Blood Howl

by Alex Kidwell

  Redford let out a shaky breath, lips pressed to Jed’s collarbone, some of the nervousness easing from his muscles. He lifted his head to watch Jed’s face, the movements of his hips almost painfully slow at first, tentative, careful, which was going to drive Jed fucking crazy. Gentle was not exactly his usual taste, but that was what Redford seemed determined to do, pressing featherlight kisses to Jed’s jaw. There was something painfully sweet about him, even balls deep in Jed’s ass, and quite frankly he had no idea how to handle it.

  It was easier to just meet him back for a demanding thrust, to bite the curve of his neck hard enough, suck long enough there to leave behind a reddened mark. Easier to try and get Redford to do anything but look at him like that, because what the hell was he supposed to do with something that gentle? The pleasure was rushing through his veins, setting his skin on fire, and he begged Redford with whimpers, with the movements of his hips, to take him harder.

  “You’re so beautiful,” Redford murmured against his jaw amidst quiet moans, finally fucking him harder—nowhere near the usual sharp, almost rough movements of the men Jed usually hooked up with—hands settling on Jed’s hips to lift them higher, searching for the angle that gave Jed the most pleasure. He willingly complied, spreading his legs to encourage Red to go deeper.

  Nipping his earlobe, Jed groaned his name, nails digging into his shoulders. He hooked one knee up higher, and all of a sudden he was seeing stars. Electric arousal shocked across his skin, and he arched his neck back, gasping for breath. The volume of his approval had Redford pausing momentarily, surprised—looking like he was halfway wondering if he’d done something wrong—before he moved again, each thrust rubbing right across Jed’s prostate.

  He was begging, he was sure. Jed had never been one to be silent. Words didn’t mean anything to him though, they were just the sounds he made, the babble of yes and more and please. One hand reached down to wrap around his cock, Redford’s hand folding over his own, stroking in counter-time to their increasingly frantic thrusts.

  The bed was shaking. Which would be amusing later, now it was the background to their twined breaths, their moans and grunts and the sound of Redford’s name as Jed was pushed closer to the edge. He almost thought he heard Redford whisper, “I love you,” but the words were lost in a new angle, in the deep slide of his cock and the urgent meeting of their lips.

  His skin was too tight for his body, the flush of need carrying him higher. The twist of arousal turned sharply in his gut, slipping down his spine to sink heavily in and urge him to take Redford deeper, to fuck into his hand hard and fast with a more desperate want. Gasping, mouth pressed open and greedy against Redford’s, Jed’s orgasm slammed through every muscle, tight and hot and shaking him apart. Redford’s name was lost in a cry of ecstasy as they tumbled together, as Jed wound himself around the other man and urged him to fall with him.

  With a forearm braced on the pillow next to Jed’s head, Redford moved into him again, the sensation almost too much against now over-sensitive muscles, following Jed into orgasm with a loud, shuddered moan against Jed’s neck, teeth scraping over the pulse beneath his ear. He all but collapsed onto Jed, chest heaving for air, shifting slightly so that he could prop his chin on Jed’s chest and stare at him with something like awe in his eyes.

  Lifting an arm that felt too contentedly heavy to move, Jed managed to run his fingers through Redford’s hair, shoving it back from that gorgeous face, giving him a lazy smirk. “Hey,” he murmured in a rasp, turning his cheek to press a kiss to Red’s jaw, his throat, to whatever skin was within easy reach. “Jesus, sweetheart, that was….”

  The best he’d ever had.

  “That was fucking amazing.”

  Redford’s smile was shy—kind of funny, considering what they’d just done—but he seemed more than content to just stare at Jed, eyes half lidded in a kind of peace he’d never seen on Redford’s face before. “I think I just experienced the happiest moment of my life,” Redford remarked.

  Their touches were light, idly exploring hands, absent, featherlight brushes of their lips. It was a little weird. Jed had never done this part before. Most of his partners were doing up their pants before the wet spot could dry, but Redford looked perfectly happy just lying there, his softening cock still buried inside of Jed. It was… nice. Really nice.

