Bloodlines (82 page)

Victor

E
VEN
IN
a mansion with forty-six individual rooms, two rowdy wolves somehow managed to make the place seem full. Once, Victor might have complained. Now he couldn’t help but smile at Anthony and Edwin bickering over the dinner table, Randall sitting exasperated between them.

In the end, Randall had not moved into Victor’s room—they’d agreed that doing so would be moving a little too quickly, though Victor had noticed Randall lingering in his room as if he wanted to get a feel for it, exploring every nook and cranny of the shelves and the adjoining office area. Randall had picked a room two doors down from Victor’s bedroom, while Anthony and Edwin had taken their rooms a little farther down the main hallway.

None of them had really unpacked yet. Anthony’s appointment had been entirely run of the mill. The doctor had told them that the real results would start to come in at the end of the week, and they just had to be patient. After that, the Lewises had seemed exhausted, listless even, more interested in crowding together in the living room than exploring the mansion. Victor just did his best to be a good host.

For dinner, Victor hadn’t even tried to cook; he’d ordered in from a nearby steak house. The dinner table was packed with various dishes, and Anthony seemed determined to hoard the fries for himself, playfully growling at Edwin whenever Edwin’s hand strayed too close.

Victor finally got himself sat down next to Randall and tried to decide if he was brave enough to join the food fray. He leaned in close to Randall and whispered, “Would I get growled at if I took that steak?”

A smile touched Randall’s lips. Instead of replying, he reached out to take the piece of meat Victor had indicated. Sure enough, as soon as his fork touched the steak, Edwin growled at him. But Randall simply showed his teeth, growling back, before they both grinned at each other and Randall victoriously deposited the requested food on Victor’s plate.

Victor clamped down on a laugh. It really was like living with, well, a wolf pack. He couldn’t even bring himself to mind the mess and the noise. In fact, he rather found himself liking it. They were Randall’s family, and as much as Victor didn’t usually get on with people, he did like Anthony and Edwin.

“You have a yard,” Edwin pointed out, happily cutting into his very rare steak. “And woods. I really wasn’t expecting that. You seem too, I don’t know. Stuffy.”

“For a yard?” Randall gave Edwin a look, eyebrow raised. “I wasn’t aware you had to be a certain type of person for that.”

“No, I mean, there’s just a lot of room to run. Stuffy people don’t normally have room to run. That’s why they’re stuffy.” Infallible logic dispensed, Edwin went back to his food, attempting again to steal some of Anthony’s fries.

“My grandparents and their parents before them
were
stuffy,” Victor agreed. “But they also liked to own a lot of land to show off their wealth, so in the end it’s a benefit.”

“I saw all those portraits in the hallway,” Anthony said around a mouthful of steak. His eyebrows were drawn down, a question in his expression that he seemed hesitant to ask. But he finally said, “It’s okay if I look at the portraits, right? A picture of an old-school medusa won’t steal my soul or something?”

Well, that was a fear Victor had certainly never heard before. “No, they’re just oil paintings.” He started to smile, bemused. “Did you already avoid looking into their eyes?”

Anthony’s answer was mumbled, but it still sounded distinctly like a
yes
.

“What if they already have stolen your soul,” Randall intoned, completely deadpan. “How would you know? Maybe you’re soulless.”

“It could happen,” Victor agreed easily. “Perhaps older medusas had that power, to steal souls when they’re long dead. Maybe that’s why my mother’s family had the portraits made.”

Anthony looked unsure, his gaze darting between them. “You are joking, right?”

“Oh my God, I looked at
all
of them.” Edwin’s eyebrows were beetled together in distress. “What’s going to happen to me?”

Victor couldn’t restrain his smile anymore. At the sight of it, Anthony immediately slumped in relief. “They’re just kidding, Edwin,” Anthony said, scowling at them both. “I was about to start checking myself to see if I’d begun to turn into stone. I’ve heard too many creepy old stories about medusas.”

“There are just as many creepy stories about wolves.” Randall’s tone was mild, but Victor could see the protective tenseness in his shoulders. “We know better than anyone that old stories aren’t necessarily true. Especially not ones written by humans.”

