Chapter 18

 

Randall

 

IN THE month since they’d come home, Randall really would have thought things would be… easier, somehow. That he would have figured out some kind of routine or solution. He’d gotten two jobs fairly quickly, working days at the library shelving books and evenings bagging groceries at the local supermarket. Edwin swept floors with a janitorial service at night, and, together, they were trying desperately to make ends meet.

It just wasn’t working.

Anthony had tried to go back to his job as a mechanic. Before his illness, that was what his trade had been, and he’d been confident he could do it again in between treatments. Except he’d been let go after a week because he kept dropping equipment. He simply didn’t have the strength in his hands anymore to work long days. Randall had shrugged it off. Edwin had gone out during the times when Anthony was napping to find cans and recyclables to turn in for cash. They told Anthony they could easily make up the wages. It was a lie. Randall was pretty sure they all knew that, but they smiled and nodded anyway.

Exhausted, Randall pulled up to the cabin, still wearing the stupid green apron from the grocery store. He hated it. He hated that he wore a name badge, he hated that it was mindless, brainless work and yet when he got home, he was so tired he could barely function, much less read. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done anything except work and take care of Anthony.

Most of all, though, Randall hated that he hated it. Anthony had given up his entire life, his whole childhood, to take care of them. To even have a moment of resentment seemed so selfish, Randall didn’t want to think about it.

He plodded up the steps, rifling through the mail he’d picked up in town. Bills. A lot of them. Inside the cabin, he could hear Edwin and Anthony talking; he could smell dinner cooking. Sinking down to sit on the steps, Randall started opening the mail, reading them all by the porch light.

Past Due.

Final Notice.

Payment Needed.

A sour, sick feeling settled into Randall’s gut. He’d been hiding bills from Anthony for weeks now, scraping together every penny he could to pay for the treatment. Cedric had gotten them in to see a doctor who was friendly toward the nonhuman elements, but it wasn’t free, not by a long shot. And first there had been tests, so many tests that Randall had begun to think that they’d run out of names for them all and just started slapping together random letters of the alphabet. They’d only just begun the attempts at treatment, to see what Anthony would respond to.

So that meant the bills were piling up, for the tests and the maybe treatments, for medicine, for basics like gas and food. He wasn’t keeping up. Their savings—Randall’s savings, the carefully collected college money—were all but gone now. Working as hard as he ever had, and he was still failing.

Randall honestly didn’t know what else to do.

The moon was lighting the surrounding trees, the half-full flush of it tingeing everything in silver. The woods were lonely and quiet, almost shockingly still. From the smells coming from the kitchen, Randall assumed Edwin had spent his day out hunting. Randall hoped Anthony had joined him—spending some time out in the woods always lifted his spirits. It was grounding. Anthony was doing as much as he could around the house, but the treatments hadn’t taken much of an effect yet, and he got so tired, was in pain so much of the time.

Randall just wanted to do something right, to actually help his brothers. But so far, all he’d done was fail. He’d dragged them to the pack, only to find out that there was no real help there. He’d come home, only to not be able to support them. Anthony had done this as a kid, and here was Randall, unable to do the most basic job of caring for his pack.

He should go inside. There was no way Anthony and Edwin hadn’t heard him pull up. But Randall couldn’t make himself move. He just sat on the steps in his ugly green apron with the name tag declaring him Randal L, staring up at the sky, willing himself to think of something. To come up with a plan.

Nothing came to him.

Then something did. A scent on the wind—gunpowder, another wolf, and above all that, sinking deep into him, calling to him like an ache he couldn’t identify, old parchment and tea and dry snake scales. Randall raised his head, staring into the dark, heartbeat picking up despite himself. And then, around the corner, came the lights of a car, a Jeep pulling up in front of the cabin. The window was down, Redford’s head poking out with a smile, Knievel’s paws resting on the edge of the door.

“Hi, Randall,” Redford greeted as he stepped out of the car. In his hands was a huge casserole dish wrapped in cloth to insulate it. “I, um, hope it’s okay that we’re here. We probably should have called ahead.”

Randall stood, eyes going not to Redford or to Jed, who was getting out of the van, Knievel in his arms. No, it was to Victor, who had emerged from the back, looking… well, looking as he ever did. Cool and calm, utterly gorgeous, and out of reach. He reduced Randall, always, to a fumbling mess, like he was a teenager tripping over his own feet. “It’s fine,” he said faintly, all at once aware of how he was dressed, the deep bags under his eyes, the fact he was clutching a pile of bills. Not how he would have preferred to greet anyone, much less Victor. “Is something wrong?”

Redford and Jed looked like they wanted to answer, but they looked to Victor first. Then Redford shook his head. “No! But we’re going to go inside now and leave you with Victor,” he said, none too subtly. “Alone.”

Taking Jed’s arm, Redford hauled him inside, Knievel lightly leaping out of Jed’s arms and following close on their heels. As he passed Randall, Jed rubbed his hand through Randall’s hair with a grin. “Don’t worry, kid. We’ll keep your brothers occupied. Redford taught me how to make a pasta casserole, even. We’re your very own Martha Stewart distraction.” And then they went inside, the noise of the greetings muffled as the door swung shut behind them, leaving Randall standing on the porch, feeling completely stunned. He sank back down to the steps, wondering if this was some kind of dream. Nightmare, perhaps. All he’d need was to be naked with people laughing at him and it would be very close to some bad dreams he’d had.

Victor approached and eased down to sit beside Randall. “It’s a beautiful night,” he said in greeting.

Gaze locked on the papers in his hand, Randall carefully smoothed them out over his knee, trying to compose himself. “I….” What did he even say? “Yes,” he wound up agreeing, almost helplessly. “I guess it is.”

“I’d ask if you’re well, but I can see how exhausted you are,” Victor said. Randall saw his head turn, looking down at the envelopes in Randall’s hands. “Things aren’t getting better?”

Immediately tucking the bills into the front pocket of his apron, Randall shook his head, forcing a smile. “They’re fine. We’re doing just fine.” He lied, of course. What else was he supposed to do? Victor… he was like the fragment of a hope that simply didn’t exist anymore. It hurt to think about him, to wonder what-if. What if Anthony hadn’t been sick, what if they’d met earlier or later, what if Randall had the energy and the time to be able to actually make things work? Victor was on a course that Randall simply couldn’t follow. Knowing that and still seeing him, talking with him, was more painful than Randall could have anticipated.

“I want to do something to help.” Victor sounded frustrated with himself. “If I offer you once again a place to stay and to pay the medical bills, it would still be taken as insult, yes?”

“Victor….” Randall sighed, finally turning to look at him. “Is that why you’re here? You knew I’d be failing?” Maybe it’d been obvious from the start. God, Victor must think he was a horrible idiot, the petulant child who didn’t know his own mind, who couldn’t even take care of his pack.

“No,” Victor protested. “That’s not it. It’s just the only thing I can offer, and I want to do something. I have stayed away this long to address certain personal issues, but the more time went on, I….”

Randall caught the edge of a little self-deprecating smile on Victor’s lips, expressed in sharp relief from moonlight and shadow.

“I missed you,” Victor said. “Staying away for even a month was difficult enough.”

Randall wished he could just believe him. He wished he could take his hand and smile and let Victor make all their problems go away. “You don’t owe me anything.” As Randall looked down, he caught sight of the name badge. He ripped it off with a growl, barely restraining the urge to chuck it into the woods. “I don’t want your money just so you can stop feeling guilty for fucking the virgin and it not working out.”

Which was probably quite a bit harsher than Victor deserved. Shoulders slumping slightly, Randall found he couldn’t bring himself to look at Victor, feeling as though he was careening out of control, a slow-motion train wreck, and everything he did only made it worse.

“I owe you more than you think,” Victor said softly. “May I tell you what I’ve been up to, the last month? It might be distractingly entertaining, if nothing else.”

After a moment, Randall nodded, jaw tight, head bowed.

“I found other medusa half bloods. I wanted to know how they lived,” Victor said.

Now that surprised him. Randall looked over at Victor, eyebrow arching upward. A thousand questions crossed his mind, but all he ended up asking was “What did they say?”

“Some? Not much.” Victor smiled wryly, and he didn’t need to explain. It was easy for Randall to see he was talking about the ones that had already lost their minds. “Others provided me with perspectives on things that I hadn’t considered before. Long-lasting effects from looking into minds that I hadn’t even known about.”

Randall was surprised to feel a light touch against his back. Victor had reached out, fingers curving over his shoulder blade. “Back when the bloodline was stronger, medusas used to take everything from the person they looked at,” Victor continued. “Whatever past, present, and future they saw would become theirs, in a way. We’re more diluted now, but the visions… what we see, it stays with us. Especially if we have an attachment of some kind to who we look at. It means we have a piece of that soul in our minds for the rest of our lives. I suppose it’s not dissimilar to what wolves experience, just in a more literal way.”

Randall’s gaze dropped to Victor’s neck, and he nodded to the two scars. “So the one who gave you those,” he surmised. “You have a part of him.” His instincts rose up at the thought, a low growl threatening to escape him. But Randall was too tired to fight for something he knew he couldn’t have. There simply wasn’t another pointless battle in him. So he gave Victor a weary half smile, looking down at his hands. Victor’s touch on him was like a brand, like every part of him was caught up in that five-inch expanse of skin.

Victor hesitated, clearly weighing his answer before he said it. “Not anymore,” he finally said.

“I’m sorry,” Randall murmured, shaking his head, “I don’t understand.” Maybe he should have gotten what Victor was trying to say, but he felt as though his brain had been dipped in mush, as if he couldn’t form any thoughts beyond an intense longing to sleep for a week.

“There were, er, certain parts of my behavior that came from a few different things.” Victor sounded like he was struggling to talk so honestly. “The recklessness, I mean. Cairo, going to the wolf pack, looking into the Gray Lady’s eyes, those decisions were partially made on something that I picked up from David, I think. I’m not sure how to fully explain it to a nonmedusa, but think of it as picking up a new instinct. It becomes natural to think that way.”

Victor took his hand back from Randall’s shoulder and clasped his fingers in his lap, tightly held together. “When I got home, I put my memories of David in the friend pile, so to speak. I then experimented and made risky situations available to myself, but… none of them held any appeal anymore.”

“You can decide how to let the memories affect you?” Randall felt a faint flicker of curiosity, like something was trying to make its way through the vague numbness in his mind. “That’s… fascinating.”

“Probably not that interesting,” Victor said wryly. “I did as anybody moving on from an old relationship does. I let go of David, and in doing so the memories I have, the little shards of him I have inside my head, lost their potency. It’s just a little more literal for my kind.”

“It’s interesting,” Randall disagreed. “You should think about a paper, Victor. Think of how little there is on the medusas. You could publish something for our kind. If it’s anything like what you’ve done before, it will be the formative work on medusa theory.” He paused, realizing that probably hadn’t been Victor’s point. It was just… wonderful to use his brain for something other than mindlessly alphabetizing or deciding what bag to put the bread in. “Sorry,” he murmured, gaze dropping away again. “I’m glad you found a way to handle your ability with greater control. That’s wonderful, it is. I’m just confused, I think, as to why you came to tell me.”

