Bloodlines

by Alex Kidwell

  “I’m sorry,” Randall murmured, shaking his head, “I don’t understand.” Maybe he should have gotten what Victor was trying to say, but he felt as though his brain had been dipped in mush, as if he couldn’t form any thoughts beyond an intense longing to sleep for a week.

  “There were, er, certain parts of my behavior that came from a few different things.” Victor sounded like he was struggling to talk so honestly. “The recklessness, I mean. Cairo, going to the wolf pack, looking into the Gray Lady’s eyes, those decisions were partially made on something that I picked up from David, I think. I’m not sure how to fully explain it to a nonmedusa, but think of it as picking up a new instinct. It becomes natural to think that way.”

  Victor took his hand back from Randall’s shoulder and clasped his fingers in his lap, tightly held together. “When I got home, I put my memories of David in the friend pile, so to speak. I then experimented and made risky situations available to myself, but… none of them held any appeal anymore.”

  “You can decide how to let the memories affect you?” Randall felt a faint flicker of curiosity, like something was trying to make its way through the vague numbness in his mind. “That’s… fascinating.”

  “Probably not that interesting,” Victor said wryly. “I did as anybody moving on from an old relationship does. I let go of David, and in doing so the memories I have, the little shards of him I have inside my head, lost their potency. It’s just a little more literal for my kind.”

  “It’s interesting,” Randall disagreed. “You should think about a paper, Victor. Think of how little there is on the medusas. You could publish something for our kind. If it’s anything like what you’ve done before, it will be the formative work on medusa theory.” He paused, realizing that probably hadn’t been Victor’s point. It was just… wonderful to use his brain for something other than mindlessly alphabetizing or deciding what bag to put the bread in. “Sorry,” he murmured, gaze dropping away again. “I’m glad you found a way to handle your ability with greater control. That’s wonderful, it is. I’m just confused, I think, as to why you came to tell me.”

  Victor didn’t answer right away. Though he didn’t make any noise, didn’t move, Randall knew he was trying to find the right thing to say. He had this way of letting out a sigh, of pursing his lips, that Randall had learned signaled his brain searching through possible responses.

  “I just wanted you to know,” Victor said. “And more importantly, I wanted to know how you are. I don’t want you to deny everything and say you’re fine, Randall. How are you, really?”

  “I’m fine.” The response was automatic, Randall still looking away, still refusing to yield. Victor didn’t pry, though. The two of them sat quietly, Victor so close that Randall could feel the warmth of him along his side, the nearness practically begging him to soften. And it was Victor.

  After a beat, Randall tipped his head back, a helpless laugh caught in his throat, an exhausted, almost hysterical smile just barely touching his lips. “I’m not fine at all,” he admitted, throat tight. “God, Victor. I’m just…. I’m so tired.”

  Just saying it out loud, admitting it, felt like a release. Randall laughed again, the sound breaking in his chest, and rubbed his hands through his hair. “And I hate it. God, I hate working every second and wearing”—he shook the name badge—“this and this stupid apron. And no matter what, I can’t get ahead. Anthony’s treatment is eating up everything we can make and then some. And I can’t tell him. I mean, what kind of terrible person am I that I actually am resentful of this?”

  “It doesn’t make you a terrible person at all,” Victor said firmly. “It makes you human. Or a wolf, however accurate you want that statement to be.”

  Randall just stared up at the sky, watching a plane winking overhead like a shooting star. “He never complains.” Randall didn’t know why he was talking to Victor about this.

  No, that wasn’t right. He did. Because Victor was the person he wanted to talk to about everything. But he also knew that he’d walked away, he’d decided that right then, all his energy needed to be on his family and not a medusa with a hard-on for self-destruction. So Randall frankly wasn’t sure if he should be taking comfort in this.

  Then again, maybe he got to have a momentary burst of weakness.

  “Who, Anthony?” Victor asked.

