Blood Howl

by Alex Kidwell

  He felt Redford tugging his boots off, pulling the blankets up over his shoulders. “Why are you a freight train?” It sounded suspiciously like Redford was humoring him. Bastard.

  “Cause I don’t stop.” He grinned lopsidedly at Redford, face half pressed into the pillow, wiggling his ass a little as if to demonstrate exactly what he meant. “Choo choo, baby.”

  “Right,” Redford said slowly, sounding like he was muffling a laugh. “Get some sleep, Jed.” He paused and added, “Even freight trains need rest.”

  That sounded like Gandhi-level wisdom to his sleep deprived brain, and Jed just nodded sagely, tapping the side of his nose to indicate he understood. “Trains get lonely, too,” he pointed out, sighing as he stretched out in his big, empty bed. “Poor trains.”

  Despite everything pinging around in his brain, all the plans and worries and repressed emotional crap clogging up the airwaves, Jed found that it didn’t take long at all until he’d passed out. He dreamed, like he always did. None of it mattered. Just a thousand different places, just the sound of a gun, the flash of fire, the scarlet spray of blood. Never quite the same, the dreams, and yet never really different, either.

  Something changed though, halfway through. He’d been shrinking back in fear, been lost in his own silent scream, life as fucking normal, when a sensation of warmth washed over him. The soft, sleepy whimpers he’d been making faded, and he pressed himself, body and soul, into that solid heat beside him. It was tangled around him, and Jed hung on, desperate, craving the connection in a way he’d never be able to admit to while awake. Here in his dreams though, this bliss was a rare occurrence. He’d take what he could get.

  With the strange and longed for sensation of being safe all at once given, Jed slipped from his normal, restless dreams into something deeper. There was no bloodshed, no violence or fear. Just rest. Like he didn’t need to run or fight or protect himself from every damn thing in the world. Someone else had his back.

  How long he slept, Jed couldn’t be sure. It was sometime late afternoon, judging by the sunlight against the wall. Jed blinked a few times heavily, rubbing his cheek against…

  Redford’s shoulder.

  Redford, who was tangled up with him, arms firmly wrapped around him, his own scruffy blanket of sorts. Freezing for a moment while he forced his brain to work, Jed then looked up, eyebrows sliding toward his hairline, clearing his throat. “Uh.” Crap. He’d never woken up next to someone before, not like this. Usually the guys fucked, cleaned off, did up their pants, and got the hell out of whatever cheap motel or bathroom they’d stumbled into. Jed hadn’t ever exactly been a cuddler. “Morning.”

  He’d already seen that Redford slept like the dead, and right then was no exception. His voice barely inspired a twitch in the other man, but it did seem to make Redford curl around him more thoroughly, giving a grumble. It was kind of… dare he say, cute? God, he was turning into some kind of mushy jackass. No one was there to judge him though, if he studied Redford’s face with an expression approaching tender, if he gently brushed along the curve of his jaw, the bridge of his nose, exploring the planes of his face with callused fingertips.

  And no one would laugh at him if Jed tipped his chin up and kissed Redford, so lightly it ached, barely more than a breath of contact. Closing his eyes, resting his forehead against Red’s, Jed sank into his arms and let himself be held. An odd sensation, honestly, but one he wasn’t exactly opposed to.

  Movement then, Redford’s hand rubbing idly over his arm. The other man stirred, making a quietly content noise in the back of his throat. “What’s the time?” he mumbled, slurring the words together.

  Jed found he was smiling. Not brash or charming or whatever shit he usually pulled. This one felt odd on his face. It was soft and sweet, a gentle curl of his lips, and it was happening more and more lately. Only for Redford, though. Weird shit. “No fucking clue,” he answered with a distracted smirk, nudging his nose in under Redford’s ear, breathing deep. The other man smelled like smoke—probably his fault—and his soap, and under that the spicy, masculine scent that meant him. Jed liked that smell. “You slept good?”

  Redford sounded a rumble that seemed like an agreement, opening his eyes and squinting against the sunlight that was falling across the bed. “No nightmares.”

  “Good.” Jed’s hands, surprisingly more cautious than Redford’s, gently spread across his back, painting a slow path up and down the whisper-soft skin there. He especially liked the swoop of muscles from Red’s shoulders down to his waist. “That’s good.”