Anthony looked apologetic and silently slid his closely guarded bowl of fries over to Victor. “Sorry,” Anthony said. “That was really rude of me, especially when you’re putting us up in your home.”

Victor just waved a hand. “Think nothing of it. I’d actually be interested in hearing those stories later. They’d be quite helpful for my research.”

“What’re you researching?” Edwin, seeing the fries had been moved from their fortified position, decided to take a daringly bold approach and just lunge for them. Anthony smacked his hand away, and Edwin sighed, glowering. “You
are
one. Seems silly to research yourself.”

“We’re a quickly fading bloodline,” Victor replied, not bothering to hide his smugness as he took fries without getting his hand slapped, “since many of us go insane before we have children. That, and we’re just not all that cleverly evolved to hide and manage our abilities, not like wolves or other types of half bloods. I feel something of a sense of obligation to document us before we vanish completely.”

“You should have kids,” Edwin said, stealing another steak. “A lot of them. After you guys get married you could get one of those… what are they called, Ant?”

“Surrogates.” Anthony looked like he’d had this kind of conversation with Edwin before. “But not everybody wants to have children, Edwin. And not everybody wants to have a surrogate, either.”

“And not everyone who dates gets married.” Randall’s words were a little tense, his gaze flicking over toward Victor and away again. “In any case, Victor has a lot of years to decide that, and for now, I think it’s admirable that he’s assembling a work on medusas. They are a fascinating race.”

A warm flush of pride made Victor smile. He didn’t often feel that being a medusa was something to be
proud
of. Somehow, Randall made it sound like it should be. “Thank you,” he murmured, privately pleased. Randall’s hand found his, as it so often seemed to, squeezing gently.

They ate the rest of their dinner amidst chatter between the wolves, which Victor listened to but didn’t feel the need to join in. Honestly, it was just nice having company in this big, old mansion, so much so that he really didn’t mind that Edwin threatened to throw food at Anthony. He would have made them clean it up, of course, but it would have been amusing.

Victor was content to occasionally lean his shoulder against Randall’s as they passed food between them, sharing bites of various dishes. He had never particularly wanted domesticity, but now that he had it, Victor was starting to find that he quite liked it. There was just something so peaceful about being by the side of someone he trusted unconditionally, sharing the smallest of things with them with no need for the usual small talk.

When everyone had eaten their fill, Anthony made motions like he wanted to start cleaning up, but Victor’s stern expression stopped him in his tracks. “You are going to have a relaxing evening,” he ordered. “There’s a living room with a television at the end of the hall.”

“We’re going outside.” Edwin looked determined, hands on Anthony’s shoulders. “You were cooped up in that hospital all day. Even if you’re too tired to run, we’re going to go out in the woods, and you’re going to get some fresh air.”

“Thank God,” Anthony sighed, glad for the offer. “Your mansion is lovely, Victor, but after the hospital, any four walls and a ceiling feel too close.”

“Not at all. Go have fun. Just don’t kill anything on the adjoining properties,” Victor said. “The last thing I want is my irritating neighbors raising a fuss about predators in the woods.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Randall grin, quickly ducking his head as if to hide it. Victor gave him a curious look, but Randall was apparently trying too hard to bite back laughter to answer. At what, Victor wasn’t sure.

“Okay, then we’ll see you guys later,” Anthony replied. “And hey, just so you know, we’ll be out of earshot. So we won’t be hearing anything that comes from this part of the mansion.”

“Thank you,” Victor gritted out around a smile. “That’s very kind of you.”

Anthony slung his arm around Edwin’s shoulders, and as they left, he just grinned back at them before turning the corner. Victor had to wonder if Anthony was already anticipating that they’d go further than simply seeing each other. He seemed incredibly invested in keeping them happy and together.

Yesterday, when he and Randall had arrived home from dinner, they had agreed on another date tonight. Unfortunately, with the rush of the hospital appointment and getting their belongings to Victor’s house, planning any grand ideas had slipped Victor’s mind. They’d already eaten, so that was out.

He thought he might have a better plan.

“Would you like to take a walk around the gardens with me?” he asked Randall.

