Blood Howl

by Alex Kidwell

  “Oh.” Redford looked a little startled at the offer. “I’ll just have water. Thank you.” The plates were put on the counter, and Redford went hunting for a glass. Jed was pretty sure that he wouldn’t actually find one, but, miracle of miracles, Redford eventually came up brandishing a mug, which proudly proclaimed I Got it On in Hong Kong. It’d do.

  Flipping open the box, Jed stared for a moment. “I got extra sausage with my pizza,” he said, a little surprised, as Red brushed up behind him, trying to get to the paper towels.

  Oh, God. Someone up there was laughing their stupid ass off over this. He was officially the brunt of a cosmic joke.

  “Is that bad?” Redford looked completely bewildered at his reaction. “I like sausage.”

  Yup. A horrible, horrible joke.

  “So do I, babe,” Jed sighed, serving up two slices, grabbing both beers. He had a feeling he’d need them. “You have no idea.”

  Slinging himself into his chair, he took a big bite, half groaning in satisfaction. Jesus, that was good. He hadn’t realized how hungry he’d been until he began eating. “So, uh, I don’t know. This is where we do small talk, probably, right?” He lifted one shoulder in a shrug, gulping down his beer. “Gotta admit, sugarlips, I’m kind of horrible at this whole thing. You got any preference about dinner conversation?”

  In response, Redford stared at him for a moment and then slowly leaned over to reach out for the changer and hit the volume button. He flicked through the channels, settling on some nature documentary.

  “I’m not really good at conversation,” Redford said apologetically, but he was smiling, the expression held more in his eyes than anywhere else. Surprisingly, Jed found himself wanting to do anything he could just to see that happen more. He’d never felt like that before, never even come close to the warmth that had settled somewhere in his chest. “I usually just read during dinner.”

  “Yeah?” He gave Redford a crooked smile back, grabbing another slice of pizza and settling into his chair. “What kind of stuff, professor?”

  Redford shrugged, looking back at the television. “Anything. My grandma, she—there’s a lot of books in the house.” He stumbled over his words. “She liked mythology best. The Greek pantheon.” Redford paused to take a small bite, his way of eating not really making it obvious if he was actually enjoying the pizza or not. “Science, too. But mostly stories.” That was probably the most Redford had said at once; it was practically a speech.

  Jed’s favorite books had pictures of things like overly built alien men on the covers and included lots of probing. Somehow, he doubted his and Redford’s tastes ran in the same direction. “Mythology, that’s like… werewolves and silver bullets and shit, right?”

  He didn’t miss the odd flinch that shuddered through Redford’s shoulders. “Yes.” He may have almost sounded something approaching enthusiastic earlier, talking about the books, but his voice had turned back into the hesitant whisper. “Something like that.”

  Now, he might live his life from the distance of a sniper’s scope, but Jed did know people. He had to be able to read them from far off, to know the tilt of the shoulders or the clench of a jaw and guess what it meant. Whatever he’d just said had stumbled right into a sore spot for Redford. Which was ridiculous, really, because he’d just been talking about werewolves, but somehow it had shut Redford down, faster than anything. Before he could think too much about it, Jed reached across the table and curled his fingers around Redford’s, trying to meet his eyes. “Hey,” he whispered, frowning. “Where’d you just go?”

  The smile Redford gave was obviously forced. “Nowhere. Sorry. I didn’t—sorry, it’s nothing, really.” Yeah, because that was convincing. “It’s just… you really don’t know why that client wanted me to be taken?” Somehow, Jed got the feeling the change of topic wasn’t random.

  Silent, Jed simply rocked back in his chair, studying Redford over his beer. There was something he was missing, some piece of the puzzle he didn’t even know was in play. Which was a pretty big damn deal, considering he barely knew what direction he was swinging in. Now he had Oliver Twist over here holding out on him.

