by Alex Kidwell
With a very quiet laugh, Jed stood, arms bracing on either side of Redford, body blanketing his, pressing him back into the wall. “You’re incredible,” Jed murmured, ghosting his lips over Redford’s. Nimble fingers were gently getting Redford’s pants zipped back up, his shirt straightened again. Redford’s sudden movement to wrap his arms around Jed briefly halted Jed’s progress, but getting himself neat and tidy was the last thing on Redford’s mind.
He nuzzled in against Jed’s neck, burying a smile against the skin as he pushed a thigh between Jed’s. “We’re not done,” he pointed out, biting at Jed’s lip. Jed’s response came a little slower than normal, but then there was the blush of a smile against Redford’s lips, Jed leaning in to catch another kiss.
“Yeah?” Jed rumbled, sounding a little surprised. “What, you got another go-round in you? And here I thought Cujo would be tired after that workout.”
Even after a Jed-mandated viewing of that movie, Redford still wasn’t sure about that nickname. Then again, Jed’s names for things rarely made a lot of sense to anyone but Jed. “No, I mean—”
A sharp knock at the door made Redford jump. “If you’re quite done” came Victor’s dry voice.
Redford gave Jed a guilty look. He knew there wasn’t exactly a time frame on this part of the job, though, so he couldn’t feel too bad about it. Reaching down, he gave Jed’s cock a fond pat through the leather pants. “Hold that thought until we get home.”
Jed pounded on the door, smirking at Victor’s audibly irritated reaction on the other side. “It’s not nice to eavesdrop, princess,” Jed informed him, swinging open the door and walking out, looking vastly pleased with himself. His hand was laced with Redford’s, and he pulled the man into his side happily. “Especially not when I’m busy with a cock down my throat. That was important to the mission.” Off of Victor’s disbelieving expression, Jed tried out his best innocent look. “What? It was! Crucial job-related activities were happening in there. I’ll be billing for our time.”
“Incredibly crucial,” Redford agreed solemnly. “We might not have gotten the mission done without it.”
Victor looked completely unsure of the validity of that. He obviously wasn’t used to Redford being able to lie and play along with Jed. His eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he turned to walk back to the hallway. “The meter’s running on the taxi. Unless you want this trip to cost more than your entire fee, I suggest you quicken your pace,” he called.
Whistling sharply, Jed strolled past Victor, hastening to open the door for him and Redford while he tried to hand Victor what appeared to be some folded paper. “Move your very pert asses,” he told them cheerfully. “And, Victor, see what you can find out about that guy.”
“Has that been inside your trousers?” Victor sounded scandalized, refusing to touch the poster.
Jed blinked, looking down at it and then back up at Victor. “Well, yeah,” he drawled, arching one eyebrow. “Not like I have pockets.”
He ushered the two men into the cab, giving his address and leaning back against the seat. Jed shook the poster out, and they leaned in to look at it. It was the same poster Redford had seen on the wall, the one that called for a half-blood revolution. “This guy. Phoenix. I want to know what his deal is.”
Victor gingerly took the poster between thumb and forefinger. “His name is Phoenix Green.” Redford gave a snort at the name, which Victor smirked at. “Yes, I know. Odd name. Word is that his parents were hippies. But beyond that, I’m afraid I can’t tell you much. Much the same as Edwin was saying the other night. He advocates for half-blood superiority over humans, and that half bloods are equals to wolves and vampires.”
“Is he a half blood?” Redford asked curiously.
“I’d assume so.” Victor leaned closer to study the fine print at the bottom of the poster. “Nobody has a clue what kind, though. He’s kept it very secret.” When Redford gave him a quick look, Victor simply shrugged. “Apparently he smells of old metal and earth. That’s hardly a definite species as far as we know.”
“Feel like I’ve seen him before. Or maybe he’s just got one of those faces.” Jed shrugged. “Probably not in any of my type of crowds, right?” He smirked a little, humorlessly. “Dirty human and all that shit.”
