Sanguis Noctis: Bloodlines Part 12

Jed poked his fork at the raw meat on Redford's plate, glancing up at him. Then Jed cut himself a bite and shoveled it in. Edwin chuffed out a laugh at Victor's horrified expression. Jed, though, calmly chewed and swallowed, shrugging. "Not bad. Had worse."

"I dread to think what you mean by that," Victor sighed. He reached over the table to s.n.a.t.c.h the newspaper away from Jed. "Now let Randall tell everyone what the Gray Lady said."

"Wait." Edwin stopped trying to get Redford to eat more of the venison. "You went to see her?"

Randall shifted in his seat, looking over at Anthony. "Um. Yes. I did."

"What did she say?" Anthony sounded cautiously hopeful. "Has she made her decision yet?"

Taking a slow breath, Randall gave his brothers a small smile. He reached out to squeeze Anthony's hand. "She said we could stay. She's going to have her healers take a look at you, Ant, see what they think." He wasn't going to tell them about the Gray Lady's cautionary words. There wasn't a point. Anthony needed hope right then; he needed to believe this would work. So did Edwin. So Randall would keep all that fear and worry to himself. It wouldn't do anyone else any good. "It's going to be okay."

"I take it that means the cure isn't a certain thing." There was a look in Anthony's eyes that Randall couldn't bear, a fraction of lost hope that Anthony quickly covered. He drew himself up and straightened his shoulders, taking a deep breath. "Okay. Did she say when I'm to report to the healers?"

Randall wanted to insist, to promise, that it would be fine. That a cure was just that easy, that everything was going to go back to the way it had been. Edwin was staring at him, waiting for just that. For his brainy older brother to recite some factoid that meant Anthony was going to walk away from this perfectly healthy.

He couldn't do it. All that was left was to squeeze Anthony's hand tighter, to force a smile. To promise himself that, no matter what the cost, he'd find a way. "We can take you in today. I wanted you to get some food in your system first, but we'll go after breakfast if you want."

"Yeah, I should get started as quickly as possible," Anthony agreed. "You guys don't have to sit around to watch, though. It'll probably be boring." He gave them a smile. "Why don't you wander around the camp some, talk to the wolves here?"

"You're an idiot," Edwin told him. "We're coming with you." He turned to the rest of the group. "You guys can come too, if you want." Like it was a pool party. Randall honestly didn't understand his brother sometimes.

Jed had been watching them all silently, eyes darting between them, some look on his face halfway between total fear and longing. Mostly the fear. The tightness in his shoulders made it readily apparent he would love to be running in the opposite direction. "Thanks for the offer, La.s.sie, but I think I'm going to go do something productive."

"Oh? Like what?" Victor asked. "Helping Knievel sharpen her claws so she can chase more wolves?"

Jed grinned. "That's my girl," he cooed at the cat, who was very happily cleaning off Redford's plate, purring rustily. Redford, for his part, was staring despondently at his now empty plate. Then, to Victor, Jed said, "Nah. Everyone keeps talking about these hunters. It's got me all curious. Figure I might poke my head in where it doesn't belong, see if I can drum up anything interesting."

"Do you believe they're human?" Randall asked him, interested.

"Sweetheart, that's kind of my default setting," Jed responded. "I know you guys are all freak flags flying, but in my experience, most things are definitely human." He shrugged. "Besides, I was talking to some people this morning, and they're pretty sure, whoever they are, they're using guns. How many creepy crawlies you know use a.s.sault rifles?"

"They may not be human," Victor said mildly. "Even minority 'creepy crawly' groups can be racist against one another, Jed. And I think you'd be surprised at the number of them that do use guns." He glanced over at the wolves. "Not all of us have built-in weapons."

Absorbing this, Jed leaned back, fingers drumming absently against Redford's side. "They got two more taken a few days ago," he mused. "Younger wolves, apparently, who went for a run and didn't come back. Everyone's saying they haven't really hit the pack yet. Just picking around the edges. Lone wolves or small groups that hang around the fringe, but nothing in this area. Everything's about fifty miles northeast, best I can gather. Gotta get my maps from the van to see what's up there."

"Taken?" Anthony looked unhappy. "Or were they killed?"

"No bodies." Jed frowned, rubbing his chin absently. The man clearly hadn't shaved. He had stubble and was wearing the same clothes he'd had on the day before. Randall wondered why he was doing this. Maybe the answer lay in how his arm was looped around Redford's waist, possessive and protective all at once. "This is all second and third hand, though. Stragglers from hit camps that come in, looking for help, saying that there was gunfire and blood and they ran. Could be kidnappings. Could be something's eating them. s.h.i.t, I don't know. That's why I want to go take a look."