  “You know what I always thought?” he said conversationally, ignoring the question for the moment. “Werewolves and all that shit, they got a bad rap. I mean, I’ve seen some stuff, professor. You’ve no idea what kind of evil wanders around the world, looking just as respectable as you and me. Real evil, okay, not the cute, sparkly shit that passes for it in movies. And I just think that if I was a werewolf or a, I don’t know, troll or whatever, who the fuck would care? Wouldn’t mean a damn thing. These stories are just aching for a bad guy and go for the obvious, when really, evil doesn’t have fangs. It has a credit card and a suit.”

  Thumping the empty bottle down, he reached for the second, twisting off the cap and flicking it off for Knievel to chase. “All I know, sunshine, is that he thinks you belong to him.” Jed met his eyes steadily, asking the question he didn’t even know the words for. “And he doesn’t sound like the type of guy to just drop things.”

  It looked like he’d just made a speech about how the sky was green. Redford was staring at him like he was an alien—although maybe one that had just said something really unexpectedly nice. He took a while to answer, pretending to be absorbed in moving the bottle cap around for Knievel. Finally, guarded, he looked back up at Jed. “I can trust you, can’t I?”

  Well, now they were getting somewhere. Jed shrugged, seemingly half asleep, watching the cat bat happily at the cap. His expression, though, was sharp and interested when he finally looked up at Redford. “Yeah,” he mused, scratching his jaw. “Yeah, I guess you can.”

  Redford took a deep breath, obviously bracing himself. “Okay. I’m a werewolf.”

  For a moment, Jed stared, waiting for the punch line, because werewolves weren’t real. They just weren’t. Republicans were real. Mobsters were real. Werewolves were just a bedtime story, like the tooth fairy and straight men who turned full-time gay. When Redford just stared at him with those stupid, puppy eyes, Jed stood, a bit too suddenly, knocking over his chair and fumbling with it when it crashed to the ground.

  “Right. Well, I don’t think there’s a group for that, but thanks for sharing.” He grabbed the pizza box, more to have something to do than a real need to clean. Bustling about, putting things away, he tried to figure out what the chances were that Redford was just deep-down crazy.

  Thing was, the guy was odd, sure, but he didn’t strike Jed as nuthouse material.

  “Look,” he finally managed, leaning against the wall, rubbing his forehead fitfully, “you know that werewolves aren’t real, right? I mean… is that some metaphor for something? Or are you one of those, I don’t know, those people who post stuff online? Jesus, Redford.” He was laughing, now, not out of humor so much as the inability to think of any other response, “I… a werewolf?”

  “Yes,” Redford replied miserably. He hadn’t moved, staring down at the floor. “It’s probably why that client wants me. To kill me. Because I’m a monster.”

  Okay. So. This was a little more than he’d expected to deal with today. Then again, so was everything that had happened since his phone had rung, with Fil the cheerful client on the other end, so maybe it wasn’t so bad. Sighing, he went to crouch in front of Redford, carefully taking his hands in his own, covering them, like he could somehow wrap them up and then everything would be all right. “You’re not a monster,” he said quietly. Whatever else, it was clear Redford believed this. So maybe he was a little crazy. There were worse things to be. “Nobody—and I mean nobody, sweetheart—is going to kill you. You’re safe here. I’ll make sure of it.”

  A beat and he cracked a smile, ducking his head to get Redford to look at him. “So, can I call you Fido?”

  There it was, the second laugh he’d heard out of Redford today. It wasn’t like how normal people laughed. It was hesitant, barely more than an exhale of air.

  It was perfect.
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  “If you must,” Redford sighed, sounding slightly resigned, a little apologetic. “But no jingly bell, okay?”

  “Deal.” He grinned, tipping his head forward to rest his forehead against Redford’s. They were achingly close, and yet somehow it wasn’t enough. Whatever spell this guy had put on him, it was impossible to shake. “Let me make up the bed for you,” Jed murmured, closing his eyes and reminding himself that Redford was not his type. He liked his type. His type worked for him. Branching out was for other people; his life, as it was, was exactly what he wanted. He didn’t need anyone messing that up. “You, uh, need some clothes to sleep in? I think my stuff’ll fit you.”

  Redford nodded as much as he could, and he didn’t pull away. He actually leaned in a little closer, like a lazy cat reaching for the square of sunlight on the carpet. Or a dog reaching for its master’s hand. There had to be a suitable werewolf analogy there somewhere. “That would be good. I can sleep on the couch, though; you don’t need to give up your bed.”