  “Not once.” Randall laced his fingers together, shoulders hunched. “He was eight when our parents were killed. Edwin was two. He never missed a beat. Our whole lives he’s only done what he needed to do to take care of us. He even let his mate go, because he couldn’t leave us behind. And now that he needs me….” Christ, he actually felt heat prickle at his eyes, the sharp ache in his throat making it almost impossible to keep talking. “I’m standing at work today, hating how sick he is. Because I should be in school. I should be going to classes and thinking about tests. And I’m bagging groceries. Not only that, but I’m failing. All the work, all the sacrifice, and I haven’t done one thing right.”

  Again, Victor didn’t reply right away. He let the silence stretch between them, but before Randall could start to dread that Victor was sitting there judging him, he felt Victor’s arm settle over his shoulders. Lightly at first, then more decisively, a tight, centering grip pulling Randall against Victor’s side.

  “If I learned anything about Anthony, it’s that he doesn’t complain for the same reasons you don’t,” Victor said. “He doesn’t want to burden anybody with his stress.”

  The strength of Victor’s embrace, the way their bodies fit together so perfectly, was the most restful thing Randall had felt in months. He let his head fall onto Victor’s shoulder. He accepted, for the moment, the shared steadiness. “I am never going to be as good of a person as my brother,” he murmured, the realization sinking guilt into his gut. “I just want to take care of him. Of Edwin. But we have nothing left. Anthony has an appointment this week, and I don’t know how I’m going to pay for it.” His eyes darted up to Victor’s face, self-condemnation riding on him so heavily Randall could feel it in the turn of his lips, the lines of his forehead. “I’ve been hiding bills from him. He doesn’t know how bad it is.”

  “You are already as good a man as your brother,” Victor said. He lowered his head, pressing his cheek against Randall’s hair. “It’s not weak to admit that you’re having trouble.”

  “It’s always just been us.” Randall, very hesitantly, let his fingers barely rest against Victor’s knee. “We’ve never had anyone to rely on. If we couldn’t do it ourselves, then it wouldn’t happen. I…. I honestly don’t know how to ask for help like this.” The Gray Lady had been different. She’d been a desperate plea, throwing themselves on the age-old traditions of the pack. And in the end, it hadn’t ended up being help at all.

  “I know,” Victor replied softly. He took a deep breath, holding Randall tighter. “I want you to know this. When I offer my house and my money for your use, it’s not charity to make me feel useful. If you and your brothers were to move in with me, I would want you to move into my room so that it could be ours. I would renovate the house to cater to Edwin’s need for open space and Anthony’s health needs. I would—it would be something that I would do for us.”

  Something tight and sharp and wonderful clenched in Randall’s chest. Hope. More than hope, an actual flutter of want, of confidence that desperately wanted to be set free. He could see it so easily, the simple comfort of settling into a life alongside Victor. And if he reached out, it would be there. It was right in front of him.

  “I thought that idea frightened you.” Randall glanced over at Victor again. “You’ve seen all of this, Victor. You weren’t thrilled at the prospect, if I recall.”

  Victor laughed a little. “I know. But do you know what frightened me more? The aftermath of looking into the Gray Lady’s eyes. That normal excitement just didn’t happen. And when I got home after all of you left, I began to…. I wandered around my overly large house and started imagining you
in it. And it didn’t scare me.”

  Feeling wrung out, like he had an elephant sitting on his shoulders and he was struggling simply to keep himself upright, Randall couldn’t bring himself to give in. He wanted to. Just the idea of laying all this at Victor’s feet was incredibly tempting. But that wouldn’t be right. Not for Victor, not for himself, and definitely not for his brothers. He couldn’t just force his weary brain into action and take the easiest way out, as much as he wanted to right then.

  “I don’t know what to say,” he admitted quietly. “I feel like I’m underwater, and I can’t make myself think.”

  “It’s all right.” Victor rubbed his shoulder. Randall felt the curve of a smile against the top of his head. “You don’t have to make any major life decisions right now. I just wanted you to know the offer was there. How about we go inside? That casserole is probably getting quickly devoured.”

  Nodding, Randall nonetheless didn’t immediately move. For a while, he and Victor just sat on the steps, staring up at the sky, the quiet noise of conversation and the clatter of dishes inside marking the time. “Thank you,” Randall whispered into the silence. “For listening to me.” Even if nothing else happened, he was grateful for that.