  “Me too,” he admitted thickly, rubbing his thumb along Redford’s lower lip. “You’re really good at that.”

  It was just sex. That’s all anything was. This might be unusual, sure, but it was still just sex. Jed was unencumbered by attachments, emotions, any of the things that made things murky. That made men like him weak. That was how he preferred it. He could have mind-blowing sex without getting himself confused. All he had to do was remember what this was. Just two guys letting off some steam.

  “It’s called an orgasm, Red,” Jed went on, a little louder, charming grin flashing across his face. “They’re all the rage. Don’t worry, I have a feeling you’re not going to be a stranger to the sensation.”

  Yeah, just two guys letting off steam. That could work. Jed could kill Fil, save Redford, and go back to his normal routine of finding older guys that wanted someone to fuck to get their minds off of their frigid wives. That could definitely work.

  Until Redford looked up at him with those big, dumb, cow eyes, and said, “I love you.”

  Frozen, Jed stared at him, feeling a little bit like he’d just stepped off a cliff. Those words did not exist in Walker World. They were the mantra of the simple minded, the things men said to get women into bed. Nobody needed to sweet talk him—his ass was available anytime, anywhere—so it didn’t get said to him. Definitely not by people like Redford, people for whom such emotions might have a valid use. Jed wasn’t built for them. Not ever.

  “No, you don’t,” he said slowly, carefully, chest throbbing with a sharp ache. Maybe he was having a heart attack. That was totally possible. “We just had sex. It was good. You’re riding the high, Fido. You don’t….” Jesus, he couldn’t even say the word. “That.”

  He expected to see Redford break into laughter and admit he was kidding, or shrug and say that he didn’t really know what the words meant. Anything but the continuation of that honest gaze, now a little confused by what Jed was saying. “I do love you,” Redford repeated. “You make me feel safe. Happy. And I want to make you feel the same way.”

  “I feel the same way about a steak sandwich,” Jed bit out around a hysterical snort, half a shattered laugh lost in the lump in his throat. “Jesus, Red.” He was the one climbing out of bed, now. He was the one scrambling for his pants, shoving his clothes back on and doing anything in his power to not look at those soulful eyes one second longer. “This was a mistake. You, me, this,” he gestured toward the bed, shaking his head, trying to look disdainful.

  Too bad he was just goddamn terrified.

  There was a pause, a long stretch of silence. Redford was still in bed, sitting up now, the sheets pooled around him. Eventually, Jed heard a miserable, “You don’t love me back?”

  There wasn’t an answer to that. There should have been. A resounding, hell, no, or a laugh or something. The very fact he hesitated, that the mocking derision didn’t burst forth so easily, was telling. Jed set his jaw, finding his boots and shrugging on his jacket. He should say no. It’d be better for both of them if he did, if he ended this right here and now.

  But he couldn’t. There was no denial. He tried, he did, but each time the words died in his throat.

  Of course he didn’t love Redford. He didn’t love—it was a scary, messy, weakening emotion that would make him get sloppy and careless and ultimately leave him alone or dead. Or both. Jed wanted no part of it.

  He didn’t say no, though. All he could do was grab his keys and walk out the door, letting it shut behind him, hoping that would be the answer he couldn’t vocalize.

  Of course he didn’t love Redford.

  Except some part of him—some aching, despe
rate part—thought he did.

  Chapter Eleven

  Redford

  I FEEL the same way about a steak sandwich.

  That was what Jed had said before he’d run out the door, leaving Redford alone in his apartment. Jed’s feelings for him were roughly the same as his feelings for a steak sandwich, and unless Jed had some sick fascination for the meal, it meant that he didn’t love Redford in return.