  Fingertips brushed along Redford’s jaw, featherlight and awed, and Jed wondered at the warmth that had settled in his gut, the tendrils reaching out to shiver up his spine. “I don’t sleep much,” he whispered, their lips so close he could feel each of Redford’s exhales as his own. “Bed might as well go to the person who’ll get the most use out of it.”

  “Okay.” The reply was so quiet he barely heard it above the sound of their breaths. Jed’s hands found his again, and Redford hesitantly tightened his fingers around Jed’s, cautious but still not moving away. “Thank you.”

  Once, in Sarajevo, Jed had been flying in after dark with his team. They were on their way to a palace of some sort, some kind of assassination. He couldn’t really remember details. They all blurred together after a while. What he did remember was that it was his first time jumping out of an airplane, outside of training. It defied all logic, jumping. Even though he knew he had a parachute, even though he was perfectly aware that he wouldn’t die, it just didn’t make sense to take that plunge. God, he must have talked himself out of it a thousand times. All he could remember was standing at the door, wind whistling around him louder than a freight train, heart hammering, wondering what kind of fucking idiot leaped out of a plane.

  But then he did. There wasn’t anything like it, that rush, the feeling of absolute freedom. All that logic, all that fear, it didn’t matter once he let go.

  Leaning forward that last half an inch was the stupidest thing he could recall doing in recent history. But then their lips met, Redford’s soft and warm under his, and all that was left was the rush. A quiet noise caught in the back of Redford’s throat, and Jed’s hand slipped up to gently tangle fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. They fell into one another with a sigh, with a breath of longing, and Jed couldn’t even begin to contemplate why anyone would hesitate before something this good.

  They pulled back, Redford’s lips ghosting over his, neither one of them quite able to let go. Eventually though, Jed rocked back on his heels, reluctantly letting his hands drop away. “Okay,” he murmured, ducking his head to hide a grin. “Let me, uh, let me get you that stuff.”

  Maybe it was still idiotic. Redford wasn’t anything Jed normally went for, but damn it all if that hadn’t been the best kiss he’d ever had. If he wasn’t so sure this was going to end in a whole lot of tears, then he’d consider pushing for more. Good kisser or not though, eventually Jed would get his common sense back, and then it’d just be awkward. And despite his history, he really didn’t want to use Redford for a quick fuck. Somehow, he thought the guy deserved more. He definitely should find someone better than Jed. So Jed would just do his best to shake off the bad guys, do the whole Bond routine, and ride off into the sunset. It was better that way.

  He didn’t sleep that night. Not that that was unusual, really, but it felt different. This wasn’t nightmares. This wasn’t a brain running too fast to shut down. It was that he could hear every breath from Redford, who’d curled up under his covers and dropped off easily, Knievel curled up around his feet. It was that he could still taste the man on his lips, could still feel his hair through his fingers.

  Someday, Jed swore, he really was going to start thinking with his other head. His life would be a hell of a lot easier.

  Chapter Five

  Redford

  REDFORD dreamed.

  He dreamed he was sixteen again, his grandmother still alive, still puttering around the kitchen. In his dream, she was unchanged, still standing tall. The time before the cancer had hit her, withering her so rapidly.

  “Stop lurking, boy, you know this baking isn’t for you,” she was saying, and Redford peeked around the wall, guilty. She baked all the time, but all of it was given to the neighbors, and he still wasn’t sure why. “You’re making too much noise, Redford. Go to your room.”

  He did. Except his room wasn’t his room, yet it seemed fine to his dream self. It was smaller. The furniture was missing, the toy horse sitting lonely in the middle of the floor. He sank down to sit next to it, and when a hand reached down to help lift him up, it didn’t seem all that strange. Redford took it.

  The dream world spun, blurred like a kaleidoscope of colors. Jed was there, smiling at him, and Redford felt safe. They were in Jed’s apartment. Jed was reaching forward, smirking, to jostle the little bell around Redford’s neck. “See? This way you can’t get lost.”

  It spun again.

