Sanguis Noctis: Bloodlines Part 42

"Shut up," Randall responded. He looked down at the vest he'd pulled out of the closet, sighing and dropping it onto the bed. He chose a simple shirt instead, slacks, a tie. Dressing quickly, he glanced at himself in the mirror.

Oh, G.o.d, he was a mess.

He yanked open the door to find both Edwin and Anthony waiting for him, and gave them a panicked look. "This is bad, right?" His fingers ran over the tie, looking down at himself. "When did I get so fat? And I should just wear a bag over my head, right? G.o.d, why did I agree to do this? I'm not a date person. I look terrible."

Anthony gave him a pat on the shoulder. "You look great, Randall," he said. "I mean it. Victor's not even going to care what you're wearing."

"Because I look horrible," Randall agreed miserably. He turned on his heel and went back to the closet, digging through it, tossing clothes everywhere. "Maybe a different tie?" Or a different face.

Anthony was chuckling behind him, dragging Randall away from the closet. "No, because he's so smitten he only cares if you turn up," he corrected. "You think you're nervous about clothes? The guy turned up in a three-piece suit earlier today."

"He's wearing a suit?" Oh, G.o.d. Randall immediately started undoing his tie. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"Here." Edwin was standing there with a tan sport coat, a deep-green tie, and a dark-blue shirt. "Put this on."

"What-"

"Jed and I watched daytime television today." Edwin nodded sagely. "Trust me." He paused and wrinkled his nose. "Also, television is boring."

Randall took the clothes. "Why did you watch, then?"

Edwin shrugged. "Jed and Redford wanted to relax. We went for a run and then swimming and then tried to fish, only there wasn't anything biting and they had no idea what they were doing. Jed just kind of poked the water with a stick. I think they got tired." Giving Randall a grin, he shoved his shoulder. "Now go get dressed. Victor's been pacing outside for the past ten minutes." They left, and Anthony shut the door behind them.

Randall studied himself in the mirror after he got dressed again. He ran a hand through his hair, adjusted his gla.s.ses, and wondered if it was possible to be any more nervous than he was right then.

It turned out that yes, it was. Because when he heard Victor coming up to the door, all the b.u.t.terflies that had been beating around his stomach turned into a cyclone that twisted him up completely. Letting out a shaky breath, Randall forced himself to wait for the knock, going over to let Victor in.

Victor was indeed wearing a three-piece suit, the perfectly tailored kind that only came with significant money. There was even the chain of a pocket watch hanging out of the pocket of the gray pinstripe waistcoat, a burnished silver to match the rest of the suit. Despite all of that, Victor looked just as nervous as he did.

He also looked incredible. In the middle of all his worry, Randall felt a smile start, a giddy little lift to his gut that made it impossible to not grin.

"Are you ready?" Victor asked. The once-over he gave Randall was obvious, his gaze darting up and down the length of Randall's body. "You look fantastic, by the way."

Randall ducked his head as he exhaled a laugh. "I think that word's being used up by you, actually. You, uh. Yes. You look very good."

"Oh my G.o.d, you two." Jed and Redford had apparently shown up to watch the show. Jed smirked widely at both of them, sprawled out on the couch with Redford's legs on his lap-Randall's door was only just visible from the living room, and they'd obviously deliberately placed themselves on the one couch with viewing access. "Just kiss or nerd b.u.mp or whatever it is you people do and get going."

Victor decisively took Randall's hand. "Do be quiet, Jed," he said carelessly and turned back to Randall. "Shall we take our leave of this rabble and go somewhere with good company?"

"I think that sounds perfect." Randall squeezed Victor's fingers lightly, and they walked down the hall and toward the front door. Edwin was grinning at the both of them, and he darted up to give Victor a big hug.

"If you hurt him, I have teeth, and I will rip your throat out," Edwin informed Victor cheerfully.

"Edwin!" Randall gave him an exasperated look, gaze going to Anthony. "Could you please, Ant?"

"What?" Anthony just looked deeply amused. "Oh, right. Edwin, don't threaten people. It's rude." He reached out to shake Victor's hand. "If you break his heart, we really will wrestle."

"Okay," Randall sighed. "That's enough testosterone for the day."

"Hey." Jed whistled, stopping Randall in his tracks. "Fur boy. You hurt the princess and I'll find my explosives. Got it?" He gave them both a charming smirk. "Have fun!"