Victor didn’t answer right away. Though he didn’t make any noise, didn’t move, Randall knew he was trying to find the right thing to say. He had this way of letting out a sigh, of pursing his lips, that Randall had learned signaled his brain searching through possible responses.

“I just wanted you to know,” Victor said. “And more importantly, I wanted to know how you are. I don’t want you to deny everything and say you’re fine, Randall. How are you, really?”

“I’m fine.” The response was automatic, Randall still looking away, still refusing to yield. Victor didn’t pry, though. The two of them sat quietly, Victor so close that Randall could feel the warmth of him along his side, the nearness practically begging him to soften. And it was Victor.

After a beat, Randall tipped his head back, a helpless laugh caught in his throat, an exhausted, almost hysterical smile just barely touching his lips. “I’m not fine at all,” he admitted, throat tight. “God, Victor. I’m just…. I’m so tired.”

Just saying it out loud, admitting it, felt like a release. Randall laughed again, the sound breaking in his chest, and rubbed his hands through his hair. “And I hate it. God, I hate working every second and wearing”—he shook the name badge—“this and this stupid apron. And no matter what, I can’t get ahead. Anthony’s treatment is eating up everything we can make and then some. And I can’t tell him. I mean, what kind of terrible person am I that I actually am resentful of this?”

“It doesn’t make you a terrible person at all,” Victor said firmly. “It makes you human. Or a wolf, however accurate you want that statement to be.”

Randall just stared up at the sky, watching a plane winking overhead like a shooting star. “He never complains.” Randall didn’t know why he was talking to Victor about this.

No, that wasn’t right. He did. Because Victor was the person he wanted to talk to about everything. But he also knew that he’d walked away, he’d decided that right then, all his energy needed to be on his family and not a medusa with a hard-on for self-destruction. So Randall frankly wasn’t sure if he should be taking comfort in this.

Then again, maybe he got to have a momentary burst of weakness.

“Who, Anthony?” Victor asked.

“Not once.” Randall laced his fingers together, shoulders hunched. “He was eight when our parents were killed. Edwin was two. He never missed a beat. Our whole lives he’s only done what he needed to do to take care of us. He even let his mate go, because he couldn’t leave us behind. And now that he needs me….” Christ, he actually felt heat prickle at his eyes, the sharp ache in his throat making it almost impossible to keep talking. “I’m standing at work today, hating how sick he is. Because I should be in school. I should be going to classes and thinking about tests. And I’m bagging groceries. Not only that, but I’m failing. All the work, all the sacrifice, and I haven’t done one thing right.”

Again, Victor didn’t reply right away. He let the silence stretch between them, but before Randall could start to dread that Victor was sitting there judging him, he felt Victor’s arm settle over his shoulders. Lightly at first, then more decisively, a tight, centering grip pulling Randall against Victor’s side.

“If I learned anything about Anthony, it’s that he doesn’t complain for the same reasons you don’t,” Victor said. “He doesn’t want to burden anybody with his stress.”

The strength of Victor’s embrace, the way their bodies fit together so perfectly, was the most restful thing Randall had felt in months. He let his head fall onto Victor’s shoulder. He accepted, for the moment, the shared steadiness. “I am never going to be as good of a person as my brother,” he murmured, the realization sinking guilt into his gut. “I just want to take care of him. Of Edwin. But we have nothing left. Anthony has an appointment this week, and I don’t know how I’m going to pay for it.” His eyes darted up to Victor’s face, self-condemnation riding on him so heavily Randall could feel it in the turn of his lips, the lines of his forehead. “I’ve been hiding bills from him. He doesn’t know how bad it is.”

“You are already as good a man as your brother,” Victor said. He lowered his head, pressing his cheek against Randall’s hair. “It’s not weak to admit that you’re having trouble.”

“It’s always just been us.” Randall, very hesitantly, let his fingers barely rest against Victor’s knee. “We’ve never had anyone to rely on. If we couldn’t do it ourselves, then it wouldn’t happen. I…. I honestly don’t know how to ask for help like this.” The Gray Lady had been different. She’d been a desperate plea, throwing themselves on the age-old traditions of the pack. And in the end, it hadn’t ended up being help at all.

“I know,” Victor replied softly. He took a deep breath, holding Randall tighter. “I want you to know this. When I offer my house and my money for your use, it’s not charity to make me feel useful. If you and your brothers were to move in with me, I would want you to move into my room so that it could be ours. I would renovate the house to cater to Edwin’s need for open space and Anthony’s health needs. I would—it would be something that I would do for us.”

Something tight and sharp and wonderful clenched in Randall’s chest. Hope. More than hope, an actual flutter of want, of confidence that desperately wanted to be set free. He could see it so easily, the simple comfort of settling into a life alongside Victor. And if he reached out, it would be there. It was right in front of him.

“I thought that idea frightened you.” Randall glanced over at Victor again. “You’ve seen all of this, Victor. You weren’t thrilled at the prospect, if I recall.”

Victor laughed a little. “I know. But do you know what frightened me more? The aftermath of looking into the Gray Lady’s eyes. That normal excitement just didn’t happen. And when I got home after all of you left, I began to…. I wandered around my overly large house and started imagining you in it. And it didn’t scare me.”

Feeling wrung out, like he had an elephant sitting on his shoulders and he was struggling simply to keep himself upright, Randall couldn’t bring himself to give in. He wanted to. Just the idea of laying all this at Victor’s feet was incredibly tempting. But that wouldn’t be right. Not for Victor, not for himself, and definitely not for his brothers. He couldn’t just force his weary brain into action and take the easiest way out, as much as he wanted to right then.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted quietly. “I feel like I’m underwater, and I can’t make myself think.”

“It’s all right.” Victor rubbed his shoulder. Randall felt the curve of a smile against the top of his head. “You don’t have to make any major life decisions right now. I just wanted you to know the offer was there. How about we go inside? That casserole is probably getting quickly devoured.”

Nodding, Randall nonetheless didn’t immediately move. For a while, he and Victor just sat on the steps, staring up at the sky, the quiet noise of conversation and the clatter of dishes inside marking the time. “Thank you,” Randall whispered into the silence. “For listening to me.” Even if nothing else happened, he was grateful for that.

Victor pressed a light kiss to his forehead. He stood and offered Randall a hand up. “It was my genuine pleasure.”

Hand in hand, not too tight of a grip, but steady, as if neither one particularly wanted to let go, they headed inside. Redford and Jed were at the table with Edwin and Anthony, passing around food and drinks, Knievel happily curled up on Edwin’s lap. There were logs burning in the fireplace, laughter and smiles, and Anthony looked, for the moment, happy. Everyone was fed and content and safe, and Randall felt a sharp sense of satisfaction at that. Of relief.

“I’m going to go change,” he said, smiling a little at everyone. “Save me a plate.”

Victor squeezed his hand before he let it go to sit at the table, finding a space beside Anthony. As Randall left to go get into his own clothes, he could hear Anthony inquiring how Victor was, Jed’s comment about how that was a wasted question because Victor did nothing but read books and bitch at people, and Redford’s quiet laugh.

Randall was too tired to worry about what sort of clothes he wore. He just took his uniform off and put on whatever nearest clean clothes he had, going back to the dining table just in time to have Anthony hand him a plate piled high with casserole and the venison he and Edwin had been cooking earlier.

And the only chair left was pushed suspiciously close to Victor. He gave Edwin an exasperated look, only to be met with a totally innocent grin. Right. Some days, he swore he was going to start putting Edwin outside at meals. But he took his seat, knee bumping up against Victor’s, sharing a quick, slightly embarrassed smile before he started to eat.

“So, not that it isn’t awesome to see you guys,” Edwin said, looking at Jed and Redford, “but what are you three doing here?”

“We’re trying out something called ‘socializing,’” Redford answered. Randall couldn’t tell if he was serious or joking, he was that deadpan.

“And I couldn’t remember where you lived, but I wanted to see you, so I tagged along,” Victor added.

“You meaning us?” Edwin asked with a sly look over at Anthony. “Or you meaning Randall?”

“Shut up, Ed,” Randall sighed, pushing the plate away, barely having touched the food. He was too tired to eat. “Just be grateful they drove all the way out here to put up with you.”

“I did have something I wanted to ask Anthony, actually,” Victor said.

Anthony glanced up from where he’d been concentrating on shoveling food into his mouth, surprised. “Yeah? Shoot.”

“Er.” Victor fidgeted with his fork. “Unfortunately, even after spending time with you and the pack, I’m still very ignorant about wolf customs.”

All at once, Randall was pretty sure he wasn’t going to like where this was going. Eyes wide, he looked up, glancing at Victor and then over at Anthony, praying that Victor wasn’t about to attempt to do something wolfish, like challenging Anthony to a fight or offering to go sniff someone.

Victor continued, “If I wanted to state my intention to be with Randall romantically, would I have to, er, challenge you for him or something? Perhaps wrestle you to show my strength?”

Jed choked on his food, going red as he bent over, caught somewhere between a laugh and actually suffocating. Randall was still caught on the state my intention part of the conversation, and yes, while it was highly unlikely that any kind of physical altercation between Anthony and Victor would end with something other than Victor in a lot of pain, Randall found it rather…. Well, it was hot. Bottom line. It was hot, having Victor show some dominance.

Anthony, on the other hand, had his head down on the table, muffling his laughter into his folded arms. His shoulders were shaking, and his attempts to speak every few seconds were cut off by more laughter. Edwin wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was completely howling in amusement. Victor looked highly put out, and Anthony eventually managed to answer, “You’d seriously fight me?”

Victor drew himself up, squaring his shoulders with every attempt to look tough. “I absolutely would,” he declared, which just sent Anthony off into fresh peals of laughter. Victor withered where he sat. “I seem to have said something incredibly stupid.”

“You ask me.” Randall’s answer was quiet, but he found he was smiling at Victor, some of the tenseness he’d held around Victor ever since Randall had walked away softening slightly. “That’s all. I mean”—a quick, wolfish grin, then—“as much as I’d like to see you wrestling around with Anthony, you’re not challenging him for his place in the pack or anything. If you wanted me, you’d ask me.”

“Oh.” Victor had gone red in his embarrassment. “Right, then. I’ll do that after dinner, shall I?”

“I think we should talk about burial rites,” Edwin said, attempting to be very serious. “I mean, if you’re going to go around fighting wolves, we need to know your last requests.”

“You should have a second,” Jed agreed, a broad smirk on his face. “So that when your scrawny professor ass gets handed to you, someone can drag you to safety.”

“I don’t think that’s what a second is for,” Redford piped up. “Seconds take over when the challenger gets killed.”

“Oh, well, then Victor will need two of those.” Jed nodded. “Maybe three.”

Victor sniffed haughtily. “I’m a medusa. I’ve had a will and a family tombstone since I was three. Since that’s taken care of, I’ll leave you lot to figure out the duel rules.”

“And while you do that”—Randall stood, his mostly uneaten plate gathered up—“I think it’s my turn to do dishes. And if Edwin didn’t eat it all today, there might be a pie lurking somewhere. I’ll get it and some coffee.”

“I’ll help,” Victor volunteered. He started to gather up dishes, leaning over the table to collect three of them from Edwin.