  Redford gave another grunt of agreement, and he seemed to wake up a little more, because his hand paused in its movement across Jed’s arm. “I—I hope you don’t mind me being in bed. With you. I was making sure you were comfortable, and I laid down, and I kind of… fell asleep.” He looked embarrassed, but he sure as hell wasn’t instantly leaping out of bed like he was disgusted to be there.

  “Do I seem like I mind?” Jed half smirked, lazily moving his hips. Which gave very definitive evidence that he certainly wasn’t going to be kicking Red out anytime soon. Morning wood was a common problem, sure, but Jed knew the difference between that and real arousal. Waking up to Redford, feeling his hands, steady and sure, over his arms, had gotten him alert and interested pretty damn fast. He was half-hard already, his cock pressed against Redford’s thigh, and Jed gave him a leer that, strangely enough, had more of a question in it than usual.

  Looking downward wouldn’t exactly reveal anything, given that they were covered by blankets, but Redford still did it, blinking in surprise. His hand hovered uncertainly over Jed’s arm again, fingers eventually closing around his bicep. “I should… there are things I should do to get ready. For tonight,” he murmured. “But right now, I think I’d like you kiss me.”

  It was bold, for Redford, so earnestly sweet, and Jed felt an unfamiliar lurch of nerves. “I think I’d like that too,” he admitted, breathless, grin spreading across his face. He took his time with it, wanting it to last. First Redford’s forehead, nose nudging aside strands of his hair, lips gently brushing across the worried pucker of his brow. Then the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, his chin, kissed so slowly, like Jed was committing them to memory. Finally his lips, those intoxicating, full lips that Jed honestly couldn’t stop staring at. He rubbed his thumb along the flush of the lower one before, heart pumping in anticipation, he leaned in for the kiss.

  For a moment it was chaste, almost reserved. Their lips simply touched, and Jed stuttered in an embarrassingly sharp breath. His head tilted to the side then, mouth parting slightly, and Redford relaxed into him. Another breath and they were sinking into each other, Jed’s hands sliding up his arms to tangle his fingers into that messy mop of hair. Their tongues pressed together, and electric arousal shot through every inch of Jed’s skin. They were devouring each other, mouths wide open and hungry, tongues painting teeth and tangling together in some desperate fight for dominance. A fight which Jed didn’t give a damn whether he won or lost—either outcome would be just as sweet.

  He wound up on his back, Redford hovering above him, hands roving everywhere he could reach. With a low moan, he arched his hips up to meet Redford’s, wanting the friction. His cock was aching for it, arousal sloshing like fire through his veins, curled deep in his stomach. “Red,” he panted, voice a hoarse groan. He mouthed his way down the other man’s neck and then back up to bite his lip sharply, to be captured in another deep, endless kiss.

  Redford looked like he was beyond words, dazedly opening his eyes to meet Jed’s when he spoke. There was something else in his face right then, a flicker in his eyes that Jed would swear briefly turned them vaguely yellow, a feral color that didn’t suit Redford’s face at all. A shot of heat went straight to Jed’s dick at the sight. God help him, but he did love a man in charge. “It’s okay,” he urged, sucking hard enough at the curve of Redford’s neck to leave a mark, soothing the sting with broad swipes of his tongue. “God, it’s okay
, don’t hold back, baby. Give me that.”

  “I’ve never….” Redford dropped his head, resting his face in the curve between Jed’s neck and shoulder, harsh pants of air breathed across his skin. “I’ve never done this before,” Redford admitted hesitantly, but his hand was still roaming restlessly over Jed’s chest. “I’ve never had sex with anyone, I mean.”

  A burst of air skittered across Redford’s skin, Jed’s silent laugh held there in the space between them. “You don’t say,” he teased gently, wrapping his legs around Redford’s waist. Not a surprise that the painfully shy, skittish homebody wasn’t exactly Hugh Hefner. Not that Jed cared. Past experience didn’t mean a damn right then—all he knew was that, despite all reason and common sense, he wanted Red so much it hurt. It’d become an obsession.

  “Don’t hold back,” Jed murmured, lips wandering along Redford’s shoulder, back up to tease his tongue around the curve of his ear. “I’m not breakable, sweetheart, I promise. You can get all alpha dog on me. I like it.”

