Blood Howl (5 page)

It didn’t. Seven years, it’d just been him and the cat, and all at once
now
it felt like home.

“Sorry.” It sounded like the apology was Redford’s instinctual response to everything. The man appeared in his peripheral vision, obviously trying to decide if he should sit. If the decision was finally made, it was obviously to remain standing. “Okay,” Redford sounded a little more decisive, even standing up straighter, and damn it if Jed’s traitorous gaze didn’t go to the way his shoulders filled out the shirt so much better when he wasn’t trying to hide inside of his skin. “So I’ll stay here. With you. May I look around?”

“Yeah, knock yourself out,” Jed said, pretending to be absorbed in the television. He watched, though, curious to see what Red would think of the place.

Snooping
wasn’t quite the right word to describe what Redford started doing. He certainly didn’t start going through drawers or opening doors that were closed. Instead, he wandered tentatively through the places of the apartment that were open, pausing occasionally to lean in close to something. Jed would swear that he actually
sniffed
his fridge and recoiled, nose wrinkled in disgust. Yeah, he should possibly get rid of the moldy cheese. It was probably evolving into its own Bronze Age right now. Soon, Jed suspected, he might open the fridge and discover that the cheese had invented the wheel.

The cupboard was next, and although Redford didn’t open it, it was given the same treatment, this time without the obvious recoil. Kitchen done, Redford made his way down—bypassing the storage room, thankfully—and right into the bedroom area, partially hidden by the folding screen blocking the bed from the rest of the apartment. Since there was no scream of horror, Jed had to assume Redford wasn’t trying to go through the drawers in there, either.

Bedroom done, the bathroom was obviously next on the list. The room was angled so that Jed couldn’t see what he was doing from the couch, no matter how much he craned his neck. “You have a really big shower.” Redford’s amazed voice drifted from the bathroom, and by the sound of his footsteps, he might actually be
in
it.

“Yeah, it’s got great water pressure, too.” Jed couldn’t help the leer. Come on, he was only human! “You want me to show you?”

“I had a shower this morning,” came the oblivious reply. Redford came back out, and after a moment of hesitation, sank down to sit next to Jed on the couch. Where Jed was sprawled out, taking up as much room as humanly possible, Redford attempted to take as little as he could, legs tucked underneath him.

For a moment, Jed was quiet. Kind of an Olympian feat for him, really. Fidgeting, flicking the channels like a madman, he finally started, quietly, “Red, I—”

Saved by the doorbell, thank God. Practically vaulting over the back of the couch, Jed scrambled for the door, greeting Manny with a wide grin. “Hey, sweetcheeks. You have no idea how great your timing is.” He handed the man a bill and waved him off with the change. Any tip in the world was well worth that he’d been interrupted before he said or did something stupid. Heading to the kitchen, he rustled around for two beers, glancing over when Red joined him. “Plates are in that cupboard.” He nodded his chin toward it. “You need a glass for your beer?” Did he even own a glass?

“Oh.” Redford looked a little startled at the offer. “I’ll just have water. Thank you.” The plates were put on the counter, and Redford went hunting for a glass. Jed was pretty sure that he wouldn’t actually find one, but, miracle of miracles, Redford eventually came up brandishing a mug, which proudly proclaimed
I Got it On in Hong Kong
. It’d do.

Flipping open the box, Jed stared for a moment. “I got extra sausage with my pizza,” he said, a little surprised, as Red brushed up behind him, trying to get to the paper towels.

Oh, God. Someone up there was laughing their stupid ass off over this. He was officially the brunt of a cosmic joke.

“Is that bad?” Redford looked completely bewildered at his reaction. “I like sausage.”

Yup. A horrible, horrible joke.

“So do I, babe,” Jed sighed, serving up two slices, grabbing both beers. He had a feeling he’d need them. “You have no idea.”

Slinging himself into his chair, he took a big bite, half groaning in satisfaction. Jesus, that was good. He hadn’t realized how hungry he’d been until he began eating. “So, uh, I don’t know. This is where we do small talk, probably, right?” He lifted one shoulder in a shrug, gulping down his beer. “Gotta admit, sugarlips, I’m kind of horrible at this whole thing. You got any preference about dinner conversation?”