Together they carted everything into the kitchen, where Randall collected the leftovers to put into the fridge. They fell into an easy rhythm to the murmur of conversation in the other room, an almost practiced dance around each other. Randall washed, Victor dried, their heads bowed over the sink as they worked in silence.

“You’re not a wolf.” Randall’s voice cut into the space between them, a frown creasing his forehead as he scrubbed the plates.

“You’re not a medusa,” Victor replied, a smile in his voice.

With a noise that wasn’t quite a laugh, Randall darted a look over at Victor. “I mean, you don’t have to try to take on my instincts. My bonding to you, or not, that’s my problem. Not yours.”

“I know,” Victor murmured. “The truth is, if medusas can be said to bond by looking into someone’s eyes, I’ve already done that with you.” He accepted a dish that Randall passed him. “But I’m not speaking of bonds. I’m speaking of dating.”

Randall considered it as he started in on the last of the silverware. The suds made everything slippery, the bubbles catching in the fine hairs on his arms. “I’m worried I don’t actually know you,” Randall admitted. “Before, I thought you were someone other than the man who took risks simply because he wanted to. Now, though, I’m afraid you are, and I don’t know who he is. You’ve become this… dream.” Randall dared to look over at Victor. “What if we don’t fit the way I think we do?”

Victor’s expression didn’t give much away about his thoughts right then. “I’d say that dating is the way to find that out. But if you’ve discovered that you don’t like who I am, then you’re free to say no.”

Randall studied Victor intently as he dried off his hands. Before he could change his mind, Randall leaned in, burying his nose under Victor’s ear, taking a deep, slow breath. “You smell the same,” he whispered. He smelled like home. Like a promise of a home Randall had yet to find.

“I wasn’t lying when I said that I believe I’ve changed,” Victor replied quietly, lifting his chin a little to allow Randall greater access. “I know I can’t expect you to instantly believe me, but I’d like it if you gave me a chance. Go on a date with me, Randall.”

He didn’t have many more excuses, and all the ones that were left seemed so worthless. Pulling back, Randall briefly closed his eyes so Victor wouldn’t have the worry of meeting his gaze, instead leaning in to nudge their foreheads together. “I missed you too,” he admitted, and it was like a release, like that tightly coiled grief he’d kept buried was allowed to breathe. “Yes. I’d like very much to go out with you, Victor Rathbone.”

A smile he’d never seen before spread over Victor’s face: uninhibited, none of the usual caution or dryness that tinged all of his other expressions. “Good. Because I’ve been planning a date for two weeks, and I’d be very disappointed if I didn’t get to do it.”

“Two weeks, huh?” Randall couldn’t help but return the smile, the two of them standing there, just barely apart, not touching but hovering there, giddy with the closeness. “Was this just general date planning? Because if I need to get on your schedule, just tell me and I’ll move some things around. I wouldn’t want you to use up all your good ideas.”

“Oh no, all of my ideas were specifically for you.” Victor’s expression took on a hint of embarrassment. “I made a spreadsheet and gave the ideas a numerical value with how much I thought you’d like them, then ranked them accordingly.”

And that was, hands down, one of the hottest things Randall had ever heard. “Tomorrow?” he asked, moving just a little closer, repressing the urge to ask to see the chart. Maybe after, if the date went well. “I have work until seven, but after that, I’m free.”

“Perfect. I’ll take you out to dinner,” Victor said. He reached forward to take Randall’s hand, grasping it tightly. Randall turned his fingers to catch against Victor’s, smiling again at the simple touch.

“Where did dinner rate on the list?” he asked in a teasing murmur.

“Actually, third. But the first two ideas would require a whole day,” Victor replied.

Surprise hit Randall. He couldn’t even imagine Victor spending time thinking about him, thinking of things he might enjoy. “You planned a day with me?” Randall honestly couldn’t believe someone so wanted to spend that much time with him that they’d purposefully plot out a way to fill the hours.

“More like eight,” Victor clarified. “And that’s just dates that take place in establishments around the city. I’ve yet to get really creative with my date ideas. I’m afraid I’m a bit out of practice—”

Pulling Victor forward, Randall caught his lips in a kiss. All his life, he’d had his brothers. The three of them had been everything to each other. And while Randall had dated on occasion, while he’d had friends, no one had ever put that much thought into him before. Anthony and Edwin, yes, but this was wildly different. So he kissed Victor, because he had a chart with dates, whole days’ worth of plans. Because he’d driven all the way out here just to tell Randall he’d gotten better.

Because he was the most wonderful man Randall had ever met. And that part of him, Randall was beginning to see, hadn’t changed at all.

When they parted, Victor brought his hand up to lightly touch the base of Randall’s throat. “That biting thing,” he said, “is that strictly for sex, or can I do it any time, with your permission?”

A shaky laugh escaped Randall, and he cupped Victor’s jaw, thumb rubbing along his cheek. “Anytime,” he managed, voice barely more than a rumble, “though I have to admit, I can’t promise I won’t simply start tearing clothes off.” But he tipped his chin back, baring his throat, a surge of anticipation, of rightness, sinking into his gut just from the action.

Instead of the bite he expected, he felt the light touch of Victor’s lips, then the brush of his nose, as if Victor were scenting him. “Then I’ll keep it chaste for now,” Victor said, a similar laugh under his words. “Because I should let you get an early night, if I don’t want you falling asleep during our dinner tomorrow night.”

“Coffee,” Randall reminded him, his breath caught in his chest. “I said I’d make coffee.” And something about pie. Though he was finding it hard to think about anything other than Victor.

“Then I’ll help.” Victor inhaled. “Sometimes I envy the wolf nose. It’s so much more useful than what my blood gives me.”

“I don’t smell that great.” Randall shrugged, his fingers tracing down Victor’s neck to rest lightly on his shoulder. “And I think what you can do is incredible. You are incredible.”

A shout came from the dining room. “Where’s the pie?” Jed’s voice interrupted the moment, sending Randall jumping slightly away from Victor.

Sagging back against the counter, Randall started to laugh a little helplessly. “It’s coming,” he called back. “Hold your horses.”

Victor gave a sigh of exasperation. “I’ll get the pie, you make the coffee? I’d be an awful barista, I’m afraid.”

“Tea’s in the cupboard,” Randall said, going to switch on the coffeepot. “If you’d prefer that. It’s not a very good brand”—he’d cut out that luxury weeks ago—“but it’s… no, I’m sorry, it’s terrible and weak. I can’t say anything nice about it. Please don’t have the tea.”

“Coffee, then,” Victor agreed, bemused. “And some decent tea at dinner tomorrow.”

They worked together well, Randall noticed. It was in the simple things, like how Victor reached up to grab the cups before Randall could ask, how when Randall held out the sugar, Victor was there with the cream. It was simple and lovely, achingly so, domestic in the most warming way. They carried the plates and cups and the pot of coffee out to the dining room. Randall ignored the significant looks from everyone, choosing instead to serve dessert and take his seat.

He just had coffee. But it was nice to sit next to Victor, leaning just barely against his shoulder, the weariness of the day easing slightly.

“I haven’t heard from the pack,” Jed was saying, taking a huge bite of his pie. “But I’m guessing they’ll have moved again by now.”

“I thought you said you took care of things?” Edwin looked a little worried, carefully pulling all of the fruit out of his pie to pile it on the side of his plate so he could attack the crust alone. “Are they still being hunted?”

“Oh, we took care of things,” Jed snorted. “Anthony and I showed Leo who was the goddamn boss.”

“Jed was badass,” Anthony agreed. “It was like every action movie I’ve ever seen, except with less motorbikes and slow motion.”

“Hey, we could have had motorbikes, sweetheart.” Jed waved his fork at Anthony. “Next time we will definitely have bikes.”

Redford sighed, like he put up with ludicrous requests from Jed all the time. Anthony just nodded in satisfaction and added, “And cool leather jackets and sunglasses.”

Jed, his arm slung casually around Redford’s shoulders, pointed at Anthony. “Yes. Yes, exactly. There is no point at all to a cool bike if you don’t have the right accessories.” He gave Redford a pointed look, as if this was a conversation they’d had before.

Under the table, Victor’s pinky finger brushed against Randall’s. It was like a little shock of heat, a slide of skin as their fingers hooked together, and Randall had to duck his head to hide his smile. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Victor look at him, seeming just as content as Randall was.

Jed grinned. “You should have seen your brother. Growled at this woman, got her to unclench right up and let us upstairs.”

“Yes, and it was really rude and you should never do that to anyone, Edwin,” Anthony said. Edwin snorted, giving Anthony a look.

“Fuck that, do it, it was awesome,” Jed said, tipping back in his chair. “I would have had to pull out a gun to get that kind of response.”

“So you’re sure this O’Malley person isn’t going to be hunting the pack anymore?” Randall asked. “Not that I’m doubting your manliness—”

“Damn straight. We were manly as hell,” Jed informed him.

“I’m sure,” Randall continued dryly. “But you think the pack is truly going to be safe now?”

Jed cut a glance over at Anthony and sighed, shrugging. “Maybe? I mean, I don’t know how safe a big group of wolves is ever going to be, not with things being what they are.”

“That’s why they moved again,” Randall surmised.

“I would have.” Jed nodded. “Once someone finds you, doesn’t matter if they stop hunting. Your cover’s blown. You have to find someplace new. Leo might be done in the hunting business, but if he’s telling the truth about the vampires, it probably won’t be the end of it.”

“It won’t be,” Victor murmured. “There’s much bigger things yet to come.”

There was a long beat of silence, all of them exchanging looks, the jovial mood dampened by a sense of very real dread. Randall let his hand slip farther into Victor’s, tightening his grip slightly. Jed was the first to react, snorting faintly. “No offense, princess,” he said plainly, “but I don’t buy this whole seeing the future shit. There’s no such thing as fate or destiny or whatever you want to call it. Bad shit is coming, because bad shit is always coming. But nothing’s set in stone.”

Instead of arguing the point, Victor just smirked and said, “I’m disappointed, Jed. I said ‘much bigger things yet to come,’ and you didn’t make a dirty remark about it?”

“I just assumed you were talking about my cock,” Jed returned with a grin. “Or maybe you were busy with your mind in the gutter. I’m surprised you two are back in here with your clothes on.”

“Please.” Victor snorted. “The last thing I want to think about is what’s in your trousers.”

“Too bad.” Jed clucked his tongue in disappointment. “It’s definitely worth more than a few thoughts.”

“As fun as this conversation is,” Randall broke in, surprised to find how hard he was scowling at Jed or how tightly he’d gripped Victor’s hand, “it’s getting late, and I have to be up at six.”

“If you guys don’t want to drive all the way back, we have a guest house, of sorts,” Anthony offered. “It’s out back.”

Victor looked surprised. “Really? I’d never noticed before. I recall you mentioning that you’d built this place. Did you build that too?”

Anthony grinned proudly. “Every inch of it. The rooms are small, but there’s two of them above the workshop. We can get it set up for you, if you want.”

“Anthony’s really good at that stuff,” Edwin said, beaming just as proudly. “He made these chairs too. And this table.”

“He’s very talented.” Randall gave Anthony a smile. “And his ego doesn’t need inflating.” That was said fondly, teasing, because Anthony should be given all the accolades he could get.

“You guys should stay,” Edwin urged. “You can stay a few days!”

