Sanguis Noctis: Bloodlines Part 18

"Everyone with me. Now." Jed strode across the camp, wolves trailing behind him like an army, Victor bringing up the rear. The door to the Gray Lady's cabin was unceremoniously kicked in. Her guardian wolves growled, but Jed bared his teeth and growled right back.

"Do you mind?" The Gray Lady was at her long table, several wolves with her. "We're in the middle-"

"Shut the f.u.c.k up." Jed was bloodstained and fierce-looking, anger radiating from every word, seemingly more wolflike than any of the actual wolves standing close. "You're in the middle of a war is what this is. And you don't get to press a dainty hand to your nose and ignore the G.o.dd.a.m.n stink. So this is how this is going to go. I am going to find the sons of b.i.t.c.hes who are hunting you, and then you and I are going to find a way for your pack to stay alive."

The Gray Lady blinked at him, obviously torn between showing her own teeth and agreeing. In the end, her eyes went to the cl.u.s.ter of new wolves from the smaller pack, the injured and the young, and she nodded. "Very well," she said, raising her chin. "We will talk. Later."

"And I'm staying in a G.o.dd.a.m.n cabin," Jed rumbled as he turned, stalking back out of the building. "I'll stay in every d.a.m.n cabin you've got. If you don't like it you can kiss my human a.s.s."

At the doorway, the group dispersed. The wolves from the smaller pack were taken by members of the Gray Lady's in the direction of the medical house. Anthony cast a look at Jed and Redford, concerned. "I'm going to take Randall and Ed to get some proper treatment. You should come with us. I'm not the best at st.i.tching, especially not in a moving vehicle, so all you've got is a bandage. You need more care than that."

"I don't want any voodoo herb smusher to touch my G.o.dd.a.m.n arm," Jed bit out. "I'm fine. We're f.u.c.king fine."

"Yes, we can see that." Randall was still heavily favoring one leg, the gash more visible now that there wasn't fur covering his upper leg. Victor was at his side, giving Randall an arm to lean on. "Anthony, you need to get looked at as well."

"Yeah, we're going." Anthony looked back at Jed again, like he wanted to insist Jed get properly treated, but he shook his head. Redford almost smiled to himself. Even Anthony had realized it was difficult to out-stubborn Jed. "Jed, just please get some attention if you feel like you need it. Victor's right, this isn't the time to be macho."

"This ain't my first rodeo, sunshine." Jed's hand had fallen again to rest on the nape of Redford's neck, fingers buried in his fur. "I've had scratches worse than this shaving."

"You think anybody's buying that tough talk?" Anthony huffed a near-silent laugh. But he was watching Jed with admiration starting to dawn in his eyes now that the adrenaline was dying down. "Thank you, Jed. For what you did. That pack wouldn't be alive without you."

Visibly uncomfortable with the grat.i.tude, Jed cleared his throat. "Yeah, well. Good talk. And, uh, nice job out there. You aren't half bad to have around, even if I do probably have fleas now."

Edwin nudged his head against Redford before he started pushing at Victor's legs, encouraging him to start walking with Randall. The slash across the bottom of his muzzle gave Edwin a vaguely rakish air. He didn't appear all that traumatized by his first encounter with violence.

Redford envied him. So much was going on around him, there was so much to talk about, and he could scarcely think about any of it.

If Jed wasn't going to see the proper healers, then Redford would have to take care of him himself. He started to go for his usual tactic-gripping the bottom hem of Jed's jeans in his teeth to drag him in the right direction-but the second his teeth got shown, Jed flinched, and Redford drew back, ears down and tail between his legs.

He'd have to settle for just walking next to Jed, then. It was only right, Redford figured. Of course Jed didn't want Redford's teeth anywhere near him. Redford didn't want to make Jed react like that ever again. Still, he had to get Jed back to the cabin, so he went for a small nudge of his nose against Jed's ankle.

Knievel was waiting for them, curled up in the middle of the bed. She cracked an eye open when they walked in, deciding that it was worth leaving her cozy blankets to come and curl herself around Redford's legs. Redford, having expected Knievel to claw at his nose in revenge for what he'd done to Jed, relaxed slightly, and was faced with the odd situation of trying to pat their cat while he was lacking opposable thumbs.

Jed immediately tugged off his shirt, going into the bathroom to examine Anthony's handiwork. Apparently he was satisfied, because he just kicked off his shoes and collapsed facedown onto the bed. Knievel immediately abandoned Redford to hop up and requisition Jed's back as her new bed, kneading against his shoulder before she curled up and yawned her way back to sleep.

