Wolf in League

by A. F. Henley

  "You don't believe Lyle and Rafe's story?"

  Henry shrugged but without the lightness of his previous one. "Yes? No? The thing is, I don't see any reason that they'd have to lie. Unless they killed her themselves, which I can't make myself believe, and if that was the case..." He waved his arms around. "Where are the investigators? Why were there no questions raised at the autopsy? No, I don't think Lyle and Rafe had anything to do with her death."

  Suddenly Henry seemed to be talking to himself more than Matthew. "Not directly responsible, if you know what I mean. At the same time, she was my wife. A good judge. The mother of my son. She could be bitter sometimes, yes, and she was sick and hated the idea of being sick, but making deals with the devil..." His words trailed off, and his gaze slipped to the sky as if he were looking for the kind of answers that only God could give him. He chuckled shyly. "I don't know why I'm telling you this."

  "I get that a lot," Matthew said. He thumbed back at the house. "Listen, I just made some coffee. Would you like to come over and talk for a bit? I could use the distraction." He grinned, although what he said next didn't really feel like a joke. "And some one-on-one with somebody who is entirely human."

  Henry gave the property a wary glance. "I don't know..."

  It was Gavin Henry was worried about. Matthew was sure of it. He figured he couldn't really blame the man for that. Vampires probably weren't on the top of Henry's list for potential new best buddies.

  "He doesn't bite, I promise. Besides, he'll be asleep for another couple of hours at least. I even promise to turn on the lights and open the blinds in the kitchen. I can guarantee that he won't even think about getting too close."

  Henry looked back at the O'Connells' place, over to Matthew's, and finally back at Matthew himself. "It's not that I think he'd do anything, you understand. I just... well, I haven't had much luck with the fanged variety lately, as you know."

  "Gavin isn't like them," Matthew said firmly. He surprised himself with the conviction he felt behind the words. He'd never met another vampire in his life, yet somehow, surprisingly, he was sure of that fact. Was it instinctual? A gut feeling? Or was he just fooling himself? Was it knowledge, like Gavin wanted him to rely on, or was it simple faith? Not that there was anything simple about faith, in Matthew's opinion. Or anything wrong in trusting it.

  He nodded at his own internal monologue and offered Henry another smile. "Gavin may be unlike anyone you've ever met, but he's nothing like that monster you left in Washington."

  "Well, I guess I wouldn't mind a coffee." Henry flipped the little flag down on the mailbox and shut it with a solid thump. "Just let me go tell the boys where I am so they don't think I was carried off into the woods." He lifted an eyebrow and his lips twitched in a not so hidden grin. "But you should know right off the bat that I am straight. And way too old for you even if I wasn't."

  Matthew snorted a laugh. "Haven't you heard? I have a husband."

  *~*~*

  "So, what are your plans?" Henry asked a good hour later. He'd turned down Matthew's offer for a second coffee, but had accepted a glass of water in its place. He'd spent the last ten minutes turning the glass on its own ring of condensation. Methodically following the circular path, a quarter turn at a time. Not once had he let it slip out of line. The process reminded Matthew of a quote about how folks take control wherever they can find it.

  "It's not like the two of you, or even the lot of you if Vaughn throws in his bunch, can pull off a hostile takeover of the Center. And from what you've told me, it sounds like they're damn near sanctioned to get away with murder. How are you going to stop the project?"

  Matthew's gaze felt stuck on Henry's water glass; as if Henry was hypnotizing him. Maybe he was. "I don't know. There are some files there, things that Gavin wants me to see, and I guess we'll just kind of..." He forced his eyes up and shook his head. "Go from there."

  From the corner of his eye, Matthew saw the glass stop spinning. Henry sighed. "Well, now. I guess I've got to be the one to say this and it's probably going to sound all kinds of belittling coming from a man that was nothing more than a house husband, especially with me speaking to a bona fide doctor, but I'm not going to sit around and be quiet when I'm watching a young man run head on into something without clearing his head first."

  There was an unspoken sentence there when Henry paused to catch a breath, Matthew was sure of it. He was also pretty sure that sentence was, Not again. Maybe even, Not anymore. Either way, they both boiled down into the same gravy, when all was said and done.

