Blood Howl

by Alex Kidwell

  It was new, from the smell of it, but Redford still curled up on the back seat, trying to make himself as small a target as possible. Fil sat next to him—apparently alphas were too good for the simple act of driving—one arm casually draped across Redford’s shoulders, like they were suddenly best friends. Redford wanted to shrug him off, but fear kept him still.

  The drive was silent, punctuated by occasional murmuring from the two men in the front seat, discussing something that Redford wasn’t paying attention to. In the rear view mirror he could see another car following them—the rest of the men—and Redford looked away, not wanting to think about it. He was in the clutches of the man that Jed had been trying to save him from, but Jed wasn’t here now, probably wouldn’t be with him ever again. Jed was probably off somewhere, forgetting all about him.

  As if sensing his thoughts, Fil’s arm tightened around his shoulder, fingers idly toying with the strands of hair that curled around Redford’s ear. “Don’t feel bad about your human, pup,” he reassured Redford. “People like us never last with human partners. Most of us have tried and failed.”

  “What—what do you mean?” Redford dared to look across at Fil, meeting yellow eyes with his own.

  “We’re wolves, Redford. We don’t fit in. Society doesn’t accept us, so how can you expect a human to love you?” Fil’s voice was gentle again, like he was trying to be comforting. It might actually have worked if he hadn’t knocked Redford around earlier. “It’s better that he left sooner rather than later.” He lifted a hand, and his smile was almost sad when he showed Redford the thin strip of gold around his left ring finger.

  Fil was married.

  “I tried to raise a family,” Fil sighed. “I tried to fit in. Nine-to-five job, a lovely wife, an adorable son. But then they found out what I was.”

  Redford’s heart sank, not for Fil’s story, but for his own situation. He’d tried to be with Jed, and although Jed hadn’t left because he was a werewolf, he’d still left. Maybe it was better for Jed that he’d walked out the door. Despite the fact that he’d apparently been perfectly benign on the last full moon, that could change. He would always be a danger to Jed.

  Filtiarn fell silent, and so did Redford. The drive took the better part of an hour, and when they arrived, Redford wasn’t held like they suspected he was going to run away at any time. Fil simply guided him into a large building with a hand on the small of Redford’s back.

  The building hadn’t looked very big on the outside. Three stories, run down concrete and steel. As they entered, Fil explained, “This used to be an apartment building. The management went bankrupt though, so I bought it and converted it into living quarters for my pack.” He wasn’t lying. As they walked into a large communal living area on the first floor, there were men and women milling around, some grouped up watching a television, reclining on couches. Some reading, some cooking in an adjoining kitchen. To Redford’s shock, not all of them appeared human. There were wolves padding around. They weren’t attacking anything, weren’t growling threateningly. One of them was even stretched out in a square of sunlight on the floor, tongue lolling from its muzzle happily, human intelligence in its eyes as it raised its shaggy head to look at Redford.

  “How—” Redford started, finding himself unable to complete the question.

  “It is my gift to my pack,” Fil explained simply. “I’m not some half-breed werewolf, pup. I come from a much older line, when wolves were pure and could shift at will, retaining their human minds.”

  That didn’t make sense. But there was the evidence, living and breathing, right in front of him. Mind spinning, Redford merely bowed his head, unable to even begin to form a response. Fil smiled at him, the magnanimous benefactor, and Redford tried not to be sick.

  “Pack,” Fil announced, raising his voice to be heard, “This is Redford Reed. He is our newest member. Make him feel at home.”

  With that, Fil left, leaving Redford alone in a room full of werewolves. Some of them only eyed him cautiously. Some ignored him altogether. Only one approached him, a woman in her thirties, black hair tied back into a neat braid. Her smile was frayed at the edges, cautious, never reaching her eyes. “I’m Sophia,” she greeted gently, perhaps sensing that he was nervous, guiding him to sit down on one of the couches. “Welcome to our pack, Redford. I’ll set up an apartment for you; we have plenty to spare.”

  Still struck dumb, Redford nodded slowly. Sophia left. Once again, he was alone.

