Bloodlines Read online

  “Distanced from the rabble?” Victor smiled, turning his gaze back to the book. “I agree.”

  Randall almost said something; Victor could see it in his face. But, in the end, he simply sighed and said quietly, “Yes. That’s what I meant.”

  The road slipped by under their wheels, Jed actually keeping within the speed limit. Victor was shocked, though he did hear Jed muttering something about a death box on wheels, so it was possible the van simply couldn’t go much faster. After a while, Anthony was lulled to sleep, his head resting lightly against the window, but his legs shoved against Randall’s in a way that made Anthony seem like he took up far much more space than he really should be able to. Randall had shifted a bit closer to Victor, shrugging off his jacket to tuck around his brother with a fond little sigh.

  Edwin, a row in front of them, had instigated a car game with Jed and Redford. Redford had expressed confusion over what “I Spy” was, so now Jed was teaching him. From his position in the back, Victor could see a smile curved at the corner of Jed’s lips, fondness clear in his eyes as he looked at Redford.

  “You try it, Red,” Jed was prompting, cutting quick glances over at Redford in between watching the road.

  Victor caught the edge of a frown on Redford’s face. “I spy… something green,” Redford decided, making it sound like a question.

  “No.” Edwin heaved a long-suffering sigh. “You do it with the first letter. Like, I spy something that starts with T.”

  “Only in Loserville,” Jed shot back with a smirk. “Here in man’s country, we play with colors.”

  “Yeah, cause you can’t spell.” Edwin was laughing, grin lighting up his face.

  Jed stuck his tongue out at Edwin in the rearview mirror, because that was obviously the most mature way to win that argument. “Driver’s rules, Shaggy. You get your balls to drop, you can take over. Until then, we’re playing my way.”

  “Shouldn’t I be Scooby?” Edwin teased, not at all minding Jed’s vulgarity. “I think you’ve got the Shaggy part all taken care of.”

  “Seeing as how there’s four Scoobys in the car, I think we can share the title.” Redford laughed quietly. “Okay, how about we do both? I spy something that’s green and starts with a G.” He paused, uncertain. “Does that give it away too easily?”

  “Nope,” Jed said, ignoring Edwin’s nod in favor of kissing Redford’s knuckles. The motion was so easy, so automatic, that Victor almost looked away, feeling like he was looking in on a private moment. “Is it gophers?”

  Edwin and Redford started laughing again, Jed’s impish grin belying his innocent look. Gone was the usually guarded expression that sat on Jed’s face, discarded in favor of genuine affection. Victor hadn’t seen Jed get like that all that often, not when the man was too busy walling himself off. Something about Redford, Victor concluded, made it difficult for Jed to remain distant.

  He envied them.

  His gaze shifted to Anthony and Randall, watching them out of the corner of his eye. Anthony was still asleep, chin tucked to his chest, looking weary in a way he hadn’t looked while he was awake and too determined to not seem ill at all. He looked smaller right then, a contrast to the loudly cheerful, fiercely protective man that Victor had seen at dinner.

  Randall had his head down to read another book, his shoulder idly wedged against Anthony’s to make sure Anthony stayed upright in his sleep. This time, Victor’s gaze didn’t immediately go to the book. Instead, he looked at the man, the way dark hair fell over his forehead, the absent motion to push his glasses farther up his nose when they slipped. His hands were gentle, deliberate as they turned the pages, treating them with care.

  Victor, in his history of dating, had a type. He didn’t say that he had a type, but every boyfriend he’d had had been the same. Before David, they’d been safe. A little boring. People like him who had no real ambition beyond sitting in the parlor room at noon and drinking tea. David had been the outlier, a man who had come along at a time when Victor had needed something different. Something that wasn’t what Victor had grown up with and was surrounded by.

  David had been dangerous, darkly handsome, confident, a predator’s sway to his movements that had utterly captivated Victor.