“Edwin,” Randall sighed.

But Edwin just kept going, straight over Randall’s gentle protest. “We can go hunting tomorrow! And there’s a lake out back. I have to go into town tomorrow, but you guys can stick around with Anthony in the afternoon.”

Jed, Randall suddenly realized, wasn’t nearly as lazy or laid back as he’d been pretending. His gaze had been going over everything since he’d come in; now he pinned a look on Anthony. “How’s the treatment going?” he asked, not a trace of his usual flippant attitude in his voice.

“It’s fine,” Randall answered. “We’re doing fine.”

But Jed just quietly waited for Anthony to answer, gaze unwavering.

“It’s… progressing?” Anthony grimaced. He’d paused halfway in spearing a chunk of pie on his fork, suddenly looking like his appetite had been lost. “I’m still waiting on a verdict. But it’s a hell of a lot more comfortable than Cedric’s bad chairs.”

Jed and Redford looked at each other, seeming to have a whole conversation without speaking. “Yeah, we’ll stay,” Jed decided. “Hell, I never did get to go fishing. We’ll just use your lake.” Jed nodded at Anthony. “That okay with you, Lassie?”

“As long as you’re okay with catching tiny fish,” Anthony snorted. “It’s not as fruitful as it used to be.” There was an undercurrent of sadness to Anthony’s words. The fact that the lake had shrunk, that the fish were smaller and less numerous now, was not something they often talked about.

“Never caught any kind of fish.” Jed shrugged. “Unless they were fried and slathered in tartar sauce. I won’t know the difference.”

Anthony nudged Edwin with his elbow. “Ed, can you get started on getting the guesthouse ready?”

“I’ll do it,” Randall said. And yes, maybe he gave Victor a little sideways glance. “I’ll just grab some sheets and blankets.”

“You’ve been working for fourteen hours today,” Edwin pointed out. “You look like you’re going to fall over, and you stopped sleeping, like, three days ago.”

“It’s making up beds, Edwin, not running a marathon.” Randall got up, going to the hall cupboard and starting to pull out the linens. “I think there are pillows in the cedar chest over there. Do you need more than one each?”

Jed and Redford shook their heads, so Randall set about gathering everything they needed. Anthony looked like he wanted to help, but at a stern look from Randall he sat back down. Redford and Victor helped him carry everything over to the guest shed, as they called it, while Jed went out to the Jeep to gather up the few things they’d brought with them.

The first room had a queen-sized bed. Jed took the sheets from Randall’s arms and very politely kicked him out. “We’re going to sleep,” he informed Randall. “And we can make our own bed.” With a leer, he winked at Victor. “Get some earplugs, princess.”

“Please don’t have sex in our guest bed,” Randall sighed. Jed did not look like he was going to listen, simply grinning at them both and shutting the door in their faces.

He led Victor to the other side of the attic area, the room that was directly above Anthony’s workshop. “This room is smaller,” he apologized, opening the door and switching on the light. “But it has a balcony.” The bed was facing the double doors, the balcony overlooking the dark woods. There was a skylight above, the sky scattered with pinpricks of light.

“It’s nicer than my house. And I live in a mansion,” Victor said, admiring the room.

“Now I know that’s a lie.” Randall smiled absently as he spread out the sheets, setting about making the bed. “The bathroom is that door we passed on the right. Only one here, I’m afraid, so you’ll have to share or come over to the main house.”

“It’s perfect,” Victor assured, moving to the other side of the bed to help Randall with the sheets. “It was obviously built with love.” He hesitated before adding, “Am I wrong in guessing that this place has something to do with Anthony’s mate?”

A sad, rueful smile touched Randall’s lips. He moved over to turn off the light, reaching out to take Victor’s hand and lead him carefully to the balcony. When they stood outside, the lake was like a shimmering blanket spread out in front of them, the stars reflected in the inky black. “He built it for Vil. I think he really thought Vil would come back. It was going to be theirs, and Edwin and I would have the main cabin to ourselves. Originally, the whole top floor was the bedroom. The bottom floor was going to be the kitchen, a den with a huge fireplace lined with river rocks….” Randall sighed, shoulder rising in a shrug. “But he stopped. I think he realized that Vil was gone. We turned it into a workshop and these bedrooms. Ant always said if we got married we could live here, but I don’t think either one of us could. It’s not ours.”

It was Anthony’s. It was yet another dream he’d given up for his brothers.

“Come on.” Randall gave Victor a slight smile, moving to turn the light back on, ruining the view in favor of finishing making the bed. “You look tired. I should let you get some sleep.”

Victor approached him, reaching out to take Randall’s hands. “Where shall I meet you for dinner tomorrow?”

“My room?” Randall squeezed his fingers gently. “I’ll come straight home and change. I have to be at the library at seven tomorrow morning, and then I have a half shift at the grocery store, but I should be back home by seven at the latest. And then I’ll have one of my rare days off for Anthony’s appointments, so we don’t have to worry about being out too late.”

“All right. I’ll borrow Jed’s Jeep so I can drive us out.” Victor leaned in to brush a kiss over Randall’s cheek, the contact lingering. “Sleep well, Randall.”

“Sweet dreams, Victor.”

Dreams were not something Randall was on the best terms with. Before Cairo, his idea of a nightmare had been being naked in class without his homework. But then….

Well. And then he’d been collared like a dog, he’d been fed from, and he’d honestly thought, to the very bottom of his being, that he was going to die like that. Or worse, that he’d live, that he’d be broken down and used as a pet for the vampires’ amusement. There was no one, he’d known, who could have saved him. His brothers wouldn’t even know something was wrong until it was too late.

In those days, Randall had been utterly helpless. Shifting only got him more abuse. They didn’t even like feeding from him, he apparently smelled terrible to them, but they’d done it. Not to slake their hunger, but to cause him pain. They thought it was funny.

Randall hadn’t spoken about Cairo to his brothers. He saw no need to. They knew he’d been taken, that he’d been rescued, and now he was back home. They knew he covered his arms now, that he wouldn’t appreciate someone commenting on his neck. And that was all. What was the point of dwelling on it? Anthony and Edwin had enough real problems without Randall’s imagined ones. He was alive. That should have been enough.

That night, though, when he closed his eyes, when his brain put him right back into those moments, it didn’t feel like enough. It felt like he was dying all over again, that fear eating him from the inside. He couldn’t move, couldn’t fight back. He was helpless.

Waking with a start, Randall lay in bed, panting, trying to get his racing heart under control. His shirt was soaked through with sweat, his sheets a twisted tangle around his legs. Slowly, he forced himself up, so exhausted it felt like every movement was lifting a mountain. He tugged off his shirt, grimacing at how clammy and overheated he felt.

It was four in the morning. He had two hours until his alarm would go off. Randall desperately needed the sleep, but he found himself utterly unwilling to risk another dream. He checked in with Anthony, who for once was sound asleep, tugging the covers back up around his brother’s shoulders. Edwin was sprawled out in his bed on his back, limbs everywhere, Knievel dozing on his chest. Everything was quiet and still.

Randall shivered in the cool night air as he slipped outside, still shirtless. He made his way down to the lake, wandering aimlessly. The huge sky overhead reminded him that he was free, that he wasn’t shoved into a dank hole to die. With his bare toes wiggling in the wet mud at the edge of the lake, Randall considered it. It used to be bigger, the lake, when Vilhehn and his family had been here. The fish had been huge and numerous; lush plants had grown at the edge. Now it was so much less.

But the water was chilly and clean, the half-moon reflected in the soft waves. Randall stripped off his pajama pants, waded into the shallows, and then ducked his head under the water. The sweat of his nightmare was washed away, the calm stillness of the lake soothing him. He swam out to the center with strong strokes and floated there, staring up at the sky, letting his mind still.

When he’d been younger, he’d believed that the lake was alive, that it protected them. Even though he knew such a notion was childish, Randall felt a little more comforted, just floating in the middle of the water, letting himself drift.

When he finally swam back to shore, he felt more relaxed than he had in days. It was temporary, he knew, it was nothing but a brief respite, but it was something. Nothing about his life had changed out there in the water, but at least now he felt a little less like he was being swallowed whole by it.

No one was awake when Randall left for work. The hours passed far too slowly, work sliding him into a kind of numb half awareness. He shelved books he didn’t have time to read, far too many paperbacks with half-naked people on the covers, he ate half a peanut butter sandwich alone in the break room, and when he was finally released, he went straight to the grocery store to tie on his apron and attach his name badge. The navy-blue polo the store required him to wear was unobtrusive enough he could get away with it both places. Of course, the library thought him to have an extremely limited wardrobe, but Randall would hardly be winning any fashion awards regardless, so his wounded ego was easily mended.

Bagging groceries was possibly the most numbing job Randall could imagine. It was just engaging enough that he couldn’t mentally drift off, while simultaneously being so repetitive that he couldn’t seem to grasp hold of anything to challenge him. By the time he dragged himself out to the car, Randall wished he could just curl up in the backseat and sleep.

But Victor was coming to take him out. And that alone was worth forcing himself to stay awake.

He ran in the door, later than he’d wanted because of traffic, and went straight to the shower. No matter how little time he had, Randall was desperate to wash off the sweat of the day. When he emerged a few minutes later, toweling off his damp hair, robe wrapped tight around him, he found Edwin and Anthony waiting for him with big grins. “So,” Edwin said, practically wiggling in excitement, “you have a date.”

“Have you two just been waiting for me to walk in so you can point that out?” Randall headed past them to his room, digging through his closet frantically for something to wear. “If you’re going to mock me, at least be helpful.”

“Being helpful is for people with fashion sense,” Anthony said sagely. “We don’t have any.”

Randall glanced over at Edwin in his ragged T-shirt and Anthony in his flannel. “You’re right,” he agreed. “Get out, you’re both horrible.”

He shut the door to the sound of their gleeful laughter. “Wear something that’s not a sweater vest!” Anthony called through the door.

“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, God, 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? God, 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, God. 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 glasses, 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 butterflies 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 God, 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 bump 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 God, 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 meatballs 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 amusement. “My God, 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 bumpy,” Randall acknowledged. “But our car sounds like the muffler 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 bump 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 unbuttoned 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 embarrass you.” Randall gave Victor a crooked, rueful little smile.

“Nobody 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 passing 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 assured 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 glass. “A photograph, a movie, they’re just images, and so you can look without seeing anything. How fascinating.”

“Yes,” Victor muttered, seemingly embarrassed. “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 glasses 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 glasses 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 platitude.

“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 passed 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 cocking 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.”

God, 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.

“I know I should let you get some sleep,” Victor murmured over the sound of the lake brushing up against the shore. “But I’m afraid I don’t want to let go of your hand.”

“I know the feeling.” Randall tightened his fingers on Victor’s. Another few moments of silence, dragging out their evening just a little longer. But he could smell the night creeping onward into early morning, and no amount of dawdling was going to stave off time. “I should go,” he finally said, regretfully.

Victor sighed, just as reluctant. He stood and gently tugged Randall out of his chair. “All right,” he agreed. “This has been… this was wonderful, Randall. We should do it again soon.”