  When Henry started speaking again, he did so clearly and slowly, as if making every effort to be sure that Matthew was listening. "If you're going to go in there, go in there knowing what you want to find. Go in there knowing what you're going to do with it when you find it, or what you're going to do if you don't. And for God's sake, Matthew, go in there knowing how in the heavens you're going to get out if things go wrong."

  "Yeah," was all Matthew could think to say.

  "Because things will go wrong," Henry said. "If I was a betting man I would put money down on it. Don't run into that place without a Plan A, a Plan B, and a C, D, E, and F." He held up his hand when Matthew opened his mouth to speak. "One more minute, doc, and then I'll give you back your own floor and stop acting like I think I'm your daddy because I don't, and I don't doubt for a minute that you're five hundred times smarter than I am—"

  "I don't think that," Matthew said quickly.

  "Nor do I."

  Gavin's voice startled them both. Matthew sat forward in his seat. "You're up early."

  "I heard voices," Gavin said from the hallway. "Can you get the light? Pull the drapes?"

  "I..." Matthew looked at Henry, who looked back at him for a long pause before finally nodding. "Are you sure?" When he received a second nod, Matthew got up to dim the lights and draw the curtains closed. Mid-afternoon sun disappeared into gloomy shade.

  "Mr. Connor, senior version," Gavin said, extending his hand as he walked into the kitchen. He looked tired and drawn.

  Matthew frowned. Was he hungry? Had he not slept well? Had it been their disagreement? Because God in heaven knew that if Gavin was being jealous again... if he was up and snooping because another one of the Connors were in the house...

  "You know me," Henry replied. It was a statement, not a question, but he didn't hesitate to take the offered hand and give Gavin a firm handshake.

  "I make it my business to know everyone before I start a project." Gavin smiled wearily. "Knowledge is power—so sayeth Sir Francis Bacon. Although I remember it from Schoolhouse Rock."

  "Good to know you're not old enough to be quoting Sir Francis," Henry said. "May I ask...?"

  "How old I am?" Gavin lifted an eyebrow and grinned. "Far younger than you, sir. And relatively new to the business of fangs and bloodletting. As such, I'm grateful for your older and therefore wiser views of what we're attempting to do here."

  "I didn't mean to—"

  Gavin lifted both hands, palms out. "And I didn't mean to sound sarcastic, either. I'm sincere. Do you have any views on the what or the how of what we should be preparing for?"

  "Not really," Henry admitted. "Although—"

  A low grumble echoed from Gavin's guts and the two men looked at each other for a long second before Gavin chuckled. It was an embarrassed sound. "Would either of you be terribly put off if I grabbed just a bit of something before we continue?"

  "Not in the least," Henry said. "To be honest, I think I'd feel a lot happier knowing your belly was full, my long-toothed friend." He lifted one finger. "As long as you don't hope to get that full belly from me."

  "Rest assured that I have never taken a meal from a man, woman, or child as yet, Mr. Connor." Gavin stood. "Nor do I have any desire to do so."

  Why that surprised him, Matthew couldn't say. He turned in his chair to watch Gavin walk to the fridge. "Never?"

  "Never," Gavin confirmed. "The blood I drink is all donated."

/>   "And they didn't ask you to?" Matthew was sure his expression was as incredulous as his voice. "Not even during all the tests and what not?"

  "I can't see what a test like that would prove. Can you?"

  Only how much of a monster you might have become.

  Gavin had leaned into the fridge to get his meal, but turned to peer back over his shoulder at Matthew with a look that was clearly a did you really just think that?

  Embarrassed, Matthew looked away. No one said anything while Gavin squeezed the clear bag into a glass, although Gavin did put the glass in the sink, attempting to do it as covertly as possible. It wasn't until he headed back to the table that Henry asked, nodding at the glass, "What's it like?"