"Get up here," Jed told Redford, voice hoa.r.s.e and rough.

Guiltily, Redford wondered if he should, if he even had the right anymore. When they'd first started to fall for each other and Redford had told Jed about his grandmother, Jed hadn't been happy. He'd yelled, called her an evil, abusing b.i.t.c.h, announced that he would very much like to resurrect her just for the pleasure of killing her himself.

But if Redford had hurt Jed twice now, didn't that make him as bad as his grandmother?

He loved Jed. He loved him more than anybody else Redford had ever had in life, and he'd never imagined feeling that way about somebody. He was fairly sure he'd never feel that way about somebody again. He wanted to leave the cabin out of shame and hope Jed realized how terrible it was that Redford had bitten him, but even as the guilt tried to push him into that action, Redford found he couldn't leave.

He shifted. It took a little longer this time, it hurt a little more, with the instincts being further toward the back of his mind, but finally Redford was able to cross the room and sit on the edge of the bed, gingerly placing his hand on Jed's shoulder blade.

"I'm...." Redford couldn't think of the proper words to say. "I'm so sorry, Jed." His voice broke on Jed's name, but Redford drew a deep breath, trying to keep himself composed.

There had been so much tenseness in Jed's body, like he was waiting for something, preparing for some terrible thing to happen. But the second Redford touched him, all of that melted. He turned, dislodging Knievel, grasping at Redford's hand. "Why?" he asked softly, eyes searching Redford's face. "G.o.d, babe, I'm the one that's sorry. I never.... I never meant for it to be like that. Not for you. You shouldn't...."

Sitting up, Jed had to pause, his voice cracking at the edges. "G.o.d, you're so... you're this innocent, amazing person, and I broke you." Jed's face shattered, a deep, heaving sob working its way through Jed's body. "Christ, I ruined you. I'm so sorry, Redford. I'm so, so sorry."

That wasn't what Redford had been expecting to hear. In fact, it was such a polar opposite of his own thoughts that he was taken aback for a long few moments, staring at Jed in shock.

"Jed," he protested, alarm flashing sourly in the back of his throat. He'd never seen Jed like this. On pure instinct, he raised his arms to wrap around Jed's shoulders, pulling him in close. "Jed, please don't apologize," he continued, his voice thin. "I hurt you. And that's not the first time I've hurt you."

"I don't care" was Jed's immediate response, forceful and sure even as his eyes were wet, even as he choked back another sob. "Jesus, Red, I don't f.u.c.king care. That wasn't... you're not beating me or some s.h.i.t, okay? You were wolfed out, and I got in the way. I just didn't want you to.... I didn't want you to come to and realize you'd killed someone else. That's what I do, that's my job, but not you. You're better than that."

It still didn't excuse what Redford had done, but Jed seemed focused on a completely different issue here, one that Redford hadn't even been thinking about.

"I killed those men for you, Jed. That first one was going to shoot you in the back."

Even as he said it, Redford felt dawning realization at his own words. He'd spent the whole drive home feeling sick that he'd killed those men-and he still did feel that sour clench of guilt, the terrible churning shame of it-but now he started to realize there had been a point to it. They hadn't been needless murders. In fact, it was what any of them would have done. It was what Jed had done. Three of those bodies had been brought down by his bullets. Those men were trying to kill them, and Jed's first rule was that, if someone was coming after you, you had to live. Whatever that entailed, you just had to survive. And they had.

"I killed them for you," he repeated. "You taught me how to take care of myself and the people I love, and I did." He pulled back from Jed a little, showing him his arms, his chest, the way he didn't have so much as a scratch on him. And despite his lingering guilt and misery, Redford found himself smiling. "I don't even have a mark on me, Jed. Everyone else got hurt in some way. You taught me how to fight and look after myself and be independent."

Those were good things. Those were things that didn't involve him hiding in his grandmother's bas.e.m.e.nt, afraid of the world. But Jed wasn't smiling. He looked vaguely sick, staring at Redford like he'd seen something horrifying.

Never once had Jed looked at him like that. Not when he changed, not when Redford was so lost in the competing instincts he chased the paper guy or wolfed down an entire plate of meat. Jed had accepted him, every part of him, from the day they'd met. But now he just seemed so sad and so afraid, and Jed's gaze dropped away, refusing to meet Redford's.