He wanted to demand that they do it every night, that he and Victor simply go forward with their lives in good food and excellent conversation and never, ever let go of each other’s hands. But, sadly, Randall knew such things weren’t possible. If they were, he was fairly certain Jed and Redford would have done so by now. “It was perfect,” he agreed as they walked slowly toward Victor’s bedroom door. “I can’t promise the food will be nearly as good, but maybe this week? I’m not sure if it’s too pushy to ask for tomorrow, so—”

“Tomorrow,” Victor agreed in a rush. “Definitely tomorrow.”

A grin broke out across Randall’s face. “Tomorrow,” he said, lightly touching his fingertips to Victor’s jaw. “I’ll cook. Maybe a picnic, away from the herd?”

“Perfect,” Victor breathed. He leaned in close to brush a kiss against Randall’s cheek. “Good night, Randall.”

“Good night, Victor.” They smiled at each other, perfectly polite, perfectly chaste. It was the picture-perfect ending to a first date.

With a growl, Randall hooked his hands into Victor’s shirt and hauled him in, meeting his lips in a hard, hungry kiss. They stumbled backward, back into the bedroom, Randall kicking the door shut as he shoved Victor’s jacket off. The surge of heat that hit him was completely overwhelming, like he’d been waiting to touch Victor for months.

And now he could. Now he was.

“Thank God we’re on the same page,” Victor breathed, in the middle of doing his best to get rid of Randall’s tie.

Biting at Victor’s lips, Randall grabbed his hips and pushed him back toward the bed. “I thought you were just going to let me leave,” he laughed, ducking out of his tie, kicking his shoes off somewhere in the corner. There was a confidence in his movements now, a want that he knew exactly what to do with. “God, I can’t wait to get you out of that suit. I’ve been thinking about it all night.”

“I had much the same sentiment,” Victor murmured. He hooked his fingers into Randall’s shirt, deftly getting the buttons undone. “You do look amazing in these clothes, by the way. I’m almost sad to get rid of them.” He scowled down at one button in particular, looking like he was close to ripping it off just because it got in his way.

“If you want, I can keep them on,” Randall huffed, a laugh caught up in another kiss. With a light shove, Victor was sprawled back on the mattress, Randall straddling his waist and leaning in to capture his lips, the wet press and pull of them absolutely intoxicating. Together their fingers finally conquered the last of Randall’s buttons, and Victor slid his shirt off, letting it drop to the side, forgotten.

Victor paused, and though Randall couldn’t look directly at his eyes, he could see Victor’s eyebrows raised, as if in appreciation. “You are like nothing I’d ever seen before,” Victor said, his hands sweeping up Randall’s chest.

“Scrawny and pale?” Randall laughed, catching Victor’s hands, kissing the tips of his fingers. “Nearsighted? Bad haircut?”

“Beautiful,” Victor corrected. He curled his fingers around Randall’s, holding on tight. But then he reared up suddenly to reverse their positions, pushing Randall down to lie on his back. “I’m sad that I didn’t let myself think of you that way for some time, because by now I might have had quite the list of ideas.”

Victor smiled down at him, but his touch suddenly seemed hesitant. Randall realized that his fingertips were dangerously close to the biggest scar that curved over Randall’s collarbone, holding still, as if asking permission to touch. With a low, almost frightened exhale, Randall tipped his chin back, exposing the ugly knot of scars low on his neck, the lowest of which was closest to Victor’s touch. He couldn’t meet Victor’s eyes and show him his trust. But he could believe that Victor wouldn’t deliberately hurt him. He could demonstrate that in the most basic way he knew how.

He saw Victor lean down and felt the featherlight pressure of Victor’s lips against those scars. There was that flash of terror, the drop in his stomach that made Randall want to do nothing but shove Victor away. It took everything in him to hold still through the sharp jump of pain, the phantom memory of teeth tearing through his skin.

Another kiss then, just as gentle as the first. Randall stared up at the ceiling, forcing himself to remain motionless, blinking back the hot ache in his eyes, refusing to let what happened before resurface and ruin this. The vampires that had hurt him were dead and gone. There was no reason to allow them to continue to have this kind of power.

Victor’s lips ghosted lightly up to the base of Randall’s neck, kissing him again, and again that jerk of pain shuddered through him. But it wasn’t what was happening now. Now it was Victor’s lips, soft and warm against his skin. Now it was a gentle touch, coaxing Randall to relax, to stay in the moment.

All the pain was nothing more than a reflex. A nightmare haunting him.

Closing his eyes tightly, Randall let out the aching breath he’d been swallowing back. He finally unclenched his hands from the sheets, one going up to lightly thread through Victor’s hair. Victor slid his tongue along the marks marring Randall’s throat, and he forced himself to see past the pain, to focus only on Victor’s touch.

“Everything okay?” Victor whispered against the scar he’d been kissing.

“I think it’s going to be,” Randall managed with half a laugh, blowing out another shaky exhale.

“You truly are so beautiful,” Victor said again. Randall could feel the curve of Victor’s smile against his skin.

No one had ever called him that before. And Victor said it with such sincerity that Randall couldn’t even find it in himself to doubt the compliment. To Victor, he really was beautiful, as impossible as that seemed. Arching his neck up, legs hooking around Victor’s waist, Randall grinned as he bit sharply at Victor’s lip. “How about you come up with some ideas now?” Another bite, Randall sucking on his lip to soothe away the sting. “Pop quiz, professor. You have a very eager student in bed, half-naked. What do you do now?”

Victor muffled a laugh against Randall’s jaw where he was busy kissing it, his lips trailing down to Randall’s neck. “Is this a multi-choice quiz?”

“A,” Randall’s head fell back, a soft moan lost in his chest. “Fuck him. Hard.”

“What about options B through D?” Randall could feel Victor grinning against his throat, then the slide of Victor’s fingertips toward his belt, stopping on the buckle. A quick little inhale and Randall looked down, gaze lit up with pure want.

“B….” Randall struggled to think of what else could be done in bed. It was hard to think with Victor, positively devilish, between his legs, fingers playing along the skin above Randall’s waistband. “Mouths could be involved. Preferably mine. And yours. Both sets of mouths are an option.”

“Oh?” Victor deftly undid Randall’s belt, sliding it agonizingly slowly through the loops on his slacks before dropping it over the side of the bed. Randall arched up into the next touch, a leisurely drag of Victor’s hands over his thighs. “That could be taken a great number of ways.”

Everything seemed so heightened, nerve endings Randall didn’t even know existed suddenly alight. As if his body began and ended under the slide of Victor’s palms, the hot pant of his breath. “I don’t even know what that means,” Randall admitted in a quick laugh, the sound teasing out into a moan. He instinctively spread his legs, his boxers suddenly feeling tighter than usual. He spared a quick flash of embarrassment over that. It seemed so… rude to be so on display, to be so obvious and in Victor’s face. “But yes. Let’s do all of the above.”

After he spoke, he noticed Victor staring in a way that indicated he certainly didn’t seem to mind Randall being, er, rather rude about things. Victor ducked his head to kiss Randall’s throat, the briefest contact of his lips before he moved to Randall’s collarbone. “Well, I could use my mouth here,” Victor said. Going downward, he then gently scraped his teeth over Randall’s stomach, an ever-so-slight ache that had Randall shivering in reply. “Or here.”

Victor moved back up again, the contact of his lips gentle on the scarring on the underside of Randall’s forearms. “Even here.”

Randall’s muscles jumped under the touch, but the expected pain was fainter now. A ghost of a memory, fading under the heat of Victor’s presence.

Then he felt the warm, strong contact of Victor’s hands decisively dragging his pants down to bunch them at Randall’s knees. With wide eyes, Randall watched him, breath catching in short, shallow gasps with every touch. Victor was still smiling as he moved to Randall’s thigh.

“Here too,” Victor murmured, shifting aside to pull Randall’s pants off completely. “I could spend hours listing every body part I’d like to get my mouth on.”

“Well, very good,” Randall managed, somewhat thinly. His hands had fallen to grip the sheets, fingers twisted up in the fabric, as if he needed an anchor to hold him down. “That sounds excellent. Good listing skills.” Perhaps he was finding it a bit hard to concentrate. At least Victor didn’t seem to mind his sudden incoherence.

Victor gave a hum of agreement, and if he said anything else, Randall didn’t hear it, because he was too busy arching into the contact of Victor’s tongue on his cock. He muffled a groan around a bitten lip, staring down at Victor.

“Turn over,” Victor said, cupping one hand under Randall’s hip. “I’ve only covered one half of you.”

“What?” Dazed, Randall ran fingers through Victor’s hair, desperate to have contact, to find a way to wrap himself fully around Victor and never let go. “What do you mean? There’s nothing… back there.”

“There’s your back, which I have noticed to be quite well formed,” Victor replied, giving Randall’s hip another nudge. “It deserves attention too.”

One last skeptical look, but Randall rolled over, feeling so much more exposed now. One’s back was not something Randall particularly thought about in reference to these sorts of activities. Then again, he had quite liked running his hands along Victor’s their last night together, so Randall assumed he just was lacking knowledge in this area. It did feel more than a little strange to just be sprawled out in bed, naked, while Victor was still clothed.

He felt Victor’s lips press against his shoulder blade. It didn’t make Randall squirm, but it was nice, an exploration of a part of his body he’d never considered an intimate one. Victor trailed his fingers down the bumps and curves of Randall’s spine, as if cataloging each one and storing the feeling away for later. Then Victor’s lips were again at the small of his back, dropping light kisses against the muscle that curved down to his hip.

Randall jerked a little in surprise when Victor’s hand smoothed across his ass. “If at any point I do something that makes you feel uncomfortable, I want you to tell me,” Victor said. Randall found it a little hard to think about that statement when Victor’s fingers were tracing the curve of his thighs. Instinctively, he arched up into the pull against his skin, the soft skim of a touch leaving goose bumps in its wake.

Then Victor’s lips were on his ass, biting lightly at the curve of it. Randall jumped slightly, shock making him flinch, but the groan that rumbled in his chest definitely wasn’t a protest. “What—” was all he managed to get out, hips rising slightly, as if to encourage more.

Victor’s laugh had an edge of a rumble to it. “I’m showing you option C,” he replied. Randall could feel his tongue then, sliding over the back of Randall’s thighs, moving up, a wet, warm trail. Randall shivered, biting his lip hard enough to dimple it, anticipation hooking low in his gut. He had no idea where Victor was going, but his body seemed tight and tense, waiting for it.

The gentle press of the point of Victor’s tongue against his hole made Randall jump in shock again. He looked back at Victor, shaking his head, not to stop him, but in utter confusion. “I don’t think that goes there,” he tried to joke, voice low, hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

“No?” Victor’s grin wasn’t as big as before, but there was more of an edge of mischief to it now. “Then I must be lost. Oh well, I may as well explore while I’m here.” He did it again, running his tongue once over Randall’s hole. The odd sensation was slowly being replaced with tentative want. When Randall tried to answer, all that came out was a low, drawn-out moan.

Obviously encouraged by that, Victor kept doing what he was doing—first just gently licking over where Randall had sworn tongues absolutely weren’t meant to go, letting him get used to the feeling and waiting until Randall was beginning to move back into it a little. Victor grasped Randall’s hip, slipping around to grasp his cock where it was trapped between his stomach and the bed.