  Gavin answered immediately, as if he hadn't needed to think about his reply at all. "Crack." He set the glass on the table and sat. "Heroin. Meth. You know it's ugly, you wish you didn't want it, but at the same time you wouldn't—no, you couldn't let someone take it away from you or keep it away from you under any circumstance. You get used to the taste, the texture, the vileness of what you're doing, and even if it tasted like poison, which it doesn't, or ate your guts from the inside out, which it also doesn't do, you'd crave it. You wouldn't be able to do without it. If you tried to, you might manage for a few days, but eventually it would get to the point that you'd do anything to find it. I don't suggest you pity those that do any more than I'd suggest you should pity a drug addict or an alcoholic, but the need for it is most certainly a thing that causes great suffering."

  "But for you it's more than an addiction, isn't it?" Henry asked. He reached out and touched the glass, almost reverently. It was a move that brought Matthew back to that moment when Gavin had spoken to him about the fascination mankind carries for those who are different. "An addiction can be overcome, but you need this to survive, don't you?"

  "Existing without any source of blood would not kill me, but the effects of it would be akin to dying. Think of a man wasting away with cancer, and then imagine that wasting never ending."

  "Could you survive off meat alone? Rare meat? Raw meat, even?" Matthew asked.

  "Yes," Gavin nodded. "And no. There is blood in meat, and vitamins, and sustenance, but what is meat, Matthew? When you get down to the nitty-gritty of it, what is meat?"

  Henry answered instead of Matthew. "Dead animal."

  Once again, Gavin nodded. "What is blood?"

  "The body's life fluid. It consists of red blood cells that carries oxygen to and carbon monoxide from our cells, and white blood cells that fight infection. It carries platelets to help aid in clotting, and plasma which carries nutrients, " Matthew said, as if quoting directly from The Human Body 101.

  "The fluid of life. The essence of the living, so to speak. Did you know that there are some cultures that believe the essence of life flows within his blood? And did you know that mine no longer flows red, but black? That when a vampire is put to death, he doesn't bleed, he merely disintegrates. Bloodless, boneless, nothing but carbon. He has no essence."

  "So you're replenishing the soul you no longer have?" Henry asked. He moved back in his chair. "That sounds kind of..."

  "Creepy," Matthew finished for him.

  "Yes," Gavin agreed. "At least, it would be if it were true. There is an essence to the living blood of man that isn't readily found in the blood of a dead animal. Not even so much a living animal. We have yet to find out what that is, but it isn't the soul. As I've told Matthew, this isn't spiritual, it is viral."

  "I didn't mean my words to sound like a slight," Henry said. "I'm sorry. I should have rephrased that."

  Gavin chuckled. "I'm not easy to slight, Henry, no worries." He caught Matthew's gaze and his smile faded to an apologetic expression. "Most of the time, anyway."

  Ten minutes later, in the midst of idle chatter, the phone rang. A patient Henry, once prompted by Matthew who answered the call, told Randy (the caller) that he was fine, they were having a lovely visit, and yes, he could be on his way home if Randy felt that was necessary. They both saw Henry to the door, but with the sun still high in the sky, only Matthew walked Henry to the road.

  He gratefully accepted Henry's hand when it was offered again. "Come back tomorrow if you want," Matthew told him. "The coffee's always on."

  "I just might do that," Henry said. "You two enjoy your afternoon." He paused, as if thinking. "Stay safe."

  It had felt good to have him there, Matthew thought as Henry walked away. Henry's visit had reminded him of his parents, and he wondered how long he was going to be able to hold them off before the gentle nudges that Matthew hadn't invited them for a visit turned into outright requests to come down. Because that would get awkward. A houseful of werewolves might think it not so odd to be shacked up with a vampire, but Matthew was more than sure it would take a lot more than a quick conversation to convince Mom or Dad. A whole lot more. Not that he expected to be living with Gavin for too long. Eventually he would have to go back to whatever remained of his life and Gavin would have to move on to whatever Gavin felt was necessary.

  For some reason, that thought made Matthew feel hollowed out.

  There was an entire conversation in Gavin's expression when Matthew walked back into the house. Gavin didn't voice any of it, though. Instead, he smiled. "You any good at Scrabble?"

  Matthew didn't mention the weird, empty feeling in his guts, or the sudden sadness that had fallen on his shoulders. He merely answered the question. "I'm pretty sure I could make mashed potatoes out of you in Scrabble."

  "Game on then, boy."