"Dear G.o.d, can we leave now?" Victor groaned. "We're leaving. Come on, Randall." Still looking faintly perturbed at Edwin and Anthony's threats-and perhaps more especially at Jed's gesture of protectiveness-Victor tugged Randall out the door.

The moment they were outside, Randall started laughing. He couldn't help it. "You might not believe this," he told Victor, shaking his head, "but that actually went better than I'd expected it to."

"I don't doubt it," Victor huffed. In less of a hurry now that they'd escaped outside, they walked toward Jed's Jeep.

"The first boy who came to take me out, I was eighteen." They both climbed inside the Jeep, snapping on seat belts, getting themselves settled. "Edwin bit him. Twice. Needless to say, we never made it on the date."

As Victor started up the engine, he smiled. "I'll consider myself lucky that I remain unbitten, then."

"I wouldn't say that," Randall murmured, looking out the window rather than at Victor. "I wouldn't think a little biting this evening would be so bad."

"Neither would I," Victor agreed slyly. "Now, before I start driving in any particular direction, do you have a preference for type of restaurant? Are you allergic to anything?"

Randall shook his head. "We don't often eat out, so I'm afraid my input will be limited. I'd prefer it if some sort of meat was available, but it's not a necessity. I really don't expect anything, Victor." Randall relaxed back into the seat. "Fast food would be fine with me."

"Well, we're certainly not going to go through a drive-through." Victor seemed appalled at the very idea. "We'll have Italian, then. There's a place in town I'm quite fond of, and I think you'd like it."

"That sounds good," Randall agreed. His entire experience with Italian was when he tried to make pasta at home, only to have Edwin and Anthony pick out the meatb.a.l.l.s and leave the rest. It would be interesting to have something authentic. "How was your day? I hope Edwin didn't annoy you too much. I think he gets lonely sometimes."

Victor seemed to hesitate before looking over at Randall, a small smile curling at the edge of his lips, different from the ones he usually wore. This one seemed more content. "Not at all. He finds Jed and Redford far more entertaining than me. I went back home briefly to get some things, but other than that my day was fairly uneventful. Yours?"

"Long," Randall admitted. He absently rubbed his hands together, watching the traffic out the window. "But not worth speaking about, really." They were headed back toward the city, and Randall found his gaze increasingly drawn toward Victor, the lights of the vehicles flashing across his face, lighting him in sporadic vision. "I've been looking forward to this, though. I, uh-" He briefly smiled. "-honestly didn't think we would ever be going on a date."

"Neither did I," Victor admitted. "Everything was... very confusing for a while. But I'm glad I got my head straightened out."

A smile touched Randall's face, and he daringly reached out to lightly brush his fingers along Victor's knee. "Well, here we are. I think we've had enough of talking about the past. I'm much more interested now in just you."

"Well, we're nearly at the restaurant," Victor replied. "Why don't I save that topic? I'm not actually that interesting, and I should probably save my good lines of conversation for the actual date."

"This isn't the date?" Randall asked, eyes crinkling in amus.e.m.e.nt. "My G.o.d, I am out of practice. I forgot the pre-date ritual."

"I suppose this could be counted as the date." Victor looked over at him briefly, obviously not wanting to take his eyes off the road for too long. "But driving in Jed's Jeep is hardly one of my good ideas."

"It's kind of b.u.mpy," Randall acknowledged. "But our car sounds like the m.u.f.fler is going to drop out. Anthony's fixed it a thousand times. It's really amazing it still runs. So this isn't half bad."

Victor turned the Jeep around a corner and leaned forward over the steering wheel, peering ahead to look for a place to park. "I hate driving," he said absently. "I have cars, but I never use them."

Randall glanced over, eyebrows lifted high. Cars. As in multiple. As in, yesterday Randall dug through Edwin's sock drawer looking for enough change to get a loaf of bread, and Victor was talking about more than one car. "You should hire a driver," he managed, wondering exactly how rich Victor was. Randall hadn't actually thought much of that before, but maybe it was relevant.

"Goodness, no, I live close enough to where I need to go that I can just walk. Any driver would be bored stiff for weeks on end." Victor grimaced as he pulled the Jeep into a parking spot, sitting up to try to see over the hood to make sure he didn't b.u.mp into anything. He looked relieved when he was done. "Right, then. Just in time for our booking."