That got a whimper from Randall as he went up on his knees, not even remotely sure which way he needed to move—forward into Victor’s hand, but then back against that delicious wet pressure of his tongue, both such slow buildups he barely remembered what it was to not be turned on. “Please,” he managed, fingers digging into the mattress. “God, Victor.” All he knew was he wanted more of something, whatever it could be.

It turned out that something more meant the point of Victor’s tongue again, except this time it wasn’t what Randall was coming to expect. This time Victor pushed his tongue inside Randall, a slow drag inside and then out, and then again, his hand moving over Randall’s cock in time with his tongue. Yes, that felt… very good. So good that Randall abandoned all pretense of holding it together, legs spreading wantonly, back arched to raise his ass to meet Victor’s thrusts. A steady stream of whimpers, of moans, was caught in his throat, buried into the pillow.

Victor gripped him harder, his stroking faster now, seemingly determined to drive Randall to the edge as quickly as possible, all the while pushing his tongue in as deep as he could get it. To Randall the sensation was still a little strange, but it felt so good that he’d completely stopped questioning it. He rocked his hips back against Victor, then forward into his hand, babbling senseless encouragement. Pleading with Victor for more, telling him how good it was, how deep he wanted it, how it felt like he was flying apart.

Victor only broke away briefly to dig his teeth into the curve of Randall’s ass, murmuring, “You’re so beautiful.” And then he was back again, the shock of the slide of his tongue that much more pleasurable due to the few seconds of loss of contact. Randall’s moans reached a louder pitch when Victor added a twist to his stroking, his thumb rubbing hard over the tip of Randall’s cock on every drag up. Randall wasn’t sure if he was supposed to maintain control, if he was honestly expected to ride this out without losing his mind in the wave of sensations. But he certainly didn’t. His body tightened, heat coiling like a spring in his gut, desperate for release. Without a warning, barely before he realized it was happening, Randall was gasping Victor’s name, legs shaking, overwhelmed with the force of his pleasure.

Victor kept fucking him with his tongue the entire way through, one hand grasping firmly at Randall’s hip to keep him still. And when Randall started to lose strength in his knees, sagging toward the mattress, only then did Victor let up, moving back with a slide of his hands over Randall’s legs.

Randall felt the mattress drop and dazedly opened his eyes to see Victor sitting next to him, looking extremely pleased with himself.

“Thank you,” Victor said, his hand making absent circles on Randall’s shoulder blade.

“I’m very new to this,” Randall managed, words faintly slurred together, “but I’m pretty sure that’s backwards. I think I should be thanking you. That was….” No words came to mind. There were no words. So Randall just tipped his chin back and howled softly, a long drawn-out, shivery sound that echoed deep in the very bones of him. That was perfect like a night with a moon and no rain, that was deep and hard like the frost under my paws, that was exactly right, exactly mine, mate and pack and full bellies and warm cave. It was everything good, and Randall didn’t know if there was a word to describe it.

“Well,” Victor said, “I’m not very good at translating howls, but I’m to take it that was meant as a good thing?”

Turning to face Victor, reaching out to run his fingertips along Victor’s sadly still-clothed thigh, Randall smiled loopily. “Oh, yes,” he rumbled. “The very best thing.”

“I’m glad.” Victor’s fingers trailed to the curve of Randall’s neck. “I’m glad that we finally get to do this, as well.”

“Me too.” The lethargic bliss of his orgasm was fading, and Randall gave Victor an appraising look. “You’re still dressed.”

“That I am.” Victor didn’t look like he minded. Instead, the curve of his lips showed an amused, satisfied expression. “I was rather too busy to pay attention to my own clothes, unfortunately. Removing yours was much more pertinent.”

That wouldn’t do at all. With a quick pounce, Randall pushed Victor back, capturing his lips in a heady, deep kiss. Their tongues fucked together, sliding one with the other, and their fingers laced together as Randall pinned Victor’s arms above his head with one hand. He rocked against Victor in cadenced rolls of his hips, loving the slow burn of arousal now, after the insistent, urgent heat. “Fuck me,” he mumbled against Victor’s mouth, burying any response into another hard kiss. “Please.”

Randall went into eager pursuit of Victor’s buttons, popping each one out in turn, rewarded by the growing expanse of smooth, pale skin, just barely dusted over in freckles. Victor paused him before he could finish the job, smiling at Randall’s huff of frustration. “I’ll be right back,” he promised, and then he was getting off the bed, moving quickly to the door. Before Randall could further protest the absence, he could hear Victor going through a bag in another room. He returned victorious with lube in hand and tossed the bottle onto the bed. Victor then went to his wallet and pulled out several foil packets.

“Victor.” Randall struggled to sit up from where he’d sprawled out on the bed. “Did you just steal sex supplies from Jed?”

“Er. I may have.” Victor looked a little embarrassed at that, but not embarrassed enough to prevent him from getting back on the bed to come to Randall, catching him in a kiss. “He didn’t have condoms, but luckily I believe in being prepared. Is that all right with you?”

Hand threading through Victor’s hair, Randall slid back farther onto the bed, pulling Victor with him. “I’ll write a proper thank you note in the morning,” he mumbled, much more interested in the fullness of Victor’s lips catching between his own. “Dear Mr. Walker. I am ever so grateful for your donation.”

Victor laughed quietly at that, the eagerness of his kisses growing with every one. “I’m sure he’d appreciate it.” Victor only broke away to pull his shirt off, dropping his hands to his belt next. Randall gladly went to help, gliding his hands down Victor’s sides, easing his pants off and curling fingers around his hips.

Randall had to break away to stare, drinking in the sight of Victor. He was all soft, pale skin. The curve of his stomach, the lines of his hips, the way broad shoulders swept down to his chest, he was utterly perfect. Poems were written about men like Victor; songs were sung with the hopes of winning them. And here he was, in Randall’s bed. A star captured in a wooden crate.

“You are the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,” Randall breathed, thumbs painting circles against Victor’s arms. “I could live and die a thousand times over and I’d never see anything like you again.”

Victor looked like he didn’t quite know what to do with the praise—he kissed Randall, the contact sweet and gentle. They turned again, Randall hovering over Victor, the sky to his lovely expanse, kissing and touching as if they were the first beings born to do so. As if this was exactly what their lips and hands had been formed from clay to do.

“You’re clearly far too coherent, if you can be poetic,” Victor finally said, a fond tone under his words. Randall heard the quiet click of a tube, but he didn’t look right then, far more interested in exploring the rounded curves of Victor’s shoulders.

He felt Victor’s hand trail over his ass again, then the light press of Victor’s fingertip against his hole, slick with lube. “If you’re sure?” Victor murmured.

Nudging their foreheads together, eyes closed, Randall nodded. “I trust you,” he said quietly. “I want you, Victor. You’re who I’ve been waiting for.”

“Later, I will tell you exactly how honored I am. But right now I’m far more interested in fucking you.” Randall could hear a smile in Victor’s words, the corresponding press of his finger inching in deeper. It was different than his tongue, reaching in farther and a little uncomfortable at first, but Victor was so gentle that the faint ache soon faded. It started to feel wonderful again in short order when Victor began moving his hand slowly. Randall’s hesitation faded as Victor whispered soothingly to him, rubbing the small of his back, encouraging him to relax around him.

Letting out a slow breath, Randall dropped his head to rest in the crook of Victor’s neck, concentrating on breathing. The ache turned into heat, into friction that built up into, all at once, a small burst of pleasure. Randall rocked forward, startled a little, gasping, his lips catching against Victor’s skin.

And then Victor’s finger grazed over something that made sparks burst behind Randall’s eyes. He dimly recalled hearing something about it, though he’d never experimented with it himself. Victor seemed determined to, though, rubbing hard over his prostate. Rocking back against Victor’s hand, Randall’s moan was lost in the tight clench of teeth, biting Victor’s shoulder, his neck, hard enough to leave marks scattered behind.

The slight pressure of Victor adding another finger never turned into an ache, only a greedy anticipation that had Randall gasping. Time seemed to glaze over in a whirl of messy kisses and panted breaths.

“Ready?” Victor breathed against Randall’s lips, sounding a little strained with the effort of holding himself back.

It took him a moment to gather the scattered whirl of thoughts, to force them into a neat little line that led to a moaned, “Yes, God, yes.”

Victor rolled them over, and Randall flopped back into the bed in a boneless, pleasure-heavy sprawl. He watched through half-closed eyes as Victor fumbled with the condom, scowling at it before finally managing to get it on, then moved to kneel between Randall’s legs, leaning over to kiss his chin. Victor’s hands smoothed over Randall’s thigh, fingertips dipping down to briefly rub over his hole again before he started easing his cock inside.

Randall hissed in a sharp breath as he closed his eyes, torn between the mild ache and the approaching pressure. He grabbed Victor’s arms, his grip tight enough to redden the skin. For a moment, a stomach-dropping moment, he panicked. He was so sure it wouldn’t fit, that it would hurt, and a pained whimper escaped him. His head arched back, teeth catching his lip, and Randall barely restrained the urge to beg Victor to stop.

“It’s okay,” Victor said under his breath, going still, his hand rubbing over Randall’s stomach. “We’ll go as slow as you need. Just tell me when, Randall.”

Focusing on his breathing, Randall dropped one hand from Victor’s arm, going to grasp a tight hold on Victor’s hip. “It’s okay,” he breathed, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m okay.”

He felt Victor’s fingers trace lightly over his stomach, then up the side of his cock, grasping it lightly. Randall arched into the contact as pleasure started to spark at his nerves again. Victor still wasn’t moving, just gently stroking him, coaxing him back to full arousal. A low groan rumbled in Randall’s chest, and he pulled Victor closer, muffling another low sound as Victor slid deeper inside of him. The rub of his cock pressing inward, the friction and the heat, was slowly melting away his tension.

“Victor,” he murmured, keeping his eyes closed, not wanting to accidentally meet Victor’s eyes. But that jump of fear again, soothed away by Victor’s touch, and then another long stroke, and Randall was wrapping his legs more firmly around Victor’s waist.

As if knowing exactly what Randall wanted, Victor leaned in and captured his lips in a hungry kiss. “Still okay?” Victor whispered, rocking his hips so slightly that Randall could barely feel it at first.

The ache had faded into heat and need, and Randall didn’t so much answer as moan, leaning up to kiss Victor again, hand sliding up to fist in his hair, pulling him closer. He bit Victor’s lip, his jaw, growling his want into his skin and the dip of his collarbone. God, yes, he was okay. He was more than okay. Any worry was gone now, any hesitation lost in the drag of Victor’s cock, the friction that felt like it was sinking into his bones.

Victor paused again, making Randall give a groan of need—but then Victor did something Randall had not been expecting. Victor growled. It was a tentative little sound, unsure and thready. It was also incredibly hot. Randall growled back, surging upward to pull Victor into a hard kiss, hooking one leg up farther around his waist, as if he could simply tangle himself around Victor completely.

Snarling under his breath, biting Victor’s lips, his jaw, Randall rolled upward into him, all but begging for more. And Victor obliged, only too happy to do so, rocking into him with smooth thrusts that took Randall’s breath away. Their mouths met in a clash, teeth catching on lips. When Victor lost all of his hesitation, he started fucking Randall hard, braced over him and panting against his jaw, one hand shakily wrapping around Randall’s cock.