In response, Redford stared at him for a moment and then slowly leaned over to reach out for the changer and hit the volume button. He flicked through the channels, settling on some nature documentary.

“I’m not really good at conversation,” Redford said apologetically, but he was smiling, the expression held more in his eyes than anywhere else. Surprisingly, Jed found himself wanting to do anything he could just to see that happen more. He’d never felt like that before, never even come close to the warmth that had settled somewhere in his chest. “I usually just read during dinner.”

“Yeah?” He gave Redford a crooked smile back, grabbing another slice of pizza and settling into his chair. “What kind of stuff, professor?”

Redford shrugged, looking back at the television. “Anything. My grandma, she—there’s a lot of books in the house.” He stumbled over his words. “She liked mythology best. The Greek pantheon.” Redford paused to take a small bite, his way of eating not really making it obvious if he was actually enjoying the pizza or not. “Science, too. But mostly stories.” That was probably the most Redford had said at once; it was practically a speech.

Jed’s favorite books had pictures of things like overly built alien men on the covers and included lots of probing. Somehow, he doubted his and Redford’s tastes ran in the same direction. “Mythology, that’s like… werewolves and silver bullets and shit, right?”

He didn’t miss the odd flinch that shuddered through Redford’s shoulders. “Yes.” He may have almost sounded something approaching enthusiastic earlier, talking about the books, but his voice had turned back into the hesitant whisper. “Something like that.”

Now, he might live his life from the distance of a sniper’s scope, but Jed did know people. He had to be able to read them from far off, to know the tilt of the shoulders or the clench of a jaw and guess what it meant. Whatever he’d just said had stumbled right into a sore spot for Redford. Which was ridiculous, really, because he’d just been talking about werewolves, but somehow it had shut Redford down, faster than anything. Before he could think too much about it, Jed reached across the table and curled his fingers around Redford’s, trying to meet his eyes. “Hey,” he whispered, frowning. “Where’d you just go?”

The smile Redford gave was obviously forced. “Nowhere. Sorry. I didn’t—sorry, it’s nothing, really.” Yeah, because that was convincing. “It’s just… you really don’t know why that client wanted me to be taken?” Somehow, Jed got the feeling the change of topic wasn’t random.

Silent, Jed simply rocked back in his chair, studying Redford over his beer. There was something he was missing, some piece of the puzzle he didn’t even know was in play. Which was a pretty big damn deal, considering he barely knew what direction he was swinging in. Now he had Oliver Twist over here holding out on him.

“You know what I always thought?” he said conversationally, ignoring the question for the moment. “Werewolves and all that shit, they got a bad rap. I mean, I’ve seen some stuff, professor. You’ve no idea what kind of evil wanders around the world, looking just as respectable as you and me.
Real
evil, okay, not the cute, sparkly shit that passes for it in movies. And I just think that if I was a werewolf or a, I don’t know, troll or whatever, who the fuck would care? Wouldn’t mean a damn thing. These stories are just aching for a bad guy and go for the obvious, when really, evil doesn’t have fangs. It has a credit card and a suit.”

Thumping the empty bottle down, he reached for the second, twisting off the cap and flicking it off for Knievel to chase. “All I know, sunshine, is that he thinks you belong to him.” Jed met his eyes steadily, asking the question he didn’t even know the words for. “And he doesn’t sound like the type of guy to just drop things.”

It looked like he’d just made a speech about how the sky was green. Redford was staring at him like he was an alien—although maybe one that had just said something really unexpectedly nice. He took a while to answer, pretending to be absorbed in moving the bottle cap around for Knievel. Finally, guarded, he looked back up at Jed. “I can trust you, can’t I?”

Well, now they were getting somewhere. Jed shrugged, seemingly half asleep, watching the cat bat happily at the cap. His expression, though, was sharp and interested when he finally looked up at Redford. “Yeah,” he mused, scratching his jaw. “Yeah, I guess you can.”

Redford took a deep breath, obviously bracing himself. “Okay. I’m a werewolf.”

For a moment, Jed stared, waiting for the punch line, because werewolves weren’t real. They just
weren’t
. Republicans were real. Mobsters were real. Werewolves were just a bedtime story, like the tooth fairy and straight men who turned full-time gay. When Redford just stared at him with those stupid, puppy eyes, Jed stood, a bit too suddenly, knocking over his chair and fumbling with it when it crashed to the ground.