  Curling up on the couch, grateful that he was mostly being ignored, Redford tried to get his thoughts working. The blare of the television was somewhat distracting, but his eyes kept wandering back to the door. The open door. If he stood up, he could just walk right out. He would certainly be followed, but he could run, hide somewhere, hope that he could find a place where Fil would never find him. The thought was tempting as he subtly studied the other people around the room. Redford couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was an atmosphere of oppression, of staying only because these people had nowhere else to go or were being kept here. The smiles had been forced, or perhaps only genuine because they’d made themselves content with what they had.

  It was scary as hell. Turning the thought of escape over in his mind, Redford stayed on the couch, fear rooting him to it. He sat that way for a little over an hour.

  But then something happened. Someone in the kitchen dropped a dish, the loud crash diverting everyone’s attention, and Redford was up and running before he could properly think about it. He stumbled once over the edge of the carpet where it led into wooden floorboards, but he ran faster than he thought he was able to.

  The door was in sight. He was almost there.

  Loud, pounding footsteps behind him, and Redford was crashed into, tackled heavily. He yelped, struggling to get free, even trying to crawl toward the door despite the heavy weight on top of him. A fist crashed into his jaw, once and then again, rendering his struggles weaker with the daze of pain.

  Reality blurred. Someone was shouting at him, kicking him in the ribs. He was being dragged, and when he tried to struggle again he was struck in the temple with something heavy, plunging his vision into pained darkness for a few seconds. Redford fell limp, unable to resist as he was dragged down the hallway and thrown into a small room. The solid click of a lock echoed in his ears.

  Just like when Jed had left, Redford wasn’t sure of how much time passed. The pain prevented him from moving his head, leaving him collapsed on the floor. He could see a narrow bed and a tiny window, but that was it. The room was barely more than eight feet on either side.

  It was a cell.

  At some point, Fil came by. Redford could hear his voice coming through the door. He said something about bad dogs needing to be punished for trying to escape, but Redford tuned him out. Misery settled heavily into his thoughts. He didn’t care what Fil said. He didn’t care that he was being punished. Punishment or not, he was stuck here.

  Hours ticked by, and day faded into evening. Eventually, Redford picked himself up, wincing as he touched his fingers to his temple and they came back dotted with dried blood. From the itch, it had worked its way down the side of his face. He didn’t get much time to ponder it, startled from his thoughts by the sound of the door opening.

  It was the man that had gotten a little too friendly in his greeting—Redford dimly recalled overhearing Fil call him Marcus—and he was brandishing a length of chain attached to a heavy steel circle. Before Redford had the chance to protest or defend himself, Marcus had wrestled him down, locking the collar around his neck, hooking the chain around a leg of the bed. “You want to act like a rabid dog, you get treated like one,” Marcus growled at him. “You’re not getting out of here until Fil says so.”

  He left, going just outside the door to pick up something else, and Redford tested the chains, trying to tug at the collar. It didn’t move. Similarly, the chain had been locked to the bed leg, which was bolted to the floor.

  “I’m sorry,�
� Redford tried, watching as Marcus came back in with a tray of food. It wasn’t much—an apple, a sandwich, and a glass of water—but it smelled like heaven, considering he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Maybe if he apologized and acted like he’d learned his lesson, Marcus would let him go.

  “Nice try,” Marcus laughed. He stood in front of where Redford was sitting on the edge of the bed, setting the tray down on the floor. “Like I said, only Fil’s go ahead gets you out. Try that act on him.”

  Apologizing clearly wasn’t going to work, so Redford abandoned that idea, picking up the tray instead. He was about to bite into the sandwich when Marcus’ hand found his jaw, tipping his face up to look at Redford better. “You’re not all that bad looking,” Marcus said conversationally. “On the scrawny side. Could use a haircut. But there’s plenty of wolves in this pack that aren’t too picky and want to find a mate.”

  Marcus just laughed again when Redford shrank back, patting him on the cheek and letting him go. He left the room, locking it again behind him. Suddenly, Redford’s appetite was less than strident, but he forced himself to eat anyway. There was no use in fainting from hunger.