The restaurant that Victor directed them toward looked small and tasteful from the outside, the windows glowing with low lamplight, vines crawling over the white stone walls. A waiter, impeccably dressed, greeted them as soon as they walked in the door. The outside, it turned out, belied what was inside. The interior was only just bright enough to see, lending it an intimate air. Every person dining, to Randall, looked like something out of a movie-perfectly made up without being ostentatious, their taste revealed in more subtle smaller diamonds and expensive cufflinks.

It was something he would have loved watching from a distance. Just seeing how people interacted had always been interesting. But walking among them, being led to his table, Randall was suddenly aware that his clothes weren't nearly that well fitted, that his suit coat was something he'd gotten from a clearance rack. He didn't fit in here at all. His hair was messy, he was awkward, and this was not a world he knew how to handle.

The waiter took them to a cozy corner table that overlooked a courtyard. Victor pulled Randall's chair out for him and sat down opposite him. Randall noticed that he unb.u.t.toned his jacket as he did so, a casual motion by the very rich used to not wanting to crease their suits.

Victor looked satisfied with the restaurant, but when he looked over at Randall, that expression faltered slightly. "You're uncomfortable," he surmised. "Oh, Randall, I'm sorry, I should have picked better. We can go elsewhere, if you like."

"No, of course not." Randall looked down, frowning, fiddling with his tie. "It's fine. I just haven't ever been someplace this nice. I, um, I don't think I'm dressed right." He felt ridiculous. Worrying about his clothes, honestly. "I would just prefer not to embarra.s.s you." Randall gave Victor a crooked, rueful little smile.

"n.o.body minds what you're wearing, Randall," Victor said gently. He nodded to the other patrons, who all looked far more interested in their meals or their dining company. "Only the snooty rich would look down on you, and I don't socialize with that lot."

"Okay, this is going to sound terrible, but when you say rich"-Randall glanced over at Victor-"you don't just mean 'I have a savings account with more than ten dollars in it,' do you?"

"It's family money, mostly." Victor looked a little uncomfortable talking about it. "Built up over generations. My mother's family was one of the first settlers in America. My father's family is well established in Manchester-that was where I spent most of my youth. I've added some of my own through stocks, a few book sales, and a couple of properties I own. Let's just say that if I had children, neither they nor their children would have to work if they were smart with their money."

Okay, so more than ten dollars. Randall gave that a moment to sink in. He'd honestly never really thought about money like that. Not in anything other than the vague acknowledgement that he needed to have more. Especially now. But he honestly didn't care if Victor had a thousand dollars or a million or ten million.

Although he did wonder what it'd be like.

"So you want children?" Randall asked with a half-hidden smile, changing the subject and ducking his head to glance through the menu.

Victor's frown seemed unsure. He too was looking at the menu, but he only gave it a cursory glance, as if he'd been here enough to know what was offered. "I've never thought seriously about it," he admitted. "No further than being wary of pa.s.sing on my genes."

"I don't know if that'd be a bad thing." Randall reached out to take a sip of his water, slowly starting to regain some of his self-confidence. This was better. This was just him and Victor, talking. He'd always enjoyed that. "Beyond the fact that a child having your smile could never be terrible, the part of yourself you're concerned about seems to diminish by further generations."

"Flatterer," Victor said fondly.

"Oh, I don't flatter," Randall a.s.sured him, a bit of teasing in his expression. "I only speak truths. That's one of my wolf qualities, didn't I tell you? Attractive men only get the truth."

Victor seemed bemused. "Really? Not even only after asking four times, like the Coyote of myth? I'm very lucky, then."

"You are," Randall hummed in agreement. They shared a smile, and Randall went back to perusing the menu, searching through the heavy parchment pages for something familiar. "Do you have any recommendations?" he finally asked, glancing upward, careful to keep his eyes below chin level so Victor didn't accidentally meet his. "I've had bad spaghetti before, but that's about all my experience with Italian food."

Victor waved the waiter over in response and ordered for them both in fluent Italian. His accent wasn't the best, but since Randall knew enough to be conversational in the same language, it was obvious to his ears that it was at least occasionally practiced. And there was something incredibly attractive about Victor at that moment, easily taking control of the situation.

"I thought we'd go with a number of smaller dishes," Victor said to him once the waiter had left. "So we can share, and you can get the full experience of how excellent these chefs are."