  *~*~*

  Matthew quickly fried up some steak strips while Gavin set up the game, then ate his portion over a bed of lettuce and spinach while Gavin ate the rest out of the pan. It was too early for wine, but that didn't stop them from opening a bottle once the food was gone. At the end of their first game Matthew turned sweat into sweater with his final two squares and won the game, earning himself a sweet jest about being able to turn just about anything unpleasant into something cuddly. Matthew countered by saying he didn't think sweat was unpleasant in the least, especially the right kind of sweat drawn by the right kind of activity. That won him a look that said sexy was much more interesting than cuddly.

  Then Gavin proceeded to annihilate him during their next game with so many brilliant plays that Matthew had no doubts whatsoever as to Gavin's use of questionable abilities to better his chances. "I hate to say so," Matthew said, staring at the final score, not actually hating what he was saying at all, "but I think you're cheating, vampire."

  "Doctor," Gavin paused to give him an honest, serious look that Matthew didn't believe for a second, "that just depends on what your definition of cheating is."

  "Uh-huh." Matthew picked up the board and folded it, pieces still in place, then funneled the pieces into the sleeve in one pour. "No more board games."

  "Music then? More wine? An afternoon spent delving into some Greek and/or French games?" Gavin wiggled his eyebrows dramatically. "A little biscuit dipping, hm? Ti mou kaneis; Se thelo tora."

  "Was that Greek or French?"

  Gavin picked up the lid of the box and dropped it on top. "Greek."

  Matthew shook his head. "Why am I not surprised that your mind went there first?"

  Gavin gasped. "Not true! The Greeks may be resplendent in the glory of alternative sexual discoveries, but the French..." He slurred his voice and dropped it an octave in an attempt at a very poor French accent. "She is la langue de l'amour. One of the finest indulgences of the sexual experience. C'est du sérieux."

  "Go put on your music. I think I'd prefer Taylor Swift to your bastardization of the French language," Matthew deadpanned.

  "Oh, my God," Gavin lifted both hands to his face and stared, wide-eyed. "You said a bad word! So... it takes Miss Swift to bring that out in you, does it?"

  "Good heavens, that's not a bad word!" Matthew said around a laugh. "Now, go!" He put up his left foot and nudged Gavin's chair with it. "Music, maestro!"
/>
  Gavin stood, flourished a bow and trotted off to the living room while Matthew topped up their wine glasses and peeked at the clock. It was already almost four p.m., although how they'd managed to sink almost three hours into two games of Scrabble was beyond him. He imagined that the sun was starting to dip, but with the closed up drapery it was impossible to tell. In the Strauss-Dietrich household, it was always nighttime.

  As if heralding his thought, the symphonic sounds of classical music began to swell through the house.

  "Nice choice," he said when Gavin skated back into the kitchen, using the tile floor as a Slip 'N Slide.

  "Thank you." Gavin snagged Matthew's wine glass and set it on the counter. "I thought we could dance."

  Matthew shook his head. "I don't know how to dance to this."

  "I am appalled," Gavin said, taking Matthew's hand. "All attractive young men should know how to dance. I will teach you." He winked and smiled out of the side of his face as though to acknowledge the cheesiness of both tone and gesture. "But I will have to lead."

  "Un huh, and why is it that you always seem to be the one..." Matthew lifted both hands and finger-quoted the next word, "leading?"

  "Because I am the one with the fangs," Gavin said. He grinned and parted his lips, displaying them to their finest. "Come on."

  Matthew was pulled into the living room where his lower back was encircled by Gavin's left arm and his left hand was lifted and clasped by Matthew's right hand. "Put your other hand on my shoulder," Gavin whispered, as if they were in the middle of a ballroom surrounded by people instead of in the quiet of their own living space. "Now get closer," Gavin said, bringing their bodies together. "Bring your feet almost between mine, like we're twining our legs. It's a dance, not a boxing match."

  "So I'm supposed to be rubbing up against all your good bits, am I?" Matthew asked skeptically. He was smiling, though.

  "Of course. That's the best part." Gavin looked into Matthew's eyes and for a second, it was like Matthew was seeing them for the first time again. So strange but oh, so fascinating.