Redford's smile died. Every part of him had been accepted, except this part, apparently. The instincts had gone too far, maybe, or perhaps Jed wasn't being entirely truthful when he said he didn't care that Redford had nearly ripped his arm off. Either way, Redford wound up leaning back, losing contact with Jed.

"We should get some sleep," Jed mumbled, getting up, tugging off his jeans, and searching through his bag for pajamas. "You look exhausted."

Jed was the most stubborn man Redford had ever met, and if he didn't want to talk any further about this, then all attempts to do so would be absolutely useless. Redford wanted to grab him by the shoulders and make him realize: Redford was strong now, he was independent and useful, he had a purpose. Jed hadn't ruined him. Jed had made him.

But that lingering guilt over hurting Jed made him hold his tongue. He could see the fear in Jed's eyes, the sadness, and Redford could only a.s.sume both were his fault. There wasn't exactly anybody else in this room who could be to blame.

So instead of trying to talk more, Redford just got under the blankets. He expected that Jed would go sleep in the other bed, but Redford took his usual position anyway, the side farthest away from the door because, despite Jed's usual insistence on having a wall at his back whenever possible, he refused to sleep anywhere that wasn't directly between the outside world and Redford, like he could be a human barricade against any possible threats.

The thought that he might now consider Redford a threat made him feel sick.

But then the mattress dipped as Jed returned, and Jed wrapped his arm tight around Redford, the bandage scratching lightly against Redford's skin. He felt Jed's nose nuzzle into the nape of his neck, a soft exhale as Jed let out a breath. It didn't feel the same. There was a quietness in Jed, a stillness and brooding that seemed so out of place. But Jed wasn't pulling away. He kissed Redford's scar just like he did every night, settling back in and holding Redford close.

Right then, it was enough to know that Jed was still willing to be in the same bed as him. Redford took his hand and held on tight.

And he tried not to think whether or not Jed would leave him in the morning.

RESTLESS SLEEP didn't make anything better.

Jed was still there when he woke up; Redford was at least incredibly grateful for that. But they barely spoke as they got ready except to exchange the acknowledgement that they were going to do more research on the bullets they'd found and the ones Jed had recovered from the woods. Jed seemed certain those were their best lead. Redford considered breakfast, but the anxiety and guilt churning in his gut were enough to make his appet.i.te abandon him completely.

A few times, he found himself reaching out to Jed while Jed was turned away, extending an arm to him with the intent of putting a hand on his shoulder, but he always drew back at the last second, remembering the flinch Jed had given yesterday.

He just had to turn his mind to research, Redford decided. Once he was dressed and washed up, he went over to the table where they had set up all their maps and their findings from the hunter cabin. Jed came to stand on the other side, and they went to work.

Time seemed to stretch on, where the only interruption to the silence was the sound of a map rustling or a notebook page turning.

It was the most awkward Redford had ever felt with Jed, and that included their very first meeting where Redford had thought he was a plumber come to fix his pipes. Every once in a while he went to say something, an apology on the tip of his tongue, a question, but he could never seem to get the words out. He kept worrying that he would say the wrong thing or drive Jed deeper into fear. So Redford said nothing and felt the uncertain hunch of his shoulders grow more p.r.o.nounced with every minute that pa.s.sed.

The knock at the door was so loud in their silence that it made him jump. Jed practically turned over his chair, leaping to answer it. He jerked open the door to find Randall and Victor on their porch, arms piled high with books, a laptop, and to-go cups of coffee. "Uh, hi," Randall said, peering around Jed toward Redford, giving them both a shy smile. "I hope we aren't interrupting."

Victor's eyes were barely visible above the pile of books. "We went to the library to-"

"Holy s.h.i.t, princess, am I glad to see you." Jed practically threw his arms around both of them, dragging Randall and Victor inside. "Nerd boy and batgeek, here to save the G.o.dd.a.m.n day. Look, Redford, we have company." He was so desperately happy to have anyone else in the room, like he thought Victor and Randall would be able to shatter the silence between them.

Jed's relief at their company-at the company of anybody that wasn't Redford-just made Redford want to sink through the floor and vanish, but he managed a polite, if hesitant, greeting wave.

Victor looked more shaken at Jed's hug than he'd looked at the fight. He put the books down on the table so he could adjust his gla.s.ses, peering suspiciously at Jed. "As I was saying. We went to the library to procure books on bullet types, more detailed maps of the area, anything we could think of that might help you in your venture to discover who is behind this."

"Look, Red, books!" Jed picked one up and handed it to Redford like he'd found a magic talisman. "You love books."