  Redford’s shoulders shook in silent laughter, but he seemed relieved at the permission, hands still so hesitant on Jed’s skin, afraid that he’d hurt him. “I’m not exactly alpha material.”

  “Honey.” Jed grinned up at him. “You are with me. Come on now, trust me. Ain’t nothing you could do I wouldn’t be into. I’m a sick, kinky bastard.”

  “Kinky?” Redford looked confused—different from his usual confusion, though. There was a light of curiosity in his eyes—his hands slowly moving downward toward Jed’s stomach, fingers curling tentatively around the waistband of his boxers. “I don’t really know what ‘kinky’ entails.”

  Watching him eagerly, doing his level best to not just shove his boxers off and be done with it, Jed decided to let Redford take his time. Besides, the wait could be fun. The thought of Redford exploring him with that slow intensity, of putting that brain to work figuring out what made him tick, was hotter than Jed would have expected. “You know those things you think about and then blush?” he murmured, running his hands down Redford’s sides, watching the muscles jump and twitch under him, like he was the first person to touch there. “Those. All of those. And I think—”

  “Knock, knock!” The strident, overly cheerful, fucking annoying voice rang from the doorway, and David, the bastard who Jed was now seriously thinking about shooting, came striding in. Redford promptly dove under the covers, tugging them over his head in panic. “I picked your locks. You have quite a few, Journey. Is someone getting paranoid in his old age?”

  With a low, frustrated growl, Jed glared at David, all the tall, dark, and handsome bits of him, hating every one by turn. Faintly olive skin glowed against white teeth, revealed in a sardonic smile, dark hair curled lightly around his temples, and he was dressed in a suit, like this was a fucking wedding or something. Asshole. Behind him trailed his latest snack, Richard or something like it, something that started with an R. Nerdy-looking dork, might be cute under black-rimmed glasses and a sense of style that screamed I just raided my grandfather’s closet, swathed in a tweed jacket with patches at the elbows. Not that Jed was interested in looking. Redford was still cowering under the blankets, and Jed had a hard-on that looked like it was going to die a lonely death.

  “What the fuck could you possibly want that would give you the insane idea you had the right to come over here? Fuck. How did you even know where I live?” Jed snapped, jerking the sheets off of himself and angrily getting out of bed. His erection was definitely visible, and David gave it an amused look before laughing right in his face. He wasn’t even fazed by the gun Jed pulled out from under his pillow, pressed against his throat.

  “Please, Journey, it’s what I do. You said you wanted information,” David pointed out, smooth as silk. “As you’ve interrupted me twice now, I thought I’d return the favor.”

  Another growl, but at least Jed lowered the gun. “Don’t call me Journey,” he snapped, striding into the kitchen and banging around, looking for his coffee grounds. This was a nightmare. An actual, living nightmare. After dancing around the issue for days now, he and Redford had finally gotten close, and then Captain Cheekbones over there had decided to ruin his night. There was not enough alcohol in the world to salvage the mood. “Redford, this is David, the giant, walking asshole, and his boytoy of the moment, Professor something or other.” Why yes, he did sound righteously crabby. Jed felt he had the right. “Boys, this is Redford. Who is just as angry with you as I am, so don’t try to play nice. Just state your business and get out.”

  David laughed at him, the bastard, sprawling out on the couch, arms behind his head. He craned his neck to flash Redford a perfectly predatory grin. Jed had to remind himself not to blow up the informants out of petty jealousy. “Oh, but we have news. You should be thanking me, Walker, not putting on your best bitch walk. So shut up and listen.” Smacking the professor’s ass lightly, David tipped a leer up at him. “Go on, Victor. Share with the class.”

  “His name is Filtiarn.” The snack—its name was Victor, apparently—spoke up, leveling a vague glower at David for the smack. “Your client. It means ‘lord of wolves’ in Celtic. Now, supposing that you’re not just dealing with some man that changed his name to feel superior, the client you’re dealing with may not be entirely human.”

  It was said so matter of fact, like Victor spoke about things inhuman all day, his cultured English accent belying no hint of joking or sarcasm at all. Victor glanced at the huddled shape under the blankets—Redford still hadn’t come out—and looked back at Jed. “Given that knowledge, it’s fairly easy to discern what your client wants.”