  Victor pressed a light kiss to his forehead. He stood and offered Randall a hand up. “It was my genuine pleasure.”

  Hand in hand, not too tight of a grip, but steady, as if neither one particularly wanted to let go, they headed inside. Redford and Jed were at the table with Edwin and Anthony, passing around food and drinks, Knievel happily curled up on Edwin’s lap. There were logs burning in the fireplace, laughter and smiles, and Anthony looked, for the moment, happy. Everyone was fed and content and safe, and Randall felt a sharp sense of satisfaction at that. Of relief.

  “I’m going to go change,” he said, smiling a little at everyone. “Save me a plate.”

  Victor squeezed his hand before he let it go to sit at the table, finding a space beside Anthony. As Randall left to go get into his own clothes, he could hear Anthony inquiring how Victor was, Jed’s comment about how that was a wasted question because Victor did nothing but read books and bitch at people, and Redford’s quiet laugh.

  Randall was too tired to worry about what sort of clothes he wore. He just took his uniform off and put on whatever nearest clean clothes he had, going back to the dining table just in time to have Anthony hand him a plate piled high with casserole and the venison he and Edwin had been cooking earlier.

  And the only chair left was pushed suspiciously close to Victor. He gave Edwin an exasperated look, only to be met with a totally innocent grin. Right. Some days, he swore he was going to start putting Edwin outside at meals. But he took his seat, knee bumping up against Victor’s, sharing a quick, slightly embarrassed smile before he started to eat.

  “So, not that it isn’t awesome to see you guys,” Edwin said, looking at Jed and Redford, “but what are you three doing here?”

  “We’re trying out something called ‘socializing,’” Redford answered. Randall couldn’t tell if he was serious or joking, he was that deadpan.

  “And I couldn’t remember where you lived, but I wanted to see you, so I tagged along,” Victor added.

  “You meaning us?” Edwin asked with a sly look over at Anthony. “Or you meaning Randall?”

  “Shut up, Ed,” Randall sighed, pushing the plate away, barely having touched the food. He was too tired to eat. “Just be grateful they drove all the way out here to put up with you.”

  “I did have something I wanted to ask Anthony, actually,” Victor said.

  Anthony glanced up from where he’d been concentrating on shoveling food into his mouth, surprised. “Yeah? Shoot.”

  “Er.” Victor fidgeted with his fork. “Unfortunately, even after spending time with you and the pack, I’m still very ignorant about wolf customs.”

  All at once, Randall was pretty sure he wasn’t going to like where this was going. Eyes wide, he looked up, glancing at Victor and then over at Anthony, praying that Victor wasn’t about to attempt to do something wolfish, like challenging Anthony to a fight or offering to go sniff someone.

  Victor continued, “If I wanted to state my intention to be with Randall romantically, would I have to, er, challenge you for him or something? Perhaps wrestle you to show my strength?”

  Jed choked on his food, going red as he bent over, caught somewhere between a laugh and actually suffocating. Randall was still caught on the state my intention part of the conversation, and yes, while it was highly unlikely that any kind of physical altercation between Anthony and Victor would end with something other than Victor in a lot of pain, Randall found it rather…. Well, it was hot. Bottom line. It was hot, having Victor show some dominance.

  Anthony, on the other hand, had his head down on the table, muffling his laughter into his folded arms. His shoulders were shaking, and his attempts to speak every few seconds were cut off by more laughter. Edwin wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was completely howling in amusement. Victor looked highly put out, and Anthony eventually managed to answer, “You’d seriously fight me?”

  Victor drew himself up, squaring his shoulders with every attempt to look tough. “I absolutely would,” he declared, which just sent Anthony off into fresh peals of laughter. Victor withered where he sat. “I seem to have said something incredibly stupid.”

  “You ask me.” Randall’s answer was quiet, but he found he was smiling at Victor, some of the tenseness he’d held around Victor ever since Randall had walked away softening slightly. “That’s all. I mean”—a quick, wolfish grin, then—“as much as I’d like to see you wrestling around with Anthony, you’re not challenging him for his place in the pack or anything. If you wanted me, you’d ask me.”