  But in the end, it hadn’t worked. David had been too wrapped up in issues of blood and sex tangling together, and Victor had gotten too addicted to the same. And everything Victor had wanted with David—the danger, the darkness, the chaos—had seemed too dangerous. He still recalled perfectly that night in Cairo where David had nearly drained him. Victor remembered laughing, being so high on adrenaline that he wouldn’t have cared if he’d lived or died.

  And a small part of him still craved that. Though David was gone, and Victor tried to keep telling himself it was for the better, he still couldn’t stand the thought of going back to a boring life and boring boyfriends who asked how his day went and wanted nothing more than to come home from work and watch the television for a bit before going to bed. The thought of domesticity, of settling down, was horrifying.

  So as he looked at Randall, Victor couldn’t help but try to place the man into one of those two categories, dangerous or safe. He found he couldn’t. On the surface, Randall was mild mannered and soft-spoken, tentative in the way he approached most things. But there was an undercurrent of strength that Victor found himself fascinated by. A firmness to Randall’s words, a dedication to his passions, the protectiveness of his brothers.

  Randall was a wolf. There was no way he could fit in the boring and safe category. And yet he was sitting there reading a book entitled Japanese Water Demon Myths.

  Shifting slightly beside him, Randall looked over just in time to catch Victor’s gaze.

  Victor didn’t think anything of it at first, idly noting that Randall had quite nice eyes, a dark hazel that seemed lighter when the sun caught them. He didn’t notice the sound fading out around him. Only when his vision started blurring around the edges did he catch on, and fear spiked through him. There was no time to do anything other than shove himself away from Randall as far as he could, trying to brace himself on the opposite edge of the seat, and then—

  Safety. Warmth. A small cabin in the woods near a lake. Small, but full of love, of hugs good night, of silly bedtime songs. Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle. Forks running away with spoons. He was happy. Randall was happy with Anthony, with a mother and a father. With Edwin, barely able to walk, unsteady legs, two and then four.

  Running through the woods, following Anthony. Chasing the moon.

  Coming home to find Edwin hiding under the bed. Randall didn’t know why, knew that something bad had happened. Anthony telling him to stay back. Blood on the kitchen floor when he caught a glimpse over his brother’s shoulder, Mom and Dad lying so still.

  Living in the woods, knowing that his parents weren’t coming back but not understanding why. Anthony hunting to feed them, keeping them alive and warm and safe, the three of them living mostly as wolves in the forest for a few years since none of them were old enough to get jobs. Never quite sleeping, because the men with guns might come for them next. The hunters might take Anthony away if he closed his eyes. In a cave then, curled up together, three wolves huddled against the winter cold.

  A larger cabin. Helping Anthony, sneaking books from the library on how to build houses. He walked in the first time, to a sanctuary filled with books and things he could learn about, and he never wanted to leave. Randall found, there, every friend he’d wanted, every life he’d dreamed of, every country and every culture and every possibility given ink and paper. He’d spent hours there, that first day, and went back as often as he could. But his first book had been a guide to building a cabin out of logs, and he’d spent the next month chopping trees. He was all of eight, and he helped his twelve-year-old brother build their home.

  Randall going to school, getting there early in the hopes the teacher would impart more lessons before the bell rang. Edwin getting homeschooled because he c
ouldn’t sit in a confined classroom for too long. Anthony working, lying about his age to get jobs. Growing up depending on each other for everything, sharing every chore.

  Years passing, faster, school and books and college, finally. Acceptance to his chosen university after two years of saving, two years of local courses. Coming home with the letter to find his brother’s hands shaking so badly he couldn’t open the envelope. Doctors and tests and too many questions. Faking the paperwork so they could leave without giving too much away.

  Cairo. He shouldn’t have gone, but it was his last chance, his final escape. It was his dream, and the program had taken him out of hundreds of applicants. Fear. Blood. Pain. Good doggy. Chains.

  “Victor? He’s not responding. Anthony, hand me that water. Victor, can you hear me?”

  The face of the man who had saved him. Pale and exhausted, a bandage wrapped around his neck. The bustle of the airport around them. His Beatrice, leading him through heaven.