  Evening passed into night. Redford eventually managed to lie down on the bed—however uncomfortable it was trying to position his head right with the collar—and fell into an uneasy half sleep. He didn’t dream. He didn’t need to. All those nightmares were living and breathing now.

  He was even more exhausted when the morning sunlight fell across his face, rousing him from his half-asleep state. Redford didn’t get the luxury of being confused about his location for a few moments. He woke knowing exactly where he was. With the uncomfortable pressure of the collar, it was impossible to forget. The pain in his head was hard to think around, so Redford just slumped back on the bed, eyes tiredly moving to look at the doorway.

  It opened slowly, and Redford tensed. Marcus, maybe. Fil. One of the others. His temple started to throb from the stress, gray fuzziness crowding in at the corners of his vision. What was it that people said happened when you got hit in the head one too many times? A concussion?

  He sniffed, but it wasn’t alpha that he smelled. It was…

  Jed.

  Standing in the doorway, Jed was grinning at him, eating the apple that had been on Redford’s tray. The size of the gun he was carrying was ridiculous. Redford didn’t know guns even came that big. So clearly, he was hallucinating. Except the trademark cocky grin wasn’t wide enough to cover the dark circles under Jed’s eyes, the lines of worry and guilt bracketing his mouth. His grip on the gigantic weapon was white knuckled, and there was blood splattered across his shirt. If it was a hallucination, it was of one very stressed-out Jed. Which wasn’t much of a comfort.

  “You left,” Redford pointed out, feeling a little like his hold on reality was slipping. Stressed-hallucination Jed was moving forward, and Redford tried to keep him in his sight, which was difficult when he couldn’t keep his eyes open. There was noise, but if Jed was speaking, well, Redford would have to ask him to repeat it later.

  There was the sound of metal clanking, the click of a lock opening, and Redford felt the collar slip from around his neck. Jed’s arms were sliding under him, lifting him and cradling him close. Jed’s voice was a reassuring murmur against his ear, no words making it through Redford’s haze of pain, but the tone making it easy to settle into his body, to accept what was happening, even if it didn’t make any sense. They were moving, walking, and Redford was vaguely aware of bodies on the floor. Jed didn’t pause for them though.

  He felt safe here, tucked against Jed’s chest.

  So safe, in fact, that he promptly let himself pass out. He’d have to ask Jed about his sudden return later.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jed

  ONE thing was for damn sure—that was not a day he wanted to repeat anytime soon. Red was still unconscious in the front seat of the car, hair tousled, bruises standing out angrily, high on his cheekbone. Just the sight of him all beaten and scared made Jed want to whip the damn car around and kill those fuckers twice. He forced himself to keep driving. As satisfying as it would be to blow up Fil’s little playhouse, Redford was the priority.

  “You took long enough.” David was still at the apartment when he came striding back in, Redford in his arms, enough guns strapped to him to arm a small country.

  “Fuck you,” was Jed’s terse reply, laying Redford out in his bed, worriedly stroking a hand across his forehead. “You weren’t the wet team on this, so you get to shut up about how long it took.”

  There was the clink of dishes in the kitchen. Jed looked around to find Rathbone bustling about with a teapot. Huh. He hadn’t even known he had one of those.

  “You kill everyone?” David was lounged on the couch, flipping through the newspaper. “You know, they have this wonderful thing called a computer. You could read the news on there like everyone else. Save a tree.”

  “I like the paper in my hand,” Jed snapped, ripping the newspaper away from David and tossing it onto the table. “And no, not everyone. Apparently your boy was right—the four legged bastards like to nap during the afternoon. Most of the ones without guns were tucked away safe and sound. I slipped in, took care of anyone with a weapon, and got out again.”

  “Fil?” David’s eyebrow tilted upward. “Don’t suppose you got that lucky.”

  “Excuse me. Boy?” Victor’s displeased voice came from the kitchen. “I’ll have you know I’m twenty-eight.”