“Perhaps you have seen him around. He’s been doing a lot of public appearances in the last few years.” Victor folded the poster back up and handed it to Jed.
“You got ears to the ground on this?” Jed asked Victor, gaze sharp despite the lazy sprawl of his body.
Victor gave a one-shouldered shrug, a wry smile touching his lips. “Somewhat. I am part of the half-blood community, after all, even though I don’t converse with the fanatics that Phoenix is beginning to cultivate. I’m usually treated with a reasonable amount of respect, due to the dwindling numbers of my bloodline.”
“Good.” Jed’s eyes slipped shut as he thought. “Got a feelin’, that’s all. Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if we kept one eye on this hippie.”
Redford glanced over at Jed, questioning. “What do you think is going to happen?” It seemed fairly harmless to him; what were one man’s words, really? People talked all the time. Redford saw them on television, in the news, even on the street corner, sometimes. Everyone had an opinion and sometimes felt the need to shout them. One man standing up and saying that he thought humans were less wasn’t going to suddenly turn into something much more.
“What always happens.” Jed shrugged. “People talk, people listen, everyone gets all het up, and then either they get tired and go home or shit goes to hell. Kind of hard to tell what a group of anyone, human or whatever, is going to choose to care about on any particular day. I just want to keep eyeballs on the situation, especially if you’re going to be chummy with any of the fanged or furry types.”
“I’ll keep an ear out for whatever information I can,” Victor agreed. “Phoenix is becoming more popular lately, so gossip is easier to come by, at least.”
“And maybe when we visit the Gray Lady’s pack, the wolves there might be talking about it too,” Redford said.
“Doesn’t look like much, does he?” Jed was studying the picture on the flyer, head cocked, still frowning as if searching his memory for why the man looked so familiar.
“Well, he has just had his face in your pants,” Victor said idly. “Anybody would look terrible after that.” Redford wondered if he should be insulted.
Leaning forward, Jed gave Victor a smirk, expression absolutely wicked. “Well, just to let you know. Not a lot of room in these pants, so that poster,” the one currently resting on Victor’s lap, “got real cozy with Winston Churchill, Margaret Thatcher, and Rambo, the True American Hero.”
Instead of reacting with horror, Victor’s expression turned as confused as Redford’s had been. Then, very slowly, recognition dawned on his face, and with a vaguely irritated noise he shoved the poster at Jed. “I’m not sure I want to know why those three people.”
Laughing, Jed grinned at him, arm slung around Redford’s shoulders. “All you need to know, princess, is that in my pants? Churchill wins the war every time.”
Chapter 4
Victor
“JED, IF you’re going to pull up outside my classes, you could at least have the decency to not lean on the horn with quite so much enthusiasm.” Victor readjusted his grip on his bag, peering into the rental van. Inside were Jed and Redford, three wolves, and a cat. “Good morning,” he said dryly. “It’s certainly a lovely day to be crammed into Jed’s idea of transportation, isn’t it?”
“Well fuck you too, princess.” Jed was behind the wheel, looking none too happy about his current ride. As far as Victor could remember, the man preferred his vehicles with a few more bullet holes and grunt to them. He was certain it was some of kind of overcompensation. “It’s not my fault that we’re the fucking Brady Bunch on acid in here. I had to get something that would fit us all.” The minivan chugged back to life, and Jed grimaced at the auto
matic transmission. For a moment his hand had flailed out as if to switch gears, which, obviously, wasn’t necessary. “Goddamn soccer mom shit.”
“I only narrowly stopped him from trying to put a V8 engine in it,” Redford piped up from the front seat, twisted around to look at Victor. Jed sighed mournfully, revving the engine. It sounded like a wailing cat, the van shuddering a bit in protest before it evened out again.
Victor frowned at the thought of it. “That would handle terribly,” he admonished Jed, climbing into the van. He shoved his bag under a seat, looking around to figure out where he could sit. Edwin was taking up half of one of the seats, a Siamese cat taking up the other half. Anthony was seated near the window, and Randall had gotten himself near the back, head down in a book. His options seemed to be to remove a very possessive-looking cat or to press into the backseat. It was not exactly first class. Victor made a mental note not to entrust Jed with the traveling plans in the future.