Randall was howling, he was sure. His hands were digging into Victor’s back, meeting him thrust for thrust, gasping with every deep slide of Victor inside of him. It was like riding a wave of white heat, of endless sparks against his skin. Randall wasn’t sure where he began or where Victor ended. Their bodies were moving as one, writhing in pleasure, dancing in an endless, gasping reach for something more.

His second orgasm felt even better than the first, crashing through him, making him latch his teeth into Victor’s throat and bite down as he came. Victor continued to move against him, low gasps and stuttered moans leading to a near-incoherent growl of Randall’s name as he reached his own pleasure, trembling above Randall.

Victor slowed, then stopped completely, his muscles still shivering in the aftermath. Randall curled his arms around Victor’s waist as Victor settled on top of him, their breaths coming at the same time, heartbeats pounding.

“I have no words,” Victor managed, tucking his lips into the curve of Randall’s neck.

“Now that is new.” Randall tightened his hold around Victor, rubbing his thumb along the line of Victor’s spine. “I think we should get some kind of award.” All he could think of then was how badly he wanted to look into Victor’s eyes. To see him fully to know if the satisfaction he felt on his own features was mirrored there.

Randall sat up a little, braced on an elbow, and Victor rolled off him to sprawl on his front next to him. Randall frowned as he looked around the room. Victor’s pants were tossed over the edge of the bed, so he reached out, pulling them toward him and rifling through the pockets. Finding Victor’s phone, Randall held it up over him, looking straight into the camera, not changing anything about how he looked—utterly spent, completely satisfied, disheveled and loving every inch of it.

“Your turn,” he murmured, nudging Victor, who lifted his head from the pillow to reveal half of his face. Victor looked into the camera, a mess of red-blond hair and one visible blue eye. Randall took the picture and sprawled out next to him, both of them meeting the camera’s gaze without fear. One of Randall kissing Victor, just because of the look on Randall’s face as Victor pressed his lips to Randall’s throat. All things they couldn’t see themselves, set down into digital imprints.

Settling back beside Victor, head on his shoulder, Randall showed the photographs to him. “You look incredible,” Randall murmured, placing a kiss onto his chest. And he did. There was a lightness in his gaze, an amazing languid power that made Randall’s breath catch. “I could stare at this all day.”

Victor gave an agreeing hum. “Likewise. Next time we should set up a video camera.”

The idea made Randall snort a laugh, dismissive only for a moment. Then he gave Victor a considering look and curled up further around him. He took another picture, this time of him, a close up of his eyes, of lips swollen from Victor’s kisses, a smile curving across his face. “I think that is an excellent plan,” he said, handing Victor his phone. “Maybe I’ll make a video just for you. I have some ideas, now. You can watch it after you leave.”

“Now that is a good idea,” Victor said. His eyes had fallen closed, and he rested his cheek on Randall’s shoulder. Randall had to smile fondly—nonwolves seemed to get so tired after sex, he’d discovered, and it was strangely endearing. Right then Victor looked like he wanted nothing more than to drop off into sleep, so Randall shifted accommodatingly, getting them comfortable.

But before Victor was lost to the world, he seemed determined to do one last thing, even though his movements were sluggish with contentment. Victor smoothed a palm over Randall’s hip, dragging upward to rest fully over the scars scattered across Randall’s collarbone, his hand a warm weight on Randall’s skin.

And it didn’t hurt. Whatever lingering memories of fear and pain and helplessness were, for the moment, washed over with the present. Victor’s touch had branded him far deeper than any vampire could bite. For now, Randall felt no part of himself caught in that hell. His Beatrice truly had led him out into heaven.

The pale light of the moon and stars painted the sky outside the room. The doors of the balcony were open, and Randall could hear the lake lapping lightly against the shore, the soft sigh of the wind through leaves. He was surrounded by everything familiar, by the scent of him and Victor combined, and it was the most at home he’d ever felt. As if all of what he knew home to be had just been magnified and expanded. His pack had gotten bigger, fuller, and it felt like this was exactly as it should be.

Victor was leaving in the morning. Randall shouldn’t be so attached to the idea of falling asleep in his arms. And yet he was.

One more picture, then. Not for Victor. For himself. Victor half-asleep, strawberry-blond hair spread across the pillow in a messy tangle, Randall’s darker head pillowed on his chest. The two of them, tangled together, like nothing on earth could find a way to pull them apart.

 

 

RANDALL WAS dragged out of sleep by a knock at the door, a muffled laugh, and Victor groaning, “Jed, for the love of God, go away.”

“I know you stole my lube, you sex fiend.” Jed was battering on his door, head poking around it to grin widely at them both. “Kinky, professor.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” There was a distinct dry tone in Victor’s voice. “Do you want it back?”

“Nope. That was my extra supply. Just want all the dirty little secrets. Come on, breakfast, and we can have the sex talk over pancakes.”

Randall buried his face deeper into the pillow, trying to figure out why all these people were in his bedroom.

Except it wasn’t his bedroom. Bleary, he lifted his head and stared around, hair completely in disarray, totally confused. Very slowly, he woke up enough to remember what had happened. Victor. Victor was in bed with him. They were tangled up together, legs entwined. A smile eased across Randall’s face, and, with a grunt of protest at the whole waking up thing, he dropped a kiss on Victor’s shoulder. “Hey,” he mumbled. “What time is it?”

“I have no idea. Let me look.” Victor was without his glasses, but he attempted to peer at the clock on the bedside table. After a few moments, he said, “I still have no idea.”

Randall decided he didn’t care that much. He pulled Victor in for a kiss instead, winding his arm around Victor and nuzzling in close. “Hey,” he whispered again, more quietly. “Good morning.”

Victor turned into his arms, draping himself over Randall’s side. “Good morning,” he replied, eyes still closed, a smile at the corners of them. “Did you sleep well?”

Surprisingly well, actually. Randall blinked and stretched, biting back a yawn. “For one of the first times since Cairo, I think I did.” He was more than a little shocked. Nuzzling into Victor’s neck, Randall peppered kisses along the softly reddened marks he’d left the night before. “How about you?”

Victor seemed more interested in wrapping his arms around Randall, getting comfortable, like he wanted to go right back to sleep. “Very soundly,” he replied. “Better than I do at home.”

“Well, maybe you should stay longer.” It was more than Randall would have suggested any other time, but he was still aching from the night before in the best possible way, they were all wrapped up and warm in each other, and it was so easy to whisper the words against Victor’s skin. He eased kisses along Victor’s collarbone. “Anthony’s appointment is later today. Just stay over after our dinner tonight.”

Giving a hum of agreement, Victor said, “Excellent idea. Do we need to get up right now?”

Randall really did have to squint at the clock then, attempting to get the numbers in focus. Nine in the morning. “The appointment is at noon,” he yawned, half sprawled out over Victor. “And it’s an hour and a half drive. So we have about a half an hour before we need to get up and start getting ready.”

“Then how about we sleep more?” Victor sounded like he was already halfway there, his cheek resting on Randall’s bicep. “That sounds good.”

“Mmm.” Randall contented himself with scraping his teeth lightly on the inside of Victor’s arm. “We should sleep.”

They drifted back into that hazy, warm space that lay halfway between wake and sleep. Randall’s fingers slid in with Victor’s, and he curled up closer, letting himself relax. Until, of course, there was a pounding at the door and a very loud, very strident voice calling, “Okay, lovebirds! Ten minutes before I come in and start pulling off covers.”

“Fuck off, Jed,” Victor shouted back. Even half-asleep, Randall was startled at his cursing. Apparently Victor only did it when he didn’t have the brainpower to think of better words.

“Yes, Jed, do go fuck yourself,” Randall agreed with a low growl. “We’re sleeping.”

“Nine minutes!” Jed was apparently not threatened at all. Jed’s fist slammed several more times into the door, jerking Randall out of that pleasant doze. “Redford’s making breakfast. Get your fornicating asses over there.”

Victor muttered something under his breath that even Randall’s ears couldn’t catch, but the mattress shifted a moment later as Victor hauled himself up with a grunt. Randall felt a hand on his shoulder, rubbing gently. “Jed’s probably right,” Victor sighed. “Up we get.”

Rolling over, Randall just studied Victor. The morning light was streaming through the windows, bathing everything in a soft golden glow, lighting Victor up like some ancient god. “You are so beautiful.” Randall reached out, letting his fingers trail along Victor’s arm. “I’ve never seen anyone half as gorgeous as you are.”

Victor smiled down at him and teased, “Well, you do have your glasses off. I’m probably just a big blur to you.”

Randall struggled to sit up, grabbing said glasses again and shoving them on. “Nope,” he declared, tugging Victor back onto the bed with him, kissing his shoulder. “You are simply beautiful.”

“You really are a shameless flatterer,” Victor replied, braced on his hands to lean above Randall. He ducked down to give Randall a kiss, lingering, but sadly not as long as Randall wanted it to be, before Victor got himself out of bed. “Come on, Randall. Don’t tell me I’m somehow more a morning person than you are.”

“I just suddenly have a very good reason for lying around in bed all day,” Randall returned, sticking out his tongue. But he got up to wrap his arms around Victor from behind, nuzzling his nose into the nape of Victor’s neck. Sighing, he bit lightly at the soft skin there. “You need to go take a shower before I decide I really can’t keep my hands to myself.”

“Is that supposed to deter me?” Victor gave a quiet laugh, leaning back against Randall. He smoothed a hand over Randall’s arm, every inch of his body language speaking of content. Burying a smile in his shoulder, Randall couldn’t help saying it.

“I love you,” he whispered. He just said it, hanging it out there like some hopeful prayer. He shouldn’t have said it yet, maybe. He should have waited. But Randall felt strangely impulsive, like he couldn’t bear to keep it inside. The emotion was too big for him to live with it inside his skin.

Victor’s reply was low but utterly without hesitation. “I love you too.”

After a low breath, Randall murmured, “Hold still.” He fumbled and found Victor’s phone, holding it out in front of them, taking a picture so that Victor could see his expression. So that he could see Victor’s. Turning it around, he stared at it, at the pure joy in his expression, at Victor’s sleepy-eyed content.

“I think I might have to start password protecting my phone,” Victor huffed, bemused. “There’s a few interesting pictures on there now.”

“Just for you.” Randall smiled, kissing Victor’s neck, the spot just below his ear, his jaw. “So yes, please put a password on it. I don’t want anyone else to see that.”

Victor turned in his arms, kissing his jaw, then giving Randall a light push against his chest. “Now really, go shower and get dressed,” he said, attempting to be stern. “Otherwise we’ll be late for everything.”

“You’re really staying tonight?” Randall confirmed, catching Victor’s hand.

“Yes,” Victor replied. “Whatever we wind up doing, dinner or a picnic, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Randall leaned in to kiss him one last time. “Okay, okay,” he mumbled. “I’m going. Use the bathroom here. I’ll be over at the main house.”

Reluctantly, Randall got dressed and made his way back to the house. When he walked in the front door, it was to a round of applause. Jed was even standing, whistling at him loudly as Randall rolled his eyes and headed toward his room. “You are all children,” he informed them.