"In this moment, I am extremely glad you can't look into my eyes," he said, just barely audible to Victor, head bowed as he carefully arranged his silverware. "Because the expression I was giving you just then was most definitely not decent."

Victor smirked. "Perhaps I'll have to take a photograph for later reference."

It took him a moment to get it, but then Randall sat back, letting out a small huff of realization. "Because you can look into someone's eyes that way," he presumed, long fingers playing with the stem of the water gla.s.s. "A photograph, a movie, they're just images, and so you can look without seeing anything. How fascinating."

"Yes," Victor muttered, seemingly embarra.s.sed. "I don't like to ask people for photographs, but... they're nice to have."

Randall simply held out his hand. "Let me see your phone."

Victor's rapid blinking had a startled twitch to it, but he didn't hesitate in finding his phone and handing it over. Randall flipped through it, finding the camera application and holding the phone up in front of himself. Normally he would avoid such things, but in this case, he simply looked straight into the camera and took a picture without worrying about how terrible he would look, how his hair was out of place or he had an odd smile. Then he removed his gla.s.ses and did the same thing, thinking of the same expression he'd had earlier, wanting Victor to see. When he was done, he handed the phone back to Victor without a word, slipping his gla.s.ses back on.

"I hope you ordered that garlic bread I can smell," he commented, looking around. "I bet it's fantastic."

Victor didn't seem to hear him. He was too busy cradling his phone in both hands, staring down at the first photograph Randall had taken. He switched to the second and stared at that for some time, before flipping back and forth between the two. His smile looked a bit wobbly as he said, "You have stunning eyes, Randall."

There was a sudden tightness in Randall's throat, a soft hook in his stomach that seemed to demand he reach out, taking Victor's hand in his own. "You are the most amazing man." His smile too was shaky, but he gripped Victor's fingers tightly. And for a moment, they just sat there, Victor staring down at his phone, Randall holding his hand. The restaurant didn't exist. The whole world just faded away, until they were the only ones left.

He wanted a thousand days of this. A thousand times a thousand. The realization hit Randall like a punch, inevitable and completely consuming. As if in that moment, he couldn't imagine a future that didn't include, in some way, exactly this. Victor holding his hand.

"I suppose it must seem a bit silly, getting overcome at seeing someone's eyes," Victor said ruefully. "I could look into my mother's eyes. Since we were both alike, our abilities cancelled one another out. It made it difficult to understand why, at a young age before I fully grasped the concept, I couldn't simply look at other people if I could look at her. On the day I was born, my father took a photograph much like you did, so that I could see him."

For someone who had grown up completely intertwined with family, Randall simply couldn't imagine. It seemed impossible to grasp growing up so isolated that your only time looking fully into your father's face was through a picture. He almost couldn't think of anything to say, the lump in his throat seeming to swallow his words completely. He pulled Victor's hand up to place a kiss against his palm. "I don't think it's silly," Randall murmured. "You found a way to connect. There's something lovely about it." Lovely and incredibly sad.

"They never looked into each other's eyes," Victor replied. "It was an agreement they made when they started dating. Father was much like Jed, actually, not in personality but in ignorance of the supernatural community when he met her, but he adjusted quickly enough. When I was still young, about three, I think it was, my mother had shielded me from other people up until then. She'd wanted my first vision experience to be with someone that I loved, so she had me look into my father's eyes."

Victor's slightly queasy expression said enough. "I wasn't old enough to grasp what I saw," he continued, "but I was told I wouldn't stop crying for days on end. I'm pleased I had the opportunity, though. I knew him so fully that I felt like I'd been around him for a lifetime."

There were tears in Randall's eyes, he realized at once. But he smiled a little at Victor. He laced their fingers together and brushed another kiss to his knuckles, resting his chin against them, trying to think of anything to say that might sound like more than a plat.i.tude.

"I'm sorry," Victor said hurriedly, before Randall could say anything. "That's not exactly pleasant date conversation."

"Thank you for telling me." Randall found he really didn't want to let go of Victor. "I just...." Letting out a slow breath, he shook his head. "I can't imagine." His thumb made absent circles against the back of Victor's hand. "What were your parents like?"

Victor seemed relieved for the question. "I take after my mother more, so I'm told. She grew up here in America, taken care of by my grandmother. My grandfather is the one who pa.s.sed the medusa gene on. He's been in a nursing home for quite some time now. My father was a tailor. He was a very methodical man, and he didn't give up his trade even when he married into money. You would have liked them, I think. They certainly would have loved you." He tightened his grasp around Randall's hand. "What about your parents?"