  Redford hadn’t known what the feeling was, at first. Having never really been allowed to socialize—he’d been home-schooled, and the only times he went outside was when his grandmother had occasionally taken him to the nearby park—he’d never formed crushes on anyone, never had butterflies in his stomach when somebody he liked smiled at him, had never gone home after a date unable to wipe the grin off of his face. It had been at the zoo, in front of the polar bear tank, when Redford had put two and two together and realized that he loved Jed. Really, truly, wanted to live with him forever kind of love.

  Jed made him feel safe. Cherished. Special, like he was someone worth having around. Jed made him less scared of everything around him. Jed made him a better person.

  Except Jed didn’t feel the same way.

  Redford didn’t know how long he sat there in Jed’s bed, staring at the door, hoping that Jed would come back and say that everything was okay, that he felt the same way Redford did. But Jed didn’t come back, and Redford finally, feeling numb, got out of bed and started to get dressed.

  Maybe it was for the best that Jed didn’t love him, Redford supposed. As he wandered about the kitchen, cleaning up so that Jed wouldn’t have to deal with any remnants of him, he figured that it was probably good for Jed. The man deserved someone better than him, someone stronger. Even as he formed the thought, though, Redford knew he was just lying to himself. Jed’s leaving had hurt, more than the transformations, more than anything he’d experienced in his life. He’d believed they fit together.

  He gathered his clothes, the toothbrush that Jed had brought for him, bundling them up in his arms and heading toward the door. The whistle on the chain that Jed had given him was left on the table. Redford didn’t want to leave, but he figured he had to. This was Jed’s place, not his. As his hand fell on the door handle, a loud yowl startled him.

  Knievel. The cat was standing behind him, one of her cloth mice clutched in her mouth.

  “I’m sorry, but I have to go,” Redford whispered, half glad that nobody else was around to see him talking to a cat, even if Knievel did seem weirdly intelligent sometimes.

  She leveled an expectant look at him, dropping the mouse at his feet, and Redford had to smile, despite the pain. Crouching down, he lifted the toy, tucking it into his pocket. He may not be a good hunter, but he could certainly fool a cat into believing that he’d successfully disposed of a fake dead mouse. Cautiously stroking a hand over her back, Redford stood again, leaving and shutting the door behind him before he could have second thoughts.

  It was a long walk back to his own house, because Redford didn’t quite think he could deal with a crowded bus full of people right now. One bright side was that it wasn’t raining, at least. He could handle a two hour walk if he wasn’t cold and wet.

  The sight of his house wasn’t a welcome one. Before, Redford had thought that it was perfectly functional; he’d been completely fine living there. Now, as he unlocked the door and stepped inside, it seemed so achingly lonely that it brought tears to his eyes. All of a sudden he could see, for the first time, the threadbare carpet, the cracked walls, the bathroom sink tap that didn’t work, and the fridge that seemed to maliciously shut itself off every once in a while. All of that he could deal with, really, except the lack of background noise.

  There was no shuffle of papers as Jed read through the morning news. No quiet television in the background. No jingle of cat toys as Knievel pushed them around, or Jed’s cursing as he stepped on one. No sunlight in the morning, or the sounds of Jed puttering around the place.

  Redford had only had a very short time to get used to those noises, but now he felt like they’d always been there, like this oppressively silent house was a distant memory.

  Only faint traces of Jed’s scent remained, the lingering stamp of the time he’d pretended to be a plumber to kidnap or steal. Redford sat down on his bed, but it was too hard, compared to Jed’s. Even his water didn’t taste right as he filled up a glass from the tap. Nothing seemed right anymore, not in these remains of his old life. Not when he’d wanted to start a new one with Jed.

  He ended up sitting in his bedroom, on the floor with his back against the wall, trying not to let the burn in the back of his eyes turn into anything more. The struggle took up all of his attention, so when footsteps sounded across the wooden floors, Redford barely noticed. When he heard, his heart leaped in his chest, hope making his throat tight.

  “Jed?”

  “Hardly,” a voice drawled, and Redford yelped in shock, scrambling to close the door. It was blocked, pushed aside, and the next few seconds were lost on Redford as a fist cracked across his cheek, darkness clouding his vision. “I see your human left you.”