“What?” Anthony grinned at him. He intercepted Randall at the doorway, arms out for a hug. “Does this mean you’re mated now? Is he part of the pack? Can I do some kind of official ceremony just to confuse him?”

Ducking under Anthony’s arms, Randall shot them all a scowl. “Children,” he repeated. “And no. No one is mates. Do not say the M-word to Victor when he comes over here.”

He heard Anthony give an exaggerated sigh as he headed back to the table.

“Why not?” Edwin asked, following Randall into his room as Randall searched for clean clothes. “I mean, you slept with him.”

“Sex does not mean mates, Ed,” Randall told him, arching an eyebrow at him. “Didn’t we have this talk with you?”

“I know that, but you’re kind of old-fashioned.” Edwin sat on the edge of the bed, picking absently at the comforter. “Are you going to get married?”

“Edwin, Jesus.” Turning to face him, Randall fixed him with a look. “Spill. What is this about?”

“Anthony has an appointment today,” Edwin mumbled. “What if it doesn’t help again? Then he’ll get worse and you’ll move in with Victor, and I can’t take care of Ant by myself.” He stared down at his laced fingers, looking, all at once, like he was five years old again. “I’m not good at that stuff like you guys. I don’t want to let him down.”

Putting aside the clothes for the moment, Randall sank to sit down next to Edwin. “I am never going to leave you,” he promised, nudging his shoulder against Edwin’s. “That’s who we are, remember? We’re family.”

Edwin almost laughed, a not-quite-there noise. “Victor’s not a wolf,” he pointed out, sounding miserable. “He won’t want to stay here.”

“Then I won’t be with him.” It was said so simply, as if it wasn’t an instant stab of pain through him. “Ed, come on. You guys are the most important thing in the world to me. I’m not going to leave you alone, and I’ll always be here to help with Anthony. Okay?”

Strangely quiet, Edwin chewed the inside of his cheek, foot wiggling in a nervous jitter. “Do you think Anthony’s going to die?”

Randall wrapped his arm around Edwin’s shoulders. Bright, beautiful Edwin, who lived life so fully and never seemed to get bogged down in the things that other people did. Apparently Randall had failed him too. “How long have you been worried about this?” Randall asked with a frown.

“Since you started hiding the bills and not sleeping.” Edwin glanced over at him, knocking his knee lightly against Randall’s. “I’m not stupid, you know. I can smell what’s going on. And Anthony knows something’s wrong too, only he just goes in his room and frets by himself.”

Feeling a sharp sense of guilt, Randall hung his head. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” Edwin said quietly. Stunned, Randall looked over at him to find Edwin staring at him steadily. “You and Anthony both. Nobody’s talking anymore. We used to do everything together, like a pack, but you started keeping secrets when you got back from Egypt, and Anthony pretends he doesn’t hurt, and you both worry about money. Like if you talk about it somehow everyone is going to break down. Well, it’s stupid.”

“Edwin—” Randall started, but Edwin stood up, shaking his head.

“Don’t, okay. Just… start talking. Tell Anthony what’s going on.” Edwin gripped Randall’s shoulder before he turned to leave. “And go shower. You smell like snake.”

Once left alone, Randall found he honestly didn’t know what to do. He’d tried to protect his brothers from the worst parts of what they were dealing with now, only to find out they both knew anyway. So apparently he was the world’s worst liar. He finally dragged himself into the shower, and by the time he walked back out, hair still damp, everyone was gathered around the table. Redford was just bringing in a platter of sausages to join the huge stack of pancakes and bacon.

“So you really drive an hour and a half to get to each appointment?” Victor was asking Anthony.

“It’s not as if there’s any closer hospitals.” Anthony shrugged, looking tired as he curled his hands around his coffee mug to warm them.

“That’s ridiculous.” Victor was frowning, looking at everybody as if he wanted them to agree with him. “You’re all busy, and as the weather gets colder you’ll find it more difficult to drive yourself. Anthony, I’ve offered it before, and I will do so again. Come stay at my house. It’s close to the hospital, and it’s more than big enough to host you.”

Randall caught Anthony’s questioning glance. He didn’t know what to say. His instincts were to say yes, to immediately start packing and move in and never leave. But he was aware that instincts were not a reason to make a decision. This was new. No matter how fantastic the night before was, they were only starting out. “You have three appointments in the next week, right?” he confirmed with Anthony.

Needless to say, Anthony didn’t look thrilled at the prospect. “That’s right.”

The seat next to Victor was empty, and Randall, having fixed his cup of tea, sank into it gratefully. He nudged his knee against Victor’s, a shorthand for checking in with him, rather than reading his expression. “Well, a week is not forever,” he mused. “That might be nice, Ant, for the next week to be closer?”

“It would be,” Anthony said, a rare hesitation in his words. “Are you sure you’re okay with this, Victor?”

“Absolutely,” Victor said.

Randall glanced over at him, trying to gauge more from the way his lips were curved, the set of his shoulders. “We’d just be guests,” he pointed out, half for Anthony, half making sure that he and Victor were on the same page. He wanted to go at a normal speed. Randall wanted the dates and the anniversaries of first kisses. He wanted to build something that would last. Just because he had instincts that were pushing for more, just because Victor had seen the future, that didn’t mean either one of them knew each other emotionally well enough for that.

Most of all, Randall didn’t want to be David. Or any of Victor’s other past relationships. If they were going to make it, they needed to grow into each other.

“I know.” Victor didn’t look at him, but he gently knocked his knee against Randall’s. “We’ve just only had our first date, after all. Moving in permanently would be moving the schedule along quite quickly.”

“So you’re going to play wolf hotel?” Jed smirked in amusement, leaning over to steal a bite of Redford’s pancakes. “You might want to invest in a carpet cleaner, princess.”

“I have people that do that for me,” Victor dismissed. “Or you could come over and do it, since you seem to have nothing better to do.”

“Fuck you, princess, I’ve got loads to do. Redford and I just got another job. Sorry”—Jed winked at Victor—“no seeing me in a maid’s uniform just yet.”

“I thought you guys were going fishing?” Edwin asked. “Redford told me how much you were looking forward to it.”

“It’s getting too cold to do it local.” Jed shrugged. “And helping out the furry clan took more of our resources than I would have liked. Just one more job and we’ll be finding someplace warm and remote and jetting off.”

Randall felt a quick twist of guilt—he was the reason Jed had done a job that had cost him more than he got paid. But Jed didn’t seem overly worried about it, really, and there hadn’t been anything forcing Jed to stick around. Maybe he’d wanted to do what he’d done for the Gray Lady. Or maybe Jed just honestly couldn’t walk away from someone asking him for help.

“Right, then,” Victor said, rising from the table. “If you’re going to be staying for the week, we’ll need to get packing. All you need is clothes. I can provide everything else.”

“Do I have to stay inside?” Edwin asked, looking more than a little worried. “It’s not one of those apartments up on some top floor where you can’t see the sky, is it? Because I think I’d rather drive. It’s the full moon soon, and being cramped up in a tiny place would suck.”

If Randall looked closely, he could see the curve of a faint smile in Victor’s expression. “Oh, no. Not at all. You have a choice of where in the house you stay, of course, and I think you’ll like it more than a cramped apartment.”

Edwin still looked unsure, but all it took was a look over at Anthony and he was nodding. “Okay, yeah. Sounds great.” A little unenthusiastic, but Edwin had never been that great at hiding his emotions. “Are we going straight there from the doctor’s?”

“Oh, yes.” Randall sat up, looking at his watch. “It’s just after ten. We need to get going in no more than twenty minutes. Pack fast.”

“We’ll tag along.” Jed gave Anthony a look. “Might as well. Our place is closer to the hospital than here, so we’ll just follow you up.”

“Trying to make sure we don’t run off the road?” Anthony laughed as he stood, gathering the plates away.

“Of course.” Jed easily took the plates from Anthony, Redford getting the rest off the table. “I’ve seen you drive, Lassie. It’s a miracle you’re still alive. And don’t get me started on Edwin.”

“Go pack, Anthony,” Redford said. “We’ll take care of the dishes.” Anthony looked reluctant, but he nodded and headed off to do just that. Redford immediately took the dishes from Jed, as if he didn’t trust Jed to know what to do with them. Which, fair point, he probably wouldn’t.

Randall headed into his room to gather his things, passing Edwin’s, where Edwin was stuffing clothes into a bag and looking more than a little worried. Apparently he didn’t much trust Victor’s opinions on what a wolf would like. Alone in his room, Randall tried to pack, he really did. It was a simple enough task. Choose clothes for the week, bring along a few books, some personal items. Nothing too difficult.

But he was stuck, staring at the clothes he’d laid out on his bed, suddenly second-guessing everything. What if this ruined things? What if they carted Anthony to yet another place, yet another bed, yet another doctor, and it didn’t matter? Was this the right decision?

Nothing he seemed to be doing was turning out the way he wanted it to. Why should this be any different?

Randall took a deep breath to steady himself. Right. This was what they were doing. They were packing; they were going to stay at Victor’s for the week. Anthony was going to have his assessment appointments, and they would find a way to treat him. End of story.

Ten minutes later, Randall was ready and heading out toward the cars. Edwin was already in Jed’s jeep, Knievel on his lap, his bag next to him. Anthony was with Victor, loading the rest of their things into the trunk of their own car. Once again, Randall locked the door of their house, hoping that this wasn’t going to be the last time. That when they returned, it would be with an Anthony who had some kind of faith again.

“We should get going,” he said, putting his suitcase into the trunk. “Don’t want to be late.”

Victor passed by him, briefly touching his back and giving him a reassuring smile. “It’ll be okay. If you hate it, you can come back to your home.”

Randall shook his head. “I’m more worried I’m going to like it,” he admitted lowly. “And that you’ll get sick of me being there too quickly. Or the fact that I come with two decidedly more rowdy brothers.”

“I’ve had a lifetime of being the only one in that house. I think some noise would be more than welcome.” Victor opened the door to Jed’s Jeep. “I’ll see you there.”

“You’re not riding with me?” A little surprised, Randall paused at the door of the car, looking over the roof at him. He didn’t want to be the clingy one, really, but it was an hour and a half ride of knowing Victor was in the next car over. Which suddenly seemed very strange.

“I can.” Victor seemed surprised at the offer. “I didn’t particularly think about it, I suppose. Is there room in your car?”

“I’m over here so you two can kissy face at each other and I don’t feel the need to puke,” Edwin informed him cheerily, leaning forward to look out the Jeep door. “Poor Anthony, though. I’m leaving him behind.”

Victor looked to where Knievel was perched on Edwin’s lap and rubbed his nose with a mild grimace. “Yes, I think the other car would be much more pleasant.”

“Come on, you two,” Anthony called, sticking his head out the window of the Lewises’ car. “You can even both sit in the back like I’m a taxi driver. Just get in, because we need to get moving.”

Randall slipped into the backseat and gave Anthony a grateful look as he buckled his seat belt. Victor sat in the seat next to him, and just that easily, they tangled their fingers together, resting joined hands on Victor’s knee. It felt so good, that simple gesture, the way they seemed to fit.

Anthony started the engine, which sputtered to life with a protesting groan, and they followed the Jeep out onto the main road. Randall watched the rearview mirror, their home seemingly growing smaller and smaller until it was swallowed by the trees.