  The full moon was hovering outside the window, pale and ominous. Redford looked down at his hands, knowing that he should be feeling pain from the transformation, but there was nothing. Jed was standing in front of him, and he was begging Jed to leave, to run, to lock him away, but Jed stayed. He was a wolf then, leaping forward, sinking his fangs into Jed’s neck. There was blood, and screaming, and—

  —a paw on his face, and rumbling purring.

  The cat.

  Redford shuddered out a long breath, opening his eyes. Knievel was staring at him, perched on his chest, and when Redford didn’t jump to attend her every whim, she glowered at him, stalking off to go find Jed. A glance at the window confirmed that it was early morning, and he definitely wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep now. With a quiet sigh, Redford rolled out of bed, tugging at the shirt Jed had loaned him. He wasn’t quite sure what the words on the shirt actually meant. Special Ops Do It in the Dark wasn’t a saying that he was familiar with. Both the shirt and the pants were a little loose on him, but he appreciated the gesture.

  When he emerged from behind the screen Jed had set up to separate the bed and the rest of the place, Jed was sitting at the table, immersed in a cigarette, coffee, and the newspaper. Redford would swear that Jed had very quickly looked away when Redford had come out.

  “Morning,” he mumbled, a little lost, standing in the middle of the place, unsure what to do. If he were back home, he’d shower, have some breakfast, and then settle down on his couch to do some reading. Maybe, if he were feeling very brave, he’d venture outside for food. Redford wasn’t sure if Jed needed to do that, or if he procured his necessary items in some other way. Online ordering, for one. He’d heard of that.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” Jed drawled, stubbing out the cigarette in an overflowing ashtray. “Sweet dreams?”

  Redford wasn’t quite sure how to answer that, so he just sat down next to Jed at the table, glancing curiously over the paper. He still received the local newspaper, but he didn’t read it much. Honestly, it depressed him. The newspaper seemed to be all bad news—murders, theft, corrupt politicians—and they never discussed any of the good news. It wasn’t very balanced. “Yes,” he eventually answered, even though they both knew it was a lie.

  “You drink coffee? I don’t have milk. Or sugar.” Redford wondered if that was slight embarrassment he saw on Jed’s face. “But you’re welcome to it if you like it black. How about breakfast?”

  The interesting thing about Jed, Redford had to conclude, was that he lied. A lot. If t
hey weren’t direct vocal lies, they were lies with his body language, lies with his expression. He put on this air of being completely confident in everything he was doing, and maybe that was true, but he was also sitting there trying not to look concerned about the fact that he’d obviously heard Redford having a nightmare. He covered up that concern with inhaling his coffee, and Redford supposed that if Jed was concealing things, so should he. Nightmares were never a pleasant topic.

  “I think I’ll just… do you mind if I use your shower?” Redford knew it was polite to ask. He didn’t miss the quick leer that crossed Jed’s expression, and it reminded him that they’d kissed last night. His first kiss, actually.

  “I have a rule in this apartment. Water conservation is sacred,” Jed remarked. The leer almost came back. Redford wasn’t entirely sure what it meant.

  “I’ll be quick, then,” he assured Jed, heading toward the bathroom. The kiss had been very nice. Redford wasn’t entirely sure if he had the right words to describe it. For someone who hadn’t spent a great deal of time considering his sexuality, he sure was thinking about that kiss more than he’d imagined he would. Jed had practically run away afterwards, and Redford had gone to bed and fallen asleep, feeling warmer and safer than he ever had in his life. It was an unusual feeling. One he wanted to hold on to for as long as he could.

  There was a problem with the bathroom door, he discovered. In that there wasn’t one. Redford stood for a moment, contemplating this, a little confused, because every bathroom had doors. He honestly hadn’t noticed the lack of one in Jed’s bathroom last night when he’d gone to brush his teeth; as stressed out and tired as he was, he’d barely comprehended anything at all. His bathroom at home definitely had a door, because he was sure that the rules of society included “the bathroom is a sacred, private place.” He supposed Jed lived alone, though, so a door on the bathroom wasn’t absolutely necessary. At least there was a shower curtain.