  “Oh.” Victor had gone red in his embarrassment. “Right, then. I’ll do that after dinner, shall I?”

  “I think we should talk about burial rites,” Edwin said, attempting to be very serious. “I mean, if you’re going to go around fighting wolves, we need to know your last requests.”

  “You should have a second,” Jed agreed, a broad smirk on his face. “So that when your scrawny professor ass gets handed to you, someone can drag you to safety.”

  “I don’t think that’s what a second is for,” Redford piped up. “Seconds take over when the challenger gets killed.”

  “Oh, well, then Victor will need two of those.” Jed nodded. “Maybe three.”

  Victor sniffed haughtily. “I’m a medusa. I’ve had a will and a family tombstone since I was three. Since that’s taken care of, I’ll leave you lot to figure out the duel rules.”

  “And while you do that”—Randall stood, his mostly uneaten plate gathered up—“I think it’s my turn to do dishes. And if Edwin didn’t eat it all today, there might be a pie lurking somewhere. I’ll get it and some coffee.”

  “I’ll help,” Victor volunteered. He started to gather up dishes, leaning over the table to collect three of them from Edwin.

  Together they carted everything into the kitchen, where Randall collected the leftovers to put into the fridge. They fell into an easy rhythm to the murmur of conversation in the other room, an almost practiced dance around each other. Randall washed, Victor dried, their heads bowed over the sink as they worked in silence.

  “You’re not a wolf.” Randall’s voice cut into the space between them, a frown creasing his forehead as he scrubbed the plates.

  “You’re not a medusa,” Victor replied, a smile in his voice.

  With a noise that wasn’t quite a laugh, Randall darted a look over at Victor. “I mean, you don’t have to try to take on my instincts. My bonding to you, or not, that’s my problem. Not yours.”

  “I know,” Victor murmured. “The truth is, if medusas can be said to bond by looking into someone’s eyes, I’ve already done that with you.” He accepted a dish that Randall passed him. “But I’m not speaking of bonds. I’m speaking of dating.”

  Randall considered it
as he started in on the last of the silverware. The suds made everything slippery, the bubbles catching in the fine hairs on his arms. “I’m worried I don’t actually know you,” Randall admitted. “Before, I thought you were someone other than the man who took risks simply because he wanted to. Now, though, I’m afraid you are, and I don’t know who he is. You’ve become this… dream.” Randall dared to look over at Victor. “What if we don’t fit the way I think we do?”

  Victor’s expression didn’t give much away about his thoughts right then. “I’d say that dating is the way to find that out. But if you’ve discovered that you don’t like who I am, then you’re free to say no.”

  Randall studied Victor intently as he dried off his hands. Before he could change his mind, Randall leaned in, burying his nose under Victor’s ear, taking a deep, slow breath. “You smell the same,” he whispered. He smelled like home. Like a promise of a home Randall had yet to find.

  “I wasn’t lying when I said that I believe I’ve changed,” Victor replied quietly, lifting his chin a little to allow Randall greater access. “I know I can’t expect you to instantly believe me, but I’d like it if you gave me a chance. Go on a date with me, Randall.”

  He didn’t have many more excuses, and all the ones that were left seemed so worthless. Pulling back, Randall briefly closed his eyes so Victor wouldn’t have the worry of meeting his gaze, instead leaning in to nudge their foreheads together. “I missed you too,” he admitted, and it was like a release, like that tightly coiled grief he’d kept buried was allowed to breathe. “Yes. I’d like very much to go out with you, Victor Rathbone.”

  A smile he’d never seen before spread over Victor’s face: uninhibited, none of the usual caution or dryness that tinged all of his other expressions. “Good. Because I’ve been planning a date for two weeks, and I’d be very disappointed if I didn’t get to do it.”

  “Two weeks, huh?” Randall couldn’t help but return the smile, the two of them standing there, just barely apart, not touching but hovering there, giddy with the closeness. “Was this just general date planning? Because if I need to get on your schedule, just tell me and I’ll move some things around. I wouldn’t want you to use up all your good ideas.”