The cat lifted its head to study Victor intently, and Victor suddenly felt a bit like a schoolchild who had forgotten his homework. But then she rolled over, dismissing him out of hand, much too busy kneading happily into Edwin’s leg to bother with him. Edwin gave Victor a helpless little look, torn between amusement and bafflement. “This is Knievel,” he informed Victor, cutting a quick look up at Jed. “Apparently she’s coming with us.”
“Damn straight,” Jed informed them all cheerfully. “My baby is not doing that kennel thing again.” Knievel, for her part, didn’t appear concerned at all to be surrounded by wolves. In fact, if the way Edwin was putting up with claws digging in and out of his thigh was any indication, she was coming out on top in the whole matter.
Victor felt his nose start to itch. Thank God he’d had the foresight to pack some allergy medication. He’d met Knievel before in the times he’d been to Jed’s apartment, but those had always been brief visits, and his allergy to cats had never had time to play up too much. Now he was going to be stuck in a van with one for two days. Wonderful.
Backseat it was, then. As he settled into his seat, Jed kicked the van into gear, and they peeled out of the parking lot far faster than Victor was comfortable with. He dragged his bag closer with a sigh, digging into a front pocket to retrieve the medication. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the title of Randall’s book: Mittelalterliche Liste gefährlicher und unerkennbarer Bestien.
“You know German?” Victor said, pleasantly surprised.
Looking a bit startled, Randall raised his head, glasses falling half down his nose from where he’d been bent over the book. “Oh. Er, yes, a bit. Well enough written, my spoken is quite terrible.” A very faint smile touched his lips. “I have the worst accent. I only really learned it because I was interested in Old English, but that wasn’t an option in my high school. So I taught myself, using what I’d learned in German classes.”
“How wonderful.” Victor beamed. “You’re on the right track to getting close to Old English, then. They do have many similarities.” He motioned at the book. “Why a medieval index?”
Randall rifled his bag, pulled out a bottle of water, and offered it to Victor almost shyly, eyes darting to the bottle of allergy meds. With a grateful smile, Victor accepted and took a drink to wash the pills down.
Randall’s eyes fell, warmth touching his cheeks. He fumbled a bit, pushing his glasses back up, explaining, “It’s, uh, research. A list of ‘dangerous and unknowable beasts,’ which, of course—” He turned the book to face Victor with a slight amused smile. There was a woodcut print of a snarling beast, eyes wild, fangs dripping. It was labeled Übelster und gefährlichster Wolfsmensch. Most vile and dangerous wolf man. “—includes our great, great ancestors. Including a mention here of Liadan and Filtiarn. Well, not directly, but it talks about the wolf mother and her mate, and the birth of the curse of the Wolfsmensch.”
“Really?” Victor’s interest was piqued. “That’s fascinating. I’d love to glance over it later, if that’s okay with you.”
“Oh, yes, absolutely.” Randall immediately handed it over, nodding a few times. “I’ve read it numerous times, so, please. Be my guest. I have other books.”
Victor was careful as he handled it, putting it on his lap. The book was obviously well read, the pages slick at the top corners from frequent turning. Overall it was in quite good condition, loved and cared for. Victor did respect people who treated their books well. “You must be quite interested in this line of research,” he murmured, turning a page, his gaze skimming over a frightful woodcut of what looked like a demonic infant. “I think you’d like my personal library. Study of the supernatural is something of a passion of mine.”
“You’re a professor of linguistics, right?” Anthony said from a seat over.
“Indeed.” Victor leaned forward to talk to Anthony, so that he could be heard over the rumble of the engine. “I have my masters in linguistics, and I teach a few classes here and there. This is actually my semester off—they like us to write research papers every now and then, but that doesn’t take much time, so here I am. I have no formal education in the study of the supernatural, but then again, what they teach in classes is hardly the truth in that area.”