  Then—

  Possibilities. Arcing off into the distance like threads vanishing into the mist, only Victor could push that mist back, could see exactly where those threads ended, if they were cut or frayed or burned at the edges. Colors twined around each other, memories and emotions.

  Anthony growing sicker. Wasting away. Dying. Randall and Edwin alone at their brother’s grave. Randall going off to try to live, guilt eating at him, souring every attempt. Every start became an end, at the same grave. Bitter, alone, grieving.

  More death. Hunters. A hole through Randall’s chest. His head. Over and over, the threads ended in him falling, young and innocent and simply gone.

  One of those had Randall in Victor’s arms when the bullet came. Blood spattering Victor’s cheek, his glasses, as Randall gasped in pain. As he reached out. Apologies, only half said before the dark end.

  Or—

  There were other men. Happy, holding hands, tuxes and flowers and cake and family. Some of them stayed, some of them faded, but those threads didn’t burn as bright as—

  In bed, while flares of red and yellow from the bonfire lit up the room. Randall smiling, eyes reflecting the bursts from outside the window. Victor kissing him, soft, then urgent, fumbling together for the first time, for many times to come. Tuxes and flowers and cake and family. Anthony better. Anthony worse. Anthony gone, Randall clinging to Victor by a gravesite. Older then, with children. With Edwin coming over for dinners. With no one but themselves. Age finding them, white haired and holding hands, sitting on a long pier and looking out over the ocean.

  And then—

  Something dark in the distance in all the possible futures, but so far off that Victor barely grasped the sensation of it.

  Then—

  “Victor!” There was water splashed in his face, a hand shaking his shoulder. Jed’s voice, sounding like it was very far away and once removed, calling him back. “Come on, princess, wakey-wakey.”

  There was some kind of material shoved in Victor’s mouth, clamped between his teeth as his muscles shook, trembling out a last few painful spasms. He tried to make a noise, tried to tell them he was quite okay, thank you very much. He didn’t need to be fussed over.

  He scrambled out of the van, fell heavily on the ground beside the road, and threw up.

  Wonderful.

  Randall was next to him a few moments later, rubbing his back soothingly, handing him a fresh bottle of water. The man didn’t say anything at first, more concerned with taking his coat from where it had been in the car, obviously discarded when Anthony had woken, and wrapping it around Victor’s shoulders. After a moment, Randall asked, worried, “Are you all right? Do you have something you need, medication or… or something I can do to help?”

  Victor fumbled with the water bottle as he tried to open it, but he managed to twist the top off, swishing the water around in his mouth before spitting it into the grass. Christ, he needed to brush his teeth.

  At least he seemed to be coherent and cognizant. He hadn’t snapped. Yet.

  “There’s medication in my bag,” he managed, lifting the water bottle to press against his forehead. The coolness of it sent waves of relief through the pain throbbing in his temples. “It’s in blue packaging. For migraines.”

  Randall scrambled back to the van. Redford was immediately there to take his place, hovering in front of Victor and helping him move to sit on the running board in the open door of the van. Jed was standing a slight distance away, Edwin and Anthony beside him, watching Victor carefully.

  “You really need to stop doing that,” Redford said quietly. “You’ve probably never seen what you look like, but your eyes roll back and you seize. It’s terrifying. And sometimes you make these noises, like you’re scared or angry.”

  “Yeah, like a pea soup spewing freak show,” Jed interjected, arms folded over his chest, squinting at Victor as if he was trying to figure him out. Possibly there was concern there too, but Victor was too busy trying to not have his head explode to look for it. “So, you know. Cut that shit out.”

  “Here, take this.” Randall’s soft voice came from over his shoulder. The pills were pressed into Victor’s hands, followed by the toothbrush and toothpaste Randall had obviously found in Victor’s bag. “Just, uh, I wasn’t sure if you wanted those, but I thought you might.”

  Victor slowly took the pills, trying not to move his head too much. He managed to unscrew the toothpaste cap, which he counted as a personal victory. “No, I think you may be a mind reader,” he said, barely whispering. He figured out the mechanics of brushing ones teeth without access to a tap and basin—toothpaste on the brush, a bit of water from the bottle, brush and spit. It was hardly dignified, but it got the horrendous taste out of his mouth.

