly for far too long. Victor seeking him out was not a normal occurrence. And with everything that had happened, with all the confusion and the really good kisses and the fact that Victor had looked terrified after both, Randall had assumed the man would take the pack moving as an opportunity to leave and never see him again. “Is something wrong?” he asked, half standing, frowning. Of course that had to be the reason. Why else would Victor come find him?

  “No, no, not at all,” Victor assured. “I wanted to give you something.”

  He held out the package to Randall. It was tidily wrapped in brown paper, and from the shape of it, it had to be a book. Stunned, Randall reached out, taking it and staring at it like it was something he’d never seen before. He looked back up at Victor, unsure. “You brought me a gift?”

  “It’s merely something I wanted you to have.” Victor looked faintly embarrassed. “It’s not in the best condition, I’m afraid.”

  Randall could feel the smile starting on his lips. He ducked his head to hide it, carefully tearing the paper from the package. It was, indeed, a book. Carry On, Jeeves, by P.G. Wodehouse. It was, as stated, in somewhat rough condition, the edges of the pages yellowed with age and use, but it was obviously not suffering from neglect. This was a cherished tome. Randall could see the love that had gone into turning the pages. The grin on Randall’s face couldn’t possibly be masked as anything but delight now. With reverent fingers, he opened it, caressing the well-worn paper. He leaned down and took a deep breath, delighting in the unique scent of a carefully handled old book. “I love it,” he told Victor honestly, eyes rising to him. “Thank you, Victor. I will treasure it.”

  “It’s my favorite,” Victor replied, still sounding a bit awkward but obviously relieved that Randall liked his gift. He reached down to turn the pages back to the start, revealing the carefully handwritten notation on the inside cover: Victor Rathbone, age 6. “Have you read Wodehouse?”