Redford took it, but his smile felt a bit curdled. Jed's far too eager grin faded away, the manic enthusiasm crumpling.

Randall gave them both a look, one eyebrow rising, but he didn't comment. "Right. Anyway, we thought we'd volunteer our services. I am not good at much, but research is right up my alley."

"We even decided to be magnanimous and provide coffee." Victor pushed the to-go cups into Jed and Redford's hands. "There. Now sharpen up, both of you, we have research to do."

"You sure you've been laid before, princess?" Jed muttered, taking the offered coffee and sniffing it suspiciously. "Because you sound way too f.u.c.king thrilled at that prospect."

"What on earth does one's s.e.xual experience have to do with the level of interest in studying?" Randall asked, obviously put out. "I don't think that if I had s.e.x, I'd suddenly stop wanting to read or-" His words apparently caught up with him, and Randall stuttered to a halt, plopping down in a chair and noisily flipping through a book. "So, who wants to study bullet types with me?"

Victor eagerly sat down next to Randall with no comment on Randall's embarra.s.sment. He reached out to get the box of silver bullets that was on top of one of the maps, and together they bent their heads over Randall's book.

Redford took a surrept.i.tious sniff of the coffee and pretended to sip it. He didn't want to seem rude by putting it aside, but he'd never liked the taste much. While Victor and Randall read together, a bottle of water was pressed into Redford's free hand. He looked up to find Jed, wordlessly taking the coffee from him. Redford never really drank anything but water if he could help it, no matter how many times Jed tried to get him to taste different beers.

Hope and relief hit him hard. It was such a little thing, and he should probably be focusing on research, but if Jed was still thinking about him then it meant that Jed probably wasn't going to leave. Redford's smile was a lot more genuine then, and he silently mouthed a thank you at Jed.

Redford would swear most of the time that Jed wasn't nearly as closed off as he pretended. Every emotion he had, everything he kept so close to the chest, Redford could read in his eyes. It wasn't any different now. He saw love there in Jed's gaze, but it was underscored with a heavy, indefinable emotion that didn't seem to allow Jed to stay too close to Redford. Jed closed his fingers lightly around Redford's, just for a moment, before slipping away again.

That hope and relief dimmed somewhat but didn't die entirely. The smile didn't immediately slip off Redford's face-as upset and as guilty as he was feeling, Jed still loved him. He had to hold on to that.

"Have you looked into the etchings at the bottom of these?" Randall's voice broke into Redford's thoughts. "This symbol isn't one of the major manufacturers."

"And I don't think this would be any sort of do-it-yourself type build. They would need to have specialized equipment to make these silver bullets, not to mention the effort needed to produce the quant.i.ty you observed," Victor added. "But I highly doubt that a major manufacturer would do such a small, specific order. Thus, we can infer that-"

"Okay, Professor Hard-on." Jed cut Victor off, kicking his chair back to wander over to his bag. "Yes, Nancy Drew and her gal Friday have figured out that Sierra isn't going into the werewolf-hunting line. Good for you." Jed found a small flask and dumped half of its contents into his coffee. Downing a large gulp, he hissed in appreciation. Redford could smell the whiskey from where he was sitting. "It's a custom job. Someone-"

Jed stopped, eyes going wide. "Oh," he said lowly, before, louder, "Son of a b.i.t.c.h."

"What?" Victor still sounded irritable at being interrupted, but curiosity touched his expression. "Do you know someone that would be capable of custom-made bullets?"

"Sweetheart, half my rolodex would fit that bill." Jed was digging through his bag one handed, tossing clothes every which way. He unearthed a battered tin box and brought it over to the table. Dumping it out, he sent bullets rolling over the maps, all different shapes and sizes.

"One from each job," he explained, sorting through them. "Call me sentimental."

"Or a serial killer," Randall muttered, picking up one and frowning at it. "What does this very disturbing display of your trophies have to do with this?"

"Everything." Jed held out one bullet, longer than his finger and twice as thick. On the bottom, [BC] was etched into the bra.s.s.

"Holy s.h.i.t." The curse seemed strange coming out of Randall's mouth. He leaned forward, eyes wide. "You know our supplier."

"More than know," Jed agreed. "Worked a few jobs for him. He likes custom-made toys, big guns, and b.l.o.w. .j.o.bs in the backseat of cars."

