Blood Howl (14 page)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Baring his teeth, Jed snorted out a shaky laugh, shoving David away from him. “What the fuck,” he hissed, pushing himself to his feet, wincing. Jesus, the bastard might have bruised his already battered ribs with that stunt. “I don’t know what kind of game you and the boytoy are playing, David, but it’s not funny.
Werewolves
aren’t fucking
real
. I don’t need either one of you coming in here and giving me fairy tales.”

“Fairy tales?” Victor sighed, although he looked somewhat shaken at the violence. “Technically they’re—”

“Everybody needs to leave.” The voice was so quiet it was barely heard. Redford was emerging from the blankets now, uncaring that he was naked, padding over to the table. He picked up the muzzle from where it was lying on coiled ropes, tugging the bandage off of his sprained wrist. “It
is
the full moon. And it’s rising.”

Oh. Okay. Redford was naked.
Really
naked and really right there and right then Jed wasn’t actually concerned with much else. “Hey,” he breathed with a stupid, lopsided smile, half shy and half trying really hard for a leer. “Yeah, it’s definitely
rising
all right.”

Everyone else absolutely needed to leave. Jed ran his hands down Redford’s arms, eyes wide as he took in the slim strength of the other man, the faint trail of dark hair that trailed below his belly button, down to the divots of his hips. “You are so gorgeous,” he managed, willing to forget David’s interruption for what he assumed would be them kicking the two intruders the hell out and getting back down to business.

“Oh, Lord.” David rolled his eyes, taking Rathbone’s arm and tugging him toward the door. “I will be sitting by my phone, Walker, when you want to call and apologize. Try to keep all your limbs intact.”

“But I want to see what happens during the transfor—” Victor was saying, and the door shut. Thank God.

Redford barely seemed to notice that they were gone. There were lines of pain at the corners of his eyes now, and his hands were shaking slightly as they rose to fit the muzzle around his face, tightening the buckles at the back of his head. He didn’t wait for a reaction, just lifted the ropes and pressed them into Jed’s hands. “Can you tie my wrists?”

Startled, Jed stared at him. “No,” was his immediate reaction, his fingers going up to smooth along the leather standing out so brashly against pale skin. He fumbled for the latch, trying to get the damn muzzle off of him, but Redford wouldn’t let him. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is happening?” Jed caught Redford’s hands between his own, worry twisting his face. “Are you okay, sweetheart? You should sit down. Do you want water? I can get you water. You look….”

Like shit, actually. Clammy and gray, pain standing out like jagged tears against the lines of his face. Jed felt something twist horribly in his gut, a helpless, sick feeling that he hated. He wasn’t ever helpless. That was the deal. He had guns and explosions and a cocky smirk, and he wasn’t standing around, wringing his hands. Only now, he honest to God had no idea what to do next. “Talk to me, Red,” he begged quietly, smoothing a hand through the other man’s hair. “What’s wrong?”

His only response was a choked scream of pain. Redford tried to grab at Jed’s arm as he went down, but all he managed to do was collapse onto his knees, curling around himself. “Ropes,” he ground out. “Please, Jed.
Please
, there’s not much time. It’s happening sooner than I expected.”

Following Red down, Jed was at a complete loss. One second they’d been fine, in bed together, all smiles and quiet laughs and hands and lips meeting. Now it looked like Redford was tearing apart from the inside, and there wasn’t a damn thing Jed could do about it.

It’s the full moon.

All that werewolf shit, it was a load of crap. It had to be. What kind of world would it be if werewolves were real? What next—the fucking Loch Ness Monster? Some parade of the wacky and weird, the Wicked Witch of the West leading the leprechaun marching band? Jesus Christ, this could not be real.

And yet….

“I’m not going to tie you up,” Jed said, voice cracking. It was more him begging than a promise—
please, don’t make me do this
. “You’re gonna be fine, sweetheart. Hear me? It’s going to be fine.”

Hospital? That was an option, though one that Jed wasn’t a fan of. Hospitals meant paperwork and insurance and questions. All things they’d be better off avoiding. Then again, what if this was serious? What if it was, shit, some kind of ruptured something? That happened, right? He watched television sometimes. People died from rupturing things or pulmonary whatevers.

Redford was twisting in his arms, agony turning any attempt at words into a prolonged scream. Desperate, Jed laid Redford out on the floor and ran to his doorway, jerking it open and shouting David’s name. No answer. The cocksucker was gone, along with his nerdy bitch boyfriend, and whatever help they might have given was gone with them. Damn them both.

Although what kind of help could they possibly offer? More fairy tales? Stories about garlic and silver bullets? Jed needed some
real
assistance. He’d been entertaining the notion of children’s stories for too long now. This was the real world. And in the
real
world, when people were hurt, they needed a doctor, not a professor of goddamn linguistics. Whatever the fuck that was.

“Okay,” he muttered to himself, jerking on some pants. “Hospital. We’re going to the hospital, Red, you hear me? You’re going to be just fine.”

Gathering Redford up in his arms, he grunted a little at the weight. The man seemed more… solid, now, if that was possible. As he grabbed a pair of sweats to dress Redford in, there was a horrible
shift
. A cracking sound, like bones snapping into place, like joints sliding around like Legos, and Jed almost dropped him. “Jesus fuck,” he gasped, eyes wide, staring down at….

That wasn’t Redford.

That terrible grinding sound was still happening, the joints in Redford’s arms shifting and changing direction. His eyes were
yellow
, fangs beginning to protrude from his mouth, the bones in his jaw elongating, filling out the muzzle. Redford was struggling out of his arms, dropping to curl up into a ball on the floor again, and Jed watched with horror as his spine shifted under his skin, stretching out.

Okay, well then. Maybe he’d owe David a call after all.

He hadn’t lived this long without being able to adjust on the fly. It was still utterly unbelievable to him, but Jed figured he’d take time to curl up into a gibbering wreck later. Right then he had about two minutes until there was a very large, hairy
something
on his floor, and unlike Knievel’s contributions that fit that bill, this thing had fangs.

No time to do the tying-up thing. Jed grabbed his tranq gun, chambering a couple of rounds of the good stuff in. Not that he planned on using it, unless absolutely necessary. This was still Redford, no matter how furry he’d gotten, and there was no way he was going to hurt the guy unless his ass was literally on the line.

Warily watching him, Jed couldn’t do much but wait. The last agonizing spasms were trembling through Redford’s body, fur growing over his skin, a bushy tail laying prone on the floor, his eyes glazed with pain and staring blankly up at the ceiling. He really was a
wolf
. Goddamn him right back to Sunday school.

Amazement turned to something else, some primal shot of cold, clammy fear, when the wolf stirred itself to its feet. Lips skimmed back to show fangs, ears pinned flat against its skull, the wolf growled a low rumble that echoed in Jed’s chest. This wasn’t a fluffy puppy. This was a killer.

Just fucking great.