A slow smile spread easily across Randall’s lips, softening the tense worry and exhaustion he seemed to be carrying around so heavily. “I feel very Victorian Romance in this, but I would very much enjoy that, yes.”

Just to play up the theme, Victor offered his arm. “There’s no time like the present, then, is there?”

Randall slipped his hand into the crook of Victor’s arm. “Lead the way, good sir.”

The gardens were never something Victor paid attention to. He appreciated them, but he had absolutely nothing resembling a green thumb, so he employed landscapers to keep them in shape. His mother, he recalled, had loved the gardens. She had spent a lot of time out there, clipping the roses and making sure everything was well structured and growing according to plan.

He took Randall to the outer east edge, leading him to the path that started a winding trail through the growing vines that twisted over trellises. It was not yet fully dark, the sinking sun lending an orange glow to the light.

“This is absolutely lovely, Victor,” Randall breathed, his fingers going out to trail along the petals of the gardenia bush they passed. “It’s like something out of a book.”

“My mother loved it here. Every time I was here during school break, it seemed she would spend half her time in the garden,” Victor replied. “She was very careful to cull out the ones I was allergic to. I unfortunately wouldn’t know a cactus from a Venus flytrap.”

Randall stooped down, studying the flowers that lined the path. The broad purple petals were spread out gracefully against dark-green leaves, and Randall seemed to choose one carefully, picking it and standing again. He tucked the flower into the buttonhole of Victor’s jacket. “This is not a Venus flytrap,” he informed Victor, teasing. “It’s an iris. You have so many out here, they’re like a carpet of color. It’s beautiful.”

“I didn’t know what they were,” Victor said, peering at the flower in his jacket. He laughed softly, pulling Randall in tighter against his side. “Apt, I suppose. My mother’s name was Iris.”

Randall pressed a kiss to his jaw. “We’ll put vases full of them everywhere in the house. It’ll make the whole place smell like out here.”

Randall was making plans for the house. That made Victor smile to himself, though he didn’t comment on it out loud. What they had was still tentative in many ways, and he didn’t want to force Randall to stand by or discard those words. Instead, he just took Randall down a bend in the path toward the roses.

The roses were probably the part of the garden that Victor liked the most. There was every shade of rose imaginable planted together in clusters of color, framed with low-lying bushes to line the sides of the paths. In the middle of the circle where the paths came together there was a fountain, one that Victor hadn’t switched on for some time, depicting a full-blooded medusa of old, her fierce gaze looking north, the stone snakes that made up her hair looking like they would come alive at any second.

“I always hated this thing.” Victor chuckled as they stood at the base of it. “It used to make me fear that my hair would do that, no matter how much my parents reassured me it wouldn’t. It always made me glad that I did not spend much time here when I was growing up—sometimes I would look out my bedroom window and I could swear that the statue was looking at me.”

Breathing out a quick laugh, Randall leaned forward, inspecting the statue. He pressed his glasses up farther on his nose in an absent gesture, his whole expression one of intent contemplation. “I didn’t know medusas could be men before I met you,” Randall said lowly, musing as he circled the statue to see it from all angles. “They’re always shown like this, a powerful matriarch figure, her hair, the symbol of her femininity, literally alive and full of dangerous intent. It’s such a striking image, really. Taking back the traditional ideals of what women were in those times. I always was quite fond of them in myths. I thought they must be so lonely.”

Victor was so absorbed in listening to Randall speak that he forgot to reply in kind for a good few seconds once silence had settled in. “Medusas usually are women,” he agreed. “My grandfather and I are statistical outliers.” He settled a hand on Randall’s back, quite enjoying watching him study the statue. “I’m surprised you thought they were lonely. Most people thought they were monsters.”

“Most people believe I eat children.” Randall shrugged, head tipped back as he stared at the statue—meeting her blank stone eyes without fear, Victor realized. “I don’t believe in monsters. At least, I don’t believe it when the books tell me they are.”

“You’ve got more common sense than most, then.” Victor smiled. “Shall we continue? We’ve got half the garden to go yet, and the sun is setting fast.”