  “Would you prefer the term ‘snack’?” A flash of teeth raked through the leer, Jed giving him a look. “Whatever you are, you’re in over your head. David would eat me alive, and I ain’t exactly out of his league. The difference between us, Ratty, is that I’d like it.”

  “You propositioning me?” David all but purred, a bite of irritation in the idle amusement.

  Snorting, Jed wound up pacing at the foot of the bed, casting worried glances at Redford. “Not my type. I like my men to be, you know, not you.” A sigh, and he ran his fingers through his hair, looking worn out and haggard. “And no. Not that lucky. Not even a little. Fil and all his boys were long gone by the time I got there.”

  Victor came out of the kitchen with the teapot and cups—Jesus, not only did he have a teapot, he had actual tea in there somewhere, too—and sat down on the couch next to David. There was a moment of silent communication between them, David looking rather entertained, Victor seemingly exasperated but fond. How the hell those two had gotten together, he’d never guess. The only explanation David had ever offered was a mention of a tweed fetish and the T-shirt he’d gotten Victor last Christmas that said “Size Queen.” It wouldn’t last. As far as Jed knew—not that they had long, Oprah-episode conversations—David didn’t even really know where Rathbone taught, much less anything about him other than his preferences in bed.

  Hell, he wasn’t judging. His longest fling had been three days on a cruise ship, while he was working a job. Jed had just known David for a few years now, and Victor wasn’t exactly what he’d figured for his type. The guy had been useful though, he’d give him that. Which was really all he cared about.

  “So why didn’t you tell me before?” Jed asked into the silence, fingers laced and head bowed, sitting vigil on the side of the bed. “About… Jesus, about any of this shit?”

  A pause and David stared at the ceiling, idly running a fingertip around the rim of his mug. “You never paid me for that information, Journey,” he finally said, taking a drink of tea. “And as far as I was aware, we didn’t have the share-and-care type of relationship.”

  It was true. David was an informant, a source. A damn good one, too, not once had he let Jed down. But a source only got what he was paid to get. There hadn’t been a lot of need for Jed to start asking about fucking werewolves before.

  “Yeah,” he sighed heavily, attention turning back to Redford’s still form. “Don’t call me Journey.”

  His line of work, he’d seen more than a fair share of
injuries. Redford was exhausted, knocked around, probably scared as hell, and his body had just shut down to try and protect itself. Nothing to do but wait and see, to hope to God he woke up and everything would be fine.

  Leaving had been an enormous fucking mistake. Jed had run straight to a bar, back to what he knew, what he was comfortable with. No enormous eyes begging him for answers, trusting him to be something more than he was. No sweet smile or shy touches or that growing confidence that made Jed’s chest ache every time it broke through. There were men at the bar who didn’t give a fuck about anything but using him, and that was exactly what Jed wanted. What he’d always wanted.

  Only this time, he hadn’t. It really didn’t take long to pick someone up, the smoke hanging heavy around the room, the music so loud it forced you to lean in, to lay a hand on the other guy’s arm, breathe a low exhale along unfamiliar skin. Jed had wound up in the bathroom with a man from Tennessee, in town visiting, accent like molasses and hands demanding as they’d shoved Jed’s pants down, bent him over a sink.

  Jed hadn’t even been hard. The stuff of his wet dreams, and all he’d been able to think about was the stricken look on Redford’s face as Jed walked out the door, was the way he’d tasted, the sound of him coming. Jed had shoved the guy away, saying no for one of the first times in his life. Saying no with a fist right across his meaty jaw, shaking and cursing and running over Mr. In Town Visiting’s unconscious form to hurl into the urinal.

  When he’d gotten home, Redford had been gone. The apartment had been empty, God, so achingly empty. It itched under his veins how quiet it was. It hurt to sit, to stare at the empty bed, the ruffled sheets, and know Redford wasn’t just around the corner. Wasn’t going to pad up beside him, silent, with that little smile he got when there was a joke he understood, when he broke through to engage with the world around him. There was a wickedly dry sense of humor under the shyness, a strength that had been buried, and Jed had begun to love nothing more than seeing them start to come to life.