  Crumpled against the wall, Redford tried to focus his vision, blurred from the sudden pain. The man standing in his doorway was tall, broad shouldered, dark hair combed neatly back from his face. He looked, in his suit, like nothing more than a businessman, but scent spoke differently. “Filtiarn,” Redford breathed, panicked. That scent was pure alpha wolf, like forests and blood and power. Yellow eyes were idly amused as they stared down at him.

  “Well, at least you’re not stupid. That’s nice to know,” Fil said pleasantly. “I can’t abide stupid wolves; they fuck up everything for the rest of us.”

  All of the werewolf instincts were screaming at Redford to submit, to sink down and bare his neck, tuck his tail between his legs and follow Fil like a good little subordinate. “Get out of my house,” he managed. Getting his legs underneath him to stand up was a failed venture when Fil’s booted foot slammed into his ribs.

  Fil sighed at him. “Really, pup. Your human left. I’m here to offer you something much nicer than he could provide, anyway.” He crouched down next to Redford, smoothing a hand over his hair. “Recruiting the human to take you by force was a mistake. I should have approached you myself.” Redford’s efforts to shake the hand off his hair were rewarded with a none-too-gentle tap against his bruising cheek.

  “I don’t want anything from you,” Redford spat, trying to sound brave. He wasn’t sure if it worked, because he was terrified. Jed wasn’t going to help him now. He was on his own, alone with a much stronger alpha wolf. Who was traveling with five or six other wolves, going by the new scents that had just entered his house. One of them, a younger man in jeans and a T-shirt, entered the room, standing just behind Fil. Then, the rest of them came in, yellow eyes gleaming at him from every corner of the room.

  “You don’t want to belong to a pack?” Fil’s voice was smooth, almost gentle, at odds with the physical force he’d displayed. “Oh, Redford. I think you do. I think you want a family that will care for you, love you. All you need to do is submit and come with us.”

  Terrifyingly neatly, Fil pushed Redford down to the floor, pinning him there with a knee on his stomach and a large, bruising hand wrapped tight around his wrists, holding them against the floor by his side. Redford wasn’t able to stop a whimper from escaping, but he did try to glare at Fil. “I don’t want to be part of your pack.”

  “A lone wolf is a very sad thing, pup,” Fil said softly. “It will drive you mad after a few decades.”

  “Get out of—”

  “Submit,” Fil barked, and Redford cowered back against the floor, eyes shut tightly in fear. Instincts had him automatically tipping his head back, baring his throat to the alpha. One of the other werewolves laughed, low and gruff. “There you are,” Fil continued, his voice gentle again, “You don’t need to be scared of me, Redford.”

  Redford would beg to differ, considerin
g the darkening bruises on his cheek and ribs, but he didn’t say anything.

  “However,” Fil remarked, amusement creeping into the low tones, “It may be smart to be scared of some of the others. They play a little rough sometimes.”

  One of the other werewolves had crouched down to look at him, nudging a nose into his neck to sniff him, and Redford’s attempts to jerk away were halted by a firm grip on his jaw. “Don’t be a scaredy-cat, pup. Just saying hello,” a rough voice growled in his ear. “Don’t wanna be rude, do you?”

  “No,” Redford whispered shakily, unable to help the trembling in his muscles as the rest of the werewolves introduced themselves in a similar way, sniffing him and sizing him up. Some of them looked amused; one had gotten far too friendly and stroked a hand along his chest like he was petting Redford. One of them, a man in his forties, had looked like he’d wanted to kill Redford the minute he’d scented him. For a moment, Redford was almost glad for Fil’s presence.

  Only for a few seconds, though.

  After the greetings were done, he was unceremoniously hauled up to his feet, hands held tightly behind his back by the werewolf that had gotten a little too touchy. They took him outside, crowding around him to block the view from other people on the street, shoving him into an SUV.