Anthony laughed in agreement. “I imagine not.” He glanced at Randall and said, “You know, Randall’s a fan of yours.” His leg jerked back, and he laughed again, rubbing his ankle.
“Are you all right?” Randall asked dryly, head down as he carefully went through one of his bags for another book. “How terrible, you’ve hurt your ankle. Perhaps you should stop talking and tend to it.”
“Yeah, must be one of those mysterious phantom ankle kickers.” Anthony smirked. “But seriously, Professor, I had this mental image of you being sixty years old. None of your books have a picture of you.”
Randall was bright red, and Victor felt like he might be headed in the same direction. He’d written a few books over the years, but because of the fact that he was significantly younger than most of his peers, he of course had never included photos. Mostly, he was just surprised that someone had actually read his books. They’d been accused of being rather dry.
“Well,” he said, temporarily at a loss for words. “I hope they didn’t put you to sleep, Randall.”
“Oh no, he loves them.” Now Edwin was in on the conversation, his grin huge underneath shaggy hair as he turned around in his seat. “Reads them over and over. Once he tried to explain to me why they were….” He trailed off, hiding a laugh behind an entirely innocent look. “How was it you put it, Randall?”
“I think I changed my mind,” was all Randall said, grimly, gaze very deliberately down, whole body flushing. Where his and Victor’s legs touched by accident, his body gave a little twitch, but he didn’t move away. “I no longer wish to attempt to save either of my brothers’ lives. In fact, if you want to drop them both off here, on the side of the highway, I would be most grateful.”
“The most brilliant pieces of literature to come out of academics in the last twenty years,” Edwin recited, ignoring Randall completely, smile absolutely wicked. “Was that it, Randall?”
“I hope your tail falls off,” Randall replied.
Laughing, Anthony turned away from them, ruffling Edwin’s hair. And despite the teasing that had gone on, Victor found himself smiling.
He’d never had siblings, and due to his parents’ deaths when he was young, he’d never particularly been part of a family group either. But now he watched the three Lewis brothers interact, the way they knew one another so well, the ease of their words and the gentle teasing. They were close; that much was obvious. Even when they were being embarrassing to one another, they loved one another.
“You’re very fortunate,” Victor found himself murmuring, looking at Randall.
Despite the glare he’d shot at Edwin, despite the huffed sigh he’d given Anthony, when Randall looked over to meet Victor’s gaze, his expression was soft. Randall gave him a very small smile, one corner of his lips curving upw
ard. “I know.”
Victor fell silent, ducking his head to study the book Randall had given him. As he lost himself in it, he was dimly aware of Edwin and Anthony talking lowly, of Knievel shifting so she could appropriate Redford’s lap instead. At one point, Jed turned the music up to ear-ringing volumes, only to turn it back down at the number of glares sent at him.
He’d read books like this before, as part of his personal studies. It had a slightly different take on the origin of wolves, shaded by the perception and moral values of the author. This one seemed to think that werewolves only turned into their wolf forms when they smelled blood in the air, and Victor suppressed a laugh as he read a passage about using swan fat rubbed into skin to “soothe the wild mind.” The next time he looked up, they were a decent distance into the drive, having already reached one of the major towns along the path.
“If you’d like,” Randall’s quiet voice reached him, and he turned to find the man looking at him in concern, “I could move up to the empty seat. So you’re not crowded. Or you could, I suppose. I just….” Randall looked down, to where their legs were pressed together, fumbling a bit on his words. “I don’t want you to feel claustrophobic.”
Taken aback, Victor took a few seconds before replying. In his experience, when people termed things in the perspective of you probably want to, it actually meant that they wanted that thing to happen and they were too polite to say so. But Randall didn’t seem the type to be passive-aggressive. Idly, he rubbed his hand over his neck, fingers bumping over twin scars, and said, “Oh, no, I’m quite fine here, if you’re fine.”
“I’m very fine here,” Randall said, voice dropping a bit, eyes going to Victor’s fingers and then up to his face. “I…. Yes. It’s very nice here. With you.”