Anthony made a growling sound under his breath as he sipped at his coffee. "I want to help," he said decisively. "If there's anything I can do, just say the word. Are you going to look for information today?"

Jed snorted. "Yeah, hotstuff, you and me'll talk about it when you don't need cardigan over there to cut up your food."

"I'm not an invalid," Anthony said. He was obviously struggling to keep calm, a snarl under his words.

"Maybe." Jed leaned forward, holding Anthony's eyes. "But you're weak. Right now, you're weak. Maybe you'll get better. I don't know. But if you go running around after these guys and they find you, we'll just have one more missing wolf to talk about over breakfast. And you know it."

If Jed was going to say anything further, he didn't get a chance. Anthony's eyes were yellow in his anger, his teeth bared-but instead of jumping over the table like Randall half feared he might, Anthony instead stood and walked away, every line of his body tense.

Randall turned to Jed, to give him a piece of his mind, to bite his stupid throat out, to do something. But far from gloating or being a snide a.s.shole, Jed looked quietly regretful. "Your brother's a h.e.l.l of a guy," he said quietly. "But he'd get himself killed. And I'm not having his blood on my hands just to spare his feelings."

Silently, Randall jerked the chair back, rising. Edwin's teeth were bared, and he was growling at Jed, angry and tense. "You're a f.u.c.ktard," Edwin proclaimed. Randall didn't much feel like correcting his profanity. Edwin stalked away after Anthony, and Randall sighed, resting a hand on the back of the chair.

"He's not weak," he told Jed lowly. But then, even quieter, "Please, don't ever let him follow you." Because Jed was right. It killed Randall to admit, but he was right-if Anthony went out now, like he was, he'd die. And that was simply not something Randall could accept.

He left then, not looking back at the three of them sitting there. At the odd little group they made, the almost wolf, the half blood, and the human. He followed his nose to find his brothers, Edwin sitting next to Anthony on one of the low benches surrounding the dormant bonfire in the center of the camp. Edwin's shoulder was pressed against Anthony's and he was talking, so quietly Randall couldn't make out the words until he got closer.

"And then we'll go running, Ant. As fast and as far as we can. You can smell the woods, can't you? I bet there's lots of squirrels and rabbits to chase. You and me, we'll chase them together, just like back home. And swimming too, in the stream, just like you like. Where the water's so cold it makes you sneeze and we get all muddy and Randall makes that cross face at us."

Edwin was telling Anthony a story. The story of a healthy brother, of woods with no hunters, of the life they'd had up until a few months ago. Silently, Randall sat down on the other side of Anthony, listening as well.

"When the moon's all big and the stars look like ripe berries, we'll go howling. It's your favorite, I know. We'll all howl at the moon just like Dad used to do. You told me about it, remember, Ant?"

Anthony laughed lowly, b.u.mping his shoulder against Edwin's. "If you howl at the moon and listen very closely," he teased, reciting the story one more time. And Randall, if he half closed his eyes, could almost hear their father's voice in the lilt of Anthony's. "Sometimes the man in the moon will howl back."

"But it's not true." Edwin had always said the same thing at the same part. It was almost a ritual now. A way Anthony had kept their parents alive for them, the bits and pieces they could hold on to.

"Maybe not," Randall said, very quietly. "But I howl at it sometimes. Just for him."

"Me too." Anthony's smile was sad. "He'd probably be proud. Or laughing his a.s.s off, either one."

"You're going to get better." Edwin searched Anthony's face. "Right? That's why we're here. That's why we joined this pack. So you can get better."

"That's right." Randall made his voice firm, in control. Like the know-it-all brother they both teased him about being. "No time at all and we'll forget this even happened. Like a bad dream."

"In the meantime," Anthony said, hesitating slightly. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, sighing. "Jed's right, for now. Have you seen how he holds himself? He's military. He knows what he's talking about. So I'm going to try and concentrate on helping the healers."

"He slept outside on the ground last night for no d.a.m.n reason," Randall grumbled. "He's not a sage or anything." He nudged his shoulder against Anthony's, letting out a slow breath. "But I think that's a good plan."

"Yeah, well, he's a human. They do weird things." Anthony laughed. "Although he gets points for trying the raw venison."

"If you told him that Redford needed to paint himself pink and dance naked under the moon, I think he'd join in and add a feathered headdress." Randall smirked. "He's kind of stupid. But sure. Points for effort."

Edwin was leaning against Anthony, head resting on his shoulder. "Let's go find these healers," he sighed. "Might as well get it over with."