  He could hear Redford and Jed talking lowly, but Victor stayed right where he was, waiting for the pills to start to kick in. So far, none of the Lewises had demanded answers, though Victor had a feeling Edwin was only being contained by the force of Randall’s glare. Minutes later, Victor estimated, the pain in his temples finally began to die down, and he gave a groan of relief, cradling his head in his hands.

  “I’m so terribly sorry,” he said, trying to raise his voice to be heard by everyone. Especially Jed, who Victor was sure was likely staring at the clock and being none too happy that they were losing driving time. “It was an accident.”

  He was normally so careful. Ever since he’d first learned about his ability, he’d had to get used to the idea of never meeting the eyes of another human being. He’d had accidents, a few of them when he was young, but Victor normally kept such rigid control over where he directed his eyes that he hadn’t had an accident in years.

  And even though he’d go insane from it one day, even though his mind would crack and he’d no longer be himself, Victor still remembered the eye contact fondly. A little piece of human connection that most took for granted. A little piece of knowledge that nobody else had. He craved it, a little. That knowing. It was like, despite the pain, despite the threat of madness, in that small moment he was fulfilling something he needed to become.

  “I’ll be right in a few minutes,” he continued, raising his head to squint at them. “Just as soon as I’m sure that I’m not going to vomit in the van.” He was sure Jed would appreciate that.

  Out of the corner his eye, he caught sight of Anthony, and the pang that hit his chest surprised even him. For a moment, Victor wasn’t sure where the emotion had come from—until he saw, in his mind’s eye, the moment that Randall had realized his older brother was sick, and the worry that had come from that. Remembering that tipped his mind in the direction of the future threads he’d seen, and—

  Well, one of those was not the sort of thing he’d expected to see.

  He’d been married to Randall. Not only that, but they’d adopted children, they’d grown old together in the most perfect, normal, picket fence life that Victor could ever imagine.

  The thought made him slightly queasy. It was nothing against Randall
. It was the thought of two-point-five children and a perfectly idyllic, perfectly boring life that didn’t sound like all that great of an ideal to Victor. It wasn’t what he wanted out of life. He wouldn’t have dated David if he’d wanted a little white house and a dog. Or a wolf, as it were.

  “Right, I feel like I’m not going to fall over,” he announced, bracing against the edge of the van to push himself to his feet. He nearly tripped over Knievel, scowling when the cat hissed at him and darted away. Randall was next to him instantly, leaving off the argument he’d been having with Jed over pulling out his battery-operated hot plate to make a pot of tea, slipping an arm around his waist to help support him. The man blushed, the tips of his ears turning bright red, but he very gently, very carefully, helped Victor into a seat.

  The sheer contentment that settled inside Victor’s chest was alarming. This was the worst part of his visions, the way those memories and possibilities broke off inside his mind and left little shards that remained. Thankfully, as Randall had not lived nearly as long as David had, this time around it wasn’t quite as disorienting.

  “You shouldn’t be moving,” Randall chided softly, crouching down next to him, fussing with a washrag that he was pouring cold water over. He even fished out some ice from the cooler and wrapped that inside of it, hushing Victor’s protests and easing him to lean forward so he could wrap the wet cloth around the back of his neck. “Just close your eyes. Jed is going to stop at the first place we can find, and I’ll get you some tea. Do you need anything else?”

  “You sound like you’ve dealt with migraines before,” Victor said, reaching up to press the cold cloth tighter to his skin.

  There was a brief fumbled movement, an awkward clearing of Randall’s throat, and then his fingers, light and unsure, touched Victor’s temples. “I used to get them a lot,” he said lowly, voice pitched into a reassuring rumble as he rubbed circles against Victor’s skin. The light pressure combined with the cool cloth was absolutely heavenly, and Victor found himself leaning into it. “Before I had my glasses. And Anthony gets them now, from time to time, even though he pretends he’s unaffected.”