“Right. Well, I don’t think there’s a group for that, but thanks for sharing.” He grabbed the pizza box, more to have something to do than a real need to clean. Bustling about, putting things away, he tried to figure out what the chances were that Redford was just deep-down crazy.

Thing was, the guy was odd, sure, but he didn’t strike Jed as nuthouse material.

“Look,” he finally managed, leaning against the wall, rubbing his forehead fitfully, “you know that werewolves aren’t
real
, right? I mean… is that some metaphor for something? Or are you one of those, I don’t know, those people who post stuff online? Jesus, Redford.” He was laughing, now, not out of humor so much as the inability to think of any other response, “I… a
werewolf
?”

“Yes,” Redford replied miserably. He hadn’t moved, staring down at the floor. “It’s probably why that client wants me. To kill me. Because I’m a monster.”

Okay. So. This was a little more than he’d expected to deal with today. Then again, so was everything that had happened since his phone had rung, with Fil the cheerful client on the other end, so maybe it wasn’t so bad. Sighing, he went to crouch in front of Redford, carefully taking his hands in his own, covering them, like he could somehow wrap them up and then everything would be all right. “You’re not a monster,” he said quietly. Whatever else, it was clear Redford believed this. So maybe he was a little crazy. There were worse things to be. “Nobody—and I mean
nobody
, sweetheart—is going to kill you. You’re safe here. I’ll make sure of it.”

A beat and he cracked a smile, ducking his head to get Redford to look at him. “So, can I call you Fido?”

There it was, the second laugh he’d heard out of Redford today. It wasn’t like how normal people laughed. It was hesitant, barely more than an exhale of air.

It was perfect.

“If you must,” Redford sighed, sounding slightly resigned, a little apologetic. “But no jingly bell, okay?”

“Deal.” He grinned, tipping his head forward to rest his forehead against Redford’s. They were achingly close, and yet somehow it wasn’t enough. Whatever spell this guy had put on him, it was impossible to shake. “Let me make up the bed for you,” Jed murmured, closing his eyes and reminding himself that Redford was not his type. He liked his type. His type worked for him. Branching out was for other people; his life, as it was, was exactly what he wanted. He didn’t need anyone messing that up. “You, uh, need some clothes to sleep in? I think my stuff’ll fit you.”

Redford nodded as much as he could, and he didn’t pull away. He actually leaned in a little closer, like a lazy cat reaching for the square of sunlight on the carpet. Or a dog reaching for its master’s hand. There had to be a suitable werewolf analogy there somewhere. “That would be good. I can sleep on the couch, though; you don’t need to give up your bed.”

Fingertips brushed along Redford’s jaw, featherlight and awed, and Jed wondered at the warmth that had settled in his gut, the tendrils reaching out to shiver up his spine. “I don’t sleep much,” he whispered, their lips so close he could feel each of Redford’s exhales as his own. “Bed might as well go to the person who’ll get the most use out of it.”

“Okay.” The reply was so quiet he barely heard it above the sound of their breaths. Jed’s hands found his again, and Redford hesitantly tightened his fingers around Jed’s, cautious but still not moving away. “Thank you.”

Once, in Sarajevo, Jed had been flying in after dark with his team. They were on their way to a palace of some sort, some kind of assassination. He couldn’t really remember details. They all blurred together after a while. What he did remember was that it was his first time jumping out of an airplane, outside of training. It defied all logic, jumping. Even though he knew he had a parachute, even though he was perfectly aware that he wouldn’t die, it just didn’t make sense to take that plunge. God, he must have talked himself out of it a thousand times. All he could remember was standing at the door, wind whistling around him louder than a freight train, heart hammering, wondering what kind of fucking idiot leaped out of a plane.

But then he did. There wasn’t anything like it, that rush, the feeling of absolute freedom. All that logic, all that fear, it didn’t matter once he let go.

Leaning forward that last half an inch was the stupidest thing he could recall doing in recent history. But then their lips met, Redford’s soft and warm under his, and all that was left was the rush. A quiet noise caught in the back of Redford’s throat, and Jed’s hand slipped up to gently tangle fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. They fell into one another with a sigh, with a breath of longing, and Jed couldn’t even begin to contemplate why anyone would hesitate before something this good.