They made their way to the other side of the camp, all three of them huddled together as they walked, as if they couldn't stand the idea of being separate. The rumble of an engine drew Randall's attention. Across the way he could see the van leaving, Redford and Jed off to go hunting. Maybe they'd even find something. Randall hoped it was humans. Some easy problem with a simple solution. It'd be nice if at least one thing was.

The healer who greeted them was an older wolf, her hair done in a long silver braid that hung down to the middle of her back. She greeted Anthony with a hug, informed them that the Gray Lady had already let them know they were coming, and hustled Anthony into the long cabin that served as the medical facilities. That left Randall and Edwin alone outside, sitting on the steps of the porch, waiting.

Edwin lasted all of ten minutes before declaring himself so bored he was going to die, shifting into wolf form, and curling up to go back to sleep, leaving Randall with a lap full of his clothes. Randall sat in silence, wishing only that he'd brought one of his books with him. It would help the time pa.s.s a little less painfully.

At least Edwin's side made for a semidecent pillow. Randall lay back on the wooden step, head resting against Edwin's haunch, staring up at the sky. The morning sunlight had dimmed. Instead of warming the earth from the earlier chill, it seemed to be retreating. A line of dark clouds was pressing in against the horizon. Lifting his nose, Randall took a deep breath. Rain was coming.

He marked the time by watching the approaching storm. It was still just a threat on the distant sky when Anthony finally emerged from the healer's cabin, looking a bit worn out but not too much worse for the wear. Edwin shifted back with a happy yelp, and Randall was forced to chase after him, holding out his jeans and shirt.

"Edwin, come on. At least put your pants back on." He dumped the clothes into Edwin's arms and fixed him with a look until Edwin was dressed again.

"You're such a prude sometimes, Rand." Turning to Anthony, Edwin searched his face. "Well?"

"How did it go?" Randall asked, taking Anthony's arm and leading him back to the bench. "How are you feeling?"

As Anthony sat, Randall saw he was holding a small pot of what looked like green paste. Anthony was staring at it in confusion. "I have to rub this on my hands every morning."

Oh. Well. Perhaps it was some sort of magical wolf remedy? Randall took the pot and sniffed it, immediately wrinkling his nose. It smelled like death. "That's great," he tried to enthuse. "I mean, mornings are bad for you, right? So this must be to help that."

Edwin poked his finger in the paste and promptly stuck it in his mouth. And then proceeded to gag. "Oh, man, do not eat that," he managed around dry heaves.

Anthony took a dubious sniff of it. "It's supposed to have stuff like flaxseed oil, nettles, apple...." Trailing off with a wince, he admitted, "All I can smell is the ginkgo oil. I'm sure they know what they're talking about, though. They said it'll relieve the symptoms."

Gripping Anthony's shoulder, Randall met his eyes. "Then it'll work. These are wolves, Ant. They know how to handle things like this. Besides, I've read that flaxseed oil is used all the time for joint pain. Clearly, they know what they're doing. Trust me." They had to know what they were doing. There simply wasn't another option.

"Well, I'll give it a shot." Anthony smiled at Randall and Edwin. He put a hand on the bench, pushing himself to stand. He hesitated as he looked at the pot. "Should I try it now? It's not really morning anymore, and they specified morning."

"Sure," Randall said confidently, taking the pot. "It's more of a once a day application, I bet. We'll put some on now."

Anthony gave a small sigh. "No wolf is going to come within fifty yards of me, with this on," he muttered.

"Good thing fish have s.h.i.t noses then, huh?" Edwin chuffed a laugh. Randall had Anthony's hand between his own and was gently smearing the paste onto the joints. He didn't pause in his work, but his eyes flicked up to Anthony's as he felt his brother's hand twitch in surprise.

They didn't really talk about Vilhehn. Not directly.

Anthony just snorted faintly. "Good thing he'll never be around to smell it in the first place," he said lowly, taking over for Randall to smooth the paste onto his own joints. "Now, don't we have better things to do than stand outside the healer's cabin?"

At least Edwin had the good grace to look sheepish for bringing up topics they really didn't want to dwell on. "I was going to go running," he offered, giving Anthony an apologetic grin. As if either of them could stay mad at him. One big, sunny grin from Edwin and they'd find it impossible to deny him anything. "Feel up to it, old man?"

Edwin got a swift punch on the shoulder. "Old man?" Anthony said slowly, his eyebrows raised. "Old man? You still haven't beaten my record running between our house and the lake. Don't you talk to me about being old."

"Fine," Edwin laughed, ducking under Anthony's arm and half tackling him in a hug. "You and me. We'll find a new race. Bet there's loads of things to smell here too."