  “Front-row tickets to a Cher concert?” Jed muttered, still holding the empty coffee pot, halfway through getting the machine going. He was staring at Victor, eyes narrowed in thought, not quite keeping up with this new information. It wasn’t every day that someone decided to turn his life into a Supernaturals R Us, and he was pretty sure he didn’t like it. “Who are you again?” he asked, pointing the pot toward Victor.

  “Professor Victor Rathbone,” David answered easily. Rathbone, right, that was it. Fucking stupid name. David looked almost bored, taking over Jed’s couch like it belonged to him, but there was a measured interest in his eyes as he glanced over in Jed’s direction. Like he was waiting to see how everyone reacted. “Doctor of… what is it you do again, sweetie?”

  “It’s not like you’d remember if I said it again,” Victor muttered, taking his glasses off to clean them on the front of his sweater vest. If he really was a professor, he was a damned young one, probably no more than late twenties. “I have a doctorate in linguistics. I currently teach courses on the history of demonic involvement in society and the use of ritual through history and various cultures, at the State University. Not that anybody goes to my classes for anything other than easy credit and nap time.”

  “You’re a kook,” Jed interrupted, rolling his eyes. “Absolutely fantastic. David, what the fuck, man? I paid you. What the hell are you bringing this shit in here—” He stopped and whirled on Victor, shaking a finger at him, jaw tight in irritation. “Look here, sweetheart, I don’t give a shit if you’re the International Doctor of Kiss my Ass, okay? Ain’t no such thing as a demon, and we’re chock full of crazy in here. So you can take your lord of the dance whatever and get the hell out of my—”

  “Are you attempting to intimidate me?” Victor just looked at him, an eyebrow raised over his glasses. “While I have no doubt that your overly masculine exterior and loud voice likely scare off the meeker members of the human race, your efforts to belittle me are just giving me a headache. David trusts me, and you trust David. I assume you’re smart enough to follow the logical line of thinking there.”

  “I don’t trust anyone,” Jed growled, standing toe-to-toe with the geek. Some people might be worried about how frightening they could actually be in heart-covered boxers and nothing else, but Jed rarely doubted his own efficiency. This idiot was coming in here and spouting thi
s crap, and normally he’d humor him, but Redford definitely didn’t need anyone even remotely feeding into his delusions. “I use David. Just like he’s using you.”

  “Hey!” David cut him off, standing up quickly. There was a flash of something dark in his eyes—anger, yeah, but for a second it was more than that, deeper and older than mere irritation. “Back off, Walker. Right now. This isn’t personal. You paid me for information, and I got it for you. What you do with it is your own problem.”

  There was a rustle of covers. Redford had apparently finally chosen to get out of his self-imposed blanket shield, peering over the comforter. “‘Lord of wolves’ means that Fil is like me,” he said quietly.

  “No,” Jed said, the word almost a barked shout, glaring around the room like he could single-handedly shut everyone up at once. “It means that the snack over here spends too much time on his internet forums, and that David is wasting my goddamn time. I don’t care if this guy’s name is Zipideedodah. Unless you can tell me where to point the gun, I’m not interested.”

  “You’re a werewolf?” Victor beamed, completely ignoring Jed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Isn’t it the full moon tonight?” Redford nodded, and Victor promptly turned back to Jed. “Before you yell again,” he held up a hand, “Filtiarn would need a lot of space. Those thugs that attacked you are most likely his pack, although he may be using outside muscle to get his work done. Look for abandoned buildings, with running water and working electricity, near a forest. A man like Filtiarn wouldn’t bother to integrate himself into society, though he may be using his pack’s income. Now tell me that we’ve just wasted your time completely.”

  With a low growl, Jed knocked over the table, scattering his guns and maps, advancing on Rathbone with a full intent to rip his nerdy spine out of his throat. David was between them so fast Jed didn’t even see him move, throwing Jed across the room to slam into a wall, following him with a leap, and pinning him there. “Don’t ever touch him again, Journey,” David murmured, completely calm, though Jed would have sworn his eyes were black with rage. “He might be my snack, yes, and I may be using him. But no one gets to touch him. Understand?”