"I would have liked to meet your parents." And he would have. To see if Victor's laugh came from his mother, if the way he would get so focused on his research made him look like his father, if he had his mother's strength and his father's kindness. Yes, Randall very much would have loved to meet them both. "Maybe, someday soon, we can go visit your grandfather. I don't know much about your family, obviously, or what happens to medusas as they age. But if you wanted to go, I would go with you."

Victor just nodded silently, letting Randall continue speaking.

His parents were a subject Randall didn't often speak of. He ducked his head, gathering his thoughts. "My father," he started, "had the worst sense of humor. I mean, absolutely wretched. He told puns. Terrible, horrible puns. And I laughed at every single one." He stared off into nothing as he thought back fondly and dredged up memories he'd thought had been shut away. "He was a woodworker. He would make the most beautiful things. I remember Edwin's crib had all of these carvings...." He frowned, head c.o.c.king to the side as he pulled up a remembrance he honestly hadn't thought of in years. "Fairy stories, I think. I used to sit in Edwin's room and trace my fingers over all the wolves and the fat, chubby sprites, and make up names for them all."

G.o.d, he hadn't thought about that in years.

"My mom was a lot like Anthony. She was strong and brave; she took care of us. She would go hunting and come back with enormous deer, and we would always get the best parts. But she saved the heart for my dad, because it was his favorite. Every time. And she'd put it on a plate and tell us how they met. Every single time. They never got tired of talking about it."

He realized Victor was half grinning as he listened. "And what was the story of how they met?"

"Once upon a time," he started, as his mother always had, and he couldn't help but smile. It was painful, yes, and his voice wavered, but he smiled nonetheless and buried a kiss in Victor's palm. "There was a brave wolf who was out hunting. Only this brave wolf got lost from her pack. And she couldn't find her way home." Randall paused, breathing out a quick laugh. "This is when Anthony would always ask 'but why couldn't she smell her way back?' And mom would tell him that sometimes, when you are very far away, everything will smell strange and you won't know which way leads home.

"So the very brave wolf began to howl. It was all she could think of to do. She howled up at the sky...." Hesitating, Randall laughed again, "Which I will not be demonstrating to you now, but she howled, and she asked the stars to show her the way home. When the very brave wolf looked over, she saw another wolf, the handsomest wolf in the world. His coat was silver, and he shone in the moonlight. When she howled, he howled too, and it was like their voices were as one. And do you know what the brave wolf smelled then?"

As often as he had heard this story, as many times as his mother had recounted it, Randall always recalled being utterly taken in by the telling. Victor looked just as entranced. "What did she smell?"

"Home." Randall gave a little shake of his head, missing them with an ache he thought he'd forgotten. "I'm sorry. It's such a silly story. She just loved telling it."

Victor was silent for a moment as he digested the story, his thumb making absent arcs over Randall's knuckles. When he spoke, he seemed hesitant, but like he had to know the answer. "And what do you smell now?"

A grin flashed across Randall's face, painful and sweet, and he breathed a laugh that caught in his throat. Carefully, he lowered his nose to Victor's wrist, taking a deep breath. Parchment paper and tea, the faint tang of his smoke, sunbaked scales over rocks, all the things that made up Victor. All the things that meant him.

"Home," Randall answered simply. "I smell home."

BY THE time they got back to the house, Randall was feeling fuller than he'd ever been, stuffed with steak and pasta and salad and warm with Italian wine. He and Victor had sat for hours, just talking, sharing bites of food and laughing. They had discussed favorite books, philosophies, even had a friendly argument over art styles, which they'd agreed to call a draw over a plate of tiramisu and cups of strong coffee. They had traded stories about university on the drive back. A story about Victor's student days and the time he'd wound up accidentally pledged to a fraternity had had Randall laughing so hard his sides had started hurting.

The evening ended, in Randall's opinion, far too quickly. Before he was ready, they were at the door of the guest cabin, hand in hand, dawdling there with comments about the weather. Randall must have said it was a nice night three times now, as if that was an excuse for not leaving.

And then Victor had suggested they admire the view from his room a bit, and they sat on the balcony overlooking the lake, comfortably ensconced in the twin chairs that sat side by side.