"It's going to storm," Randall pointed out practically.

"So put your clothes inside," Edwin returned, sticking out his tongue. "Fur dries, Rand. Come on, it'll be fun!"

Anthony had his hands halfway raised to his shirt, as if he'd been about to take it off. He paused, flexing his fingers in a way that looked stiff and painful. The excitement at the prospect of running faded from his face. "You go, Edwin," he said gently. "How about we have a run later tonight?"

Something flickered across Edwin's expression, behind the smile, the teasing. Something weary and worried and old. So strange to see on his brother's face. Edwin was the heart of them, was their innocence. It hurt more than Randall would have expected to catch a glimpse of that fading. "Yeah." Edwin nodded, hauling Anthony in for a rough hug. "I need to go check out the best places to run anyway. Haven't even poked my nose around here yet. I'm slacking."

With one last smile, just as bright, as if the cloud that had pa.s.sed was already forgotten, Edwin kicked off his clothes and shifted. He barked cheerfully at them, nosing into their legs. Then, with a streak of blond fur, he was gone.

Anthony and Randall started walking back toward their cabin. Anthony never explicitly stated that he was going to take a nap, but Randall knew his plans nonetheless. Even the short medical consultation seemed to have worn Anthony out. For as long as Randall could really remember, it'd just been the three of them. And for several years, it really had only been Randall and Anthony taking care of things. Edwin had just been a toddler when their parents had been killed. Randall had spent nearly every day with Anthony, considered him to be something more than a brother, something deeper than a friend. He was half of everything Randall had in his life.

And, walking back to their cabin, for one of the first times in his life, Randall didn't know what to say to him.

Anthony seemed to pick up on his awkwardness. "You should go join Edwin," he encouraged as he palmed open the door to their cabin. "You know how he gets. He never likes to discover new things alone."

Fussing with Anthony's bed, smoothing out blankets, Randall shrugged. "I'm not good at the running around in the woods parts. You know that. Besides, it really is going to storm. Don't worry. I saw a big group of wolves come out of the school and head the same direction as Edwin went before you came out of the healer's place. I'm sure he'll make new friends before we know it."

That brought a faint smile to Anthony's expression. It fell off in a second, though, as Anthony put a hand on Randall's arm, stopping him from further fussing with the blanket. "I'm not an invalid," Anthony reminded him softly. "I can adjust my own blankets." However soft and friendly his voice was, there was a thread of frustration under his tone, an anger that was fighting to crack through the surface.

Randall's hands stilled. "I know." The words came quietly, Randall's head down, staring at the faded comforter. "But you are sick."

He honestly wasn't sure if he'd ever just said that to Anthony. There'd been talking around it. There had been a lot of a.s.surances of getting better, insistence that everything was fine. But Randall's voice shook, just a little, as he forced the words out. "You're sick, and you need to stop pushing yourself so hard."

"I'm only pushing myself to be normal, Randall," Anthony said.

"Being sick isn't normal," Randall snapped. "You are not normal right now, Ant. I am not normal, Edwin is not f.u.c.king normal." Lips tight, he drew himself back. He choked down all the fear and anger and worry that was spilling out from the neatly packed little box he kept it in. Drawing in a shuddered breath, he shook his head, arms folded across his chest. "I'm sorry," Randall murmured. "You're fine. I'm just tired. I should let you sleep. Excuse me."

"No. You're right." Anthony's low words stopped him from leaving. "Nothing's normal about this." He rubbed a rough hand over his face, pushing his hair back, trying to get himself under control. He smiled then, a tiny curve at the corner of his mouth. "Compromise? I won't push, and you won't coddle?"

Despite himself, Randall felt the tense line of his shoulders ease. "You are not an egg," he agreed. He'd told Anthony the same thing about Edwin many times when Edwin had first wanted to go running on his own.

He wasn't an egg. He didn't need to be coddled. He could take care of himself.

"I'm sorry," Randall whispered, dropping his eyes, frowning down at his shoes. They had mud all over them. He really should see to that before they were ruined. "You've taken care of us our whole lives. I guess I just am feeling a little helpless. I don't know how to take care of you, now."

"You don't need to worry about that," Anthony said. "Because I'm going to be taking care of this family for as long as I'm alive." He took on a casual sprawl against the bed, sitting back against the headboard. "So maybe you'll let me talk to the Gray Lady in the future, huh?" There was a note of fond teasing in his voice, but steel too, concern for his brothers doing things that Anthony felt he should be doing himself.