It didn't take more than that for Redford to understand who Jed meant. There was the etching on the bottom of the bullet, the fact that Jed had met him before. And then the references to big guns and custom made toys-Redford had heard Jed speak about those things to an ex-client before. There was only one person it could be.

Buck Cambridge. Redford had met him not long after Jed and Redford had first met, and Redford recalled distinctly disliking him even then. That's who the box of silver bullets smelled of.

"Are you going to be helpful and tell us exactly who it is?" Victor said witheringly. "Or shall we stay suspended on the edge of our seats?"

"Better if you don't know, professor." Jed was standing, moving around the cabin, grabbing shoes and a shirt and a gun with a kind of nervous energy. "This is not something you can lecture to death. I'll just go have a nice, friendly conversation, see if I can't figure out what's going on."

"You'll need to talk to the Gray Lady first." Victor looked like he wished he didn't have to say it but felt like he should nonetheless, a frown settling in at the edges of his lips. "She'll want to know what's going on."

"b.i.t.c.hes in h.e.l.l want ice water," Jed shot back. "Doesn't help them either." He shrugged on a jacket. "Come on, Red, suit up. It's probably a few hours' worth of driving, and I want to get back before dark."

Redford had started getting ready before Jed had even finished speaking. He strapped his shoulder holster on and made sure his gun was properly loaded before he tucked it away, and started putting Jed's bag back together for transport. It didn't matter that things were awkward between him and Jed right now. He had Jed's back during jobs now and always, and neither of them were going to let a fight get in the way of that.

"I'm coming with you." Randall was standing, favoring his wounded leg, jaw set defiantly.

"That's a no," Jed replied, barely even giving him a look. "You're hurt, and I've already got all the backup I need."

"What you need is someone this person doesn't know. What do you think you're going to do, just burst through the front door?"

Jed shrugged. "The thought had occurred to me, yes."

"That might get you a fist fight for your trouble, but I hardly think it will give us the information we need." Randall took a step forward. "Put on nicer clothes, present yourself as a potential business client, and you'll get a lot further."

Snorting, Jed finally glanced over at Randall. "This guy ain't interested in my clothes."

"Yes, but this guy isn't who you need to get past. Secretaries and a.s.sistants run the world. They're the ones you need to be able to charm your way through." Randall's eyes darted between Jed and Redford. "Take me with you. I look harmless, which is to your advantage in any situation, and you know you can rely on me."

Jed looked like he very much wanted to protest. With a heavy sigh, though, he waved his hand. "Fine, whatever, come along. Keep your mouth shut and do what I say." Jed seemed to be sizing up Randall's outfit, the neatly tied tie, the b.u.t.toned up cardigan, the pressed slacks. With another irritated exhale, Jed dug through his own clothes, pulling out one of his few dress shirts and a pair of trousers. "f.u.c.king hate dressing up," he muttered, flinging off his clothes and tugging on the nicer outfit.

Jed, Redford thought, should really dress up nicer more often. They'd done a few cases before where Jed had worn a suit, and while he'd b.i.t.c.hed and complained about it the whole time, when they'd gotten home, Redford hadn't wasted any time in getting that suit off him. Jed definitely hadn't complained about that.

He supposed he'd need to be in nicer clothes too, so he set about retrieving the appropriate shirt and pants from his bag. Redford didn't think he cleaned up nearly as nicely as Jed. He figured it had something to do with the scar on his face, or his hair, that he'd never managed to force into a style that wasn't messy.

"Just be careful," Victor cautioned them all, but he was looking at Randall in particular. "The last thing any of us need is for you to wind up dead."

"Well, if I do bite it on this perfectly safe mission where there is a high likelihood that I won't even draw my gun, you can't have my stuff." Jed grabbed his bag and checked it over. No matter how many times Redford had packed for him, no matter even if he'd done his own packing, Jed always double checked. There was some story Jed would tell about Budapest and having to make his own knife out of a soda can, but the point was, Jed was slightly paranoid.

"Pity," Victor said dryly. "I was so looking forward to inheriting a gun collection of such enormity that no one man could ever hope to use it all."

"I'm sure we'll be fine," Randall agreed. He was giving Victor a sideways look, as if unsure if he should pay attention to the concern in Victor's voice. "And you do know that guns are often used as a compensation for smaller genitalia."

"Yes, I was aware." Victor didn't even need to look at Jed to make his words pointed.

"They're also often used as payment for smaller jobs," Redford said, feeling the need to defend Jed. Not that Jed really needed any defending-the last time someone had inferred that he was compensating, Jed had pulled down his pants right then and there.