Randall winced at the tone. Yes, he'd known this conversation would happen, should Anthony find out about his early morning trip. Just as the Gray Lady had said-it really was Anthony's place to handle those types of things. "You're my brother," he replied quietly, raising his gaze to meet Anthony's. The same reason he'd given her. "You shouldn't ever have to beg."

"Yes, I am your brother," Anthony replied, amus.e.m.e.nt touching his expression. "Your older brother, so it is still my G.o.d-given right to boss you around." He made a move, hooking an arm around Randall's neck and hauling him in to pull Randall into a headlock.

Squirming in Anthony's grip, yelping in a most undignified manner, Randall tried to wrestle his way out. Anthony's hand grabbed Randall's forearm, tightening to haul him back in. For a moment, all he could feel was shooting pain, the phantom memories of Cairo, of blood and fangs. Randall turned away from Anthony, putting up the playful struggle still, refusing to react. And then Anthony let go and they were rolling on the bed, and it was so easy to forget it. To shove it away like he always did. Randall did his best to squirm around and try to grasp at Anthony's ticklish spots, hoping for an upper hand. He failed quite utterly, but he was laughing by the time Anthony took pity on him and released him to wobble his way into sitting on the bed, the shadow memories locked away and ignored. As they should be.

"Yes, fine," Randall sighed heavily, nudging his shoulder against Anthony's. "You are still able to kick my b.u.t.t if you so choose. Point taken." He glanced over, smiling slightly at Anthony. "You know I'm just doing this because I love you, right?" And he was worried. G.o.d, he was just so worried, all the time. Telling Anthony something that obvious, though, would be like pointing out he had brown hair. "I'm going to do whatever I can to get you well again. It really is going to be okay." Randall had to believe that. He just had to keep telling himself that, telling everyone that, and working as hard as he possibly could to make it true.

"I know. And thank you." Anthony had a corner of the blanket between his hands, twisting it in his fingers, apparently unconcerned at getting the paste all over it. "For your help, I mean. I just don't want you doing things for me because you think I can't." He smiled ruefully.

There were a lot of things Randall wanted to say to that. To point out the fact that Anthony shouldn't have to do things that were painful, that were hard, just because he could. To beg his brother to slow down, to not push himself, and the disease, past this point. Because that was what was going to happen. If the treatment didn't work, this day was going to be the best one he had left. And then the next day, he'd be a little worse, and that day would turn into the new best. And so on, further down, until the ability to walk, to run, to shift, were all forgotten. Until the new best, the new normal, was one of twisted, unmoving pain.

Until there were no more good days at all.

He just wanted Anthony to never see that day. To not have to feel pain that wasn't necessary. But Randall looked over at Anthony's face, the grim determination, the pride-G.o.d, so much pride, like Anthony was only asking to keep his ident.i.ty, to keep the one thing that defined him. All Anthony had ever done, all he'd worked for, was to take care of him and Edwin. Randall couldn't take that away, even a little. He couldn't imply that there'd ever be a moment when Anthony couldn't be the man he'd wanted to be, because that would break Anthony faster than the disease ever could.

"Okay, big brother," Randall sighed, giving him a little smile. "No more mama wolf."

"Good." Anthony looked satisfied with the answer. He shuffled himself farther down on the bed, sighing as he got comfortable. "If I nap, you won't get too bored, I hope?"

"Nah." Randall had to resist the urge to smooth the blankets. "I think I'm going to go for a walk. See some of these woods Edwin is so enamored with."

Anthony sounded halfway to sleep already when he answered. "Make sure he doesn't start chomping on squirrels again. We all remember the time he couldn't eat for three hours because he had a squirrel tail stuck in his throat."

"He nearly starved," Randall agreed somberly, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. "I'll warn the squirrels away. Sleep well, Ant." He left, closing the door as silently as possible behind him.

The wind had picked up, rattling branches, rubbing leaves off into desperate whirls of scattered color. Randall started walking in his pressed sweater, in his tie, in his muddy shoes. He was neat, he was contained, gla.s.ses firmly on, every inch a man. Every inch civilized.

He didn't want to be that. Right then, it felt as though if he stayed contained he would go mad. Without thinking, Randall kicked off his shoes. He shucked off the sweater and his perfectly creased slacks. He dropped them all into a pile, and he changed.

It was like the whole world came alive. He could smell leftovers from breakfast, the scent of the rain in the air, oranges and tea and parchment. There were wolves everywhere, and he smelled them too. He felt them like a hum in the back of his mind, an awareness of them that seemed so much more immediate now. Randall took off running, darting around trees, ears back, body sleek and low to the ground. He didn't think, didn't worry, didn't feel. He just ran.