The Gray Lady was seated, pouring a cup of tea, seemingly unconcerned with him. Randall politely stood by the doorway, closing it behind him to keep the damp morning air from her warm cabin. Long seconds turned to minutes, ticking away, but Randall was silent. The Gray Lady seemed to demand that kind of patience.

A low table filled one half of the room, but Randall didn't dare sit. The Gray Lady was at the head, holding court with ghosts, the gentle morning breeze curling around the bright fabrics that covered the windows. Last night the room had seemed so much more welcoming. Then again, last night Randall had his family by his side. Now it was only him.

Finally, she spoke. "You have sought me out, little one." There was a laugh in her voice. Her eyes sought his over the rim of her mug. "I did not realize we had an appointment."

"You said you needed time to think." Randall took a step forward, hands spread in supplication. "I realize that it's only been a day-"

"Less than that." The Lady set her cup down, legs crossed and arms resting loosely on her knees as she leaned forward to study him with that intent, piercing gaze. "Barely a full night pa.s.sed before you were back at my door."

"I know," Randall admitted, having the grace, at least, to sound sheepish. "I apologize. But the matter at hand is not one that allows for procrastination."

"You think I am dawdling?" Her voice trilled upward, not entirely in amus.e.m.e.nt, a warning entering her words.

"I think that if you are who I believe you to be, you hardly needed time to think. You knew what you wanted to do the moment we arrived." There was a faint accusation there, Randall raising his jaw slightly. "My brother is a wolf, my lady. He is one of yours. Whatever our parents' sins in your eyes, I do not believe you intend to deny him."

"Oh, really? And tell me, little wolf, how do you know my mind?"

"You are Liadan. The mother of us all. I've read about you all my life. My father kept books, and I read them all. You wouldn't turn away a wolf in need." Randall took another step closer, daring in his desperation. "My brother is ill, my lady. Tell me what you need me to do, what I should say, what the magic words are. Tell me anything and I'll do it. Just tell me you'll help him."

Another silence descended on them, this one unbearable. Randall wanted to scream at her, to rip the silence apart, to force her to speak. But he made himself stand still as she stared at him, eyes calm. She stood, every movement liquid, turning her back to him while she prepared more tea, as if there was nothing else to do that day besides make tea. At the fireplace in the corner, she made busy work with the kettle and water, pouring in careful, measured moments. In that moment, Randall hated her. She held Anthony's life in her hands, and she refused to speak.

"He is a leader, your brother," the Gray Lady mused as she added sugar to the cup. "We have need of those. You and your brother are strong, healthy, so he must be fit to lead."

"He's taken care of us our whole lives," Randall said, voice tight, studying the line of her back, the set of her shoulders, trying to read anything at all from her. "He's never gotten to be anything but our brother. Even when he was a kid, all he did was protect us. He's the best man in the world."

The clink of her spoon against the china was like nails grating against his back. He wanted an answer. He'd done the research, he'd read the books, and he knew what it should be. But she was refusing to give him the satisfaction of it, the peace of knowing that he'd done what he was supposed to. When she at last returned to her seat, Randall's hands were all but shaking, his nails digging into his palms as he forced himself to remain silent, waiting for her.

"You are very impertinent, speaking to me as you do. You are not your pack's leader."

She didn't sound angry, but Randall instinctively took a step back, his shoulders losing some of their defiant slant. "I know," he agreed quietly. "But-"

"But it's for your brother," she finished, and Randall nodded. The spoon was moved slowly in her tea, silver dragging through tan. She seemed entranced by it, letting the quiet fall once more. Her next words held an edge of warning. "The pack is kept safe only by its cohesion. I will not tolerate any lone wolves. Those who leave will be cutting themselves off from my protection."

Randall nodded. Whatever the price, it would be worth it, if it got Anthony the help he needed. "We are not our parents," he reminded her.

"No," the Gray Lady agreed. "You are not." That seemed to decide her. She put the tea aside, standing and holding out her hand. "You and your brothers may stay. We will give you whatever a.s.sistance we have."

It was like a dark, tangled ball of sour fear was suddenly pulled from his throat. Randall took her hand, bowing his head to kiss her knuckles, grat.i.tude babbling out of him, the words all slurred together and meaningless. She smiled at him, and with a graceful gesture she led him to the door. "Geoffry"-she gestured to one of the wolves-"let the healers know that Anthony Lewis is to be put in their care. Give him whatever help he requires."

Randall turned to thank her again, only to find her shaking her head. "I do not know if there is anything we can do," she warned quietly. "His sickness may be beyond the scope of our healers. But if your brother is to die, at least he will do so with his own kind."

And then she was gone. Geoffry had taken off, leaving the remaining guardian to watch Randall climb down the stairs, walk across the gra.s.s, in a daze. It felt like he'd been in the Gray Lady's presence for hours, and yet the sun was barely peeking above the horizon. Nothing at all had changed.

He wanted to feel relief. Instead, that knot of fear simply settled back in, clutching at him. They were there. They were accepted.

But it might not make any difference at all.

His feet led him. Randall barely paid attention to where he was walking, his shoes damp in the gra.s.s, faint shivers sliding down his arms. Randall wasn't one for wolfish running, for letting go of everything but instincts. At the moment, though, he felt the need to be wolfish. He didn't shift, but he wandered around the outside of the camp, near the trees, lost in his own head, in a thousand thoughts and none at all. The wild woods called to him, and he let himself be drawn in, barely aware when he walked past the van that had brought them there, now parked by the path that had led them to the clearing.

"Randall!" Victor's voice sounded decidedly croakier than usual. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

At the sound of his name, Randall jumped, startled, turning toward Victor and showing his teeth. His eyes blazed yellow, a growl rumbling out before his thoughts managed to catch up to what was happening. Randall choked back the rest of the warning sound, fumbling his gla.s.ses off to clean them on the edge of his sweater, trying to look like he hadn't just acted like an idiot puppy during a thunderstorm.

"Sorry," he mumbled, shoving his gla.s.ses back on his nose and giving Victor an embarra.s.sed look. "I was a bit distracted."

"Oh. Er, that's quite all right," Victor said haltingly, peering at him. He was sitting in the driver's seat of the van with the door open, a takeaway cup of what smelled like tea sitting in a drink holder. "I apologize. I didn't mean to startle you."

"No, my fault." Randall hesitantly took a step forward. Victor looked incredible first thing in the morning. Then again, Randall was hard pressed to think of a moment when Victor wouldn't look incredible. The problem was, Victor had no interest at all in Randall, he was sure, other than as some amusing idiot who sometimes stumbled into his path. And the worst part of it all was that Victor had seen inside Randall's head. All those stupid thoughts Randall pretended weren't there had gotten trotted out and shown off. Really, if the option existed to just hide under a rock for the rest of his life, Randall would have taken it.

Then again, if he did, he'd never get to see Victor first thing in the morning, with his hair just a bit out of place and a little hoa.r.s.eness to his voice. So maybe rock dwelling wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

"They let you back in," he observed, almost immediately internally kicking himself. Of course they had, otherwise Victor wouldn't be there. Next Randall would be pointing out that the gra.s.s was very green that morning and that sometimes people inhaled oxygen.

"Surprisingly, yes." Victor laid the book he was reading down on his lap. "Mallory was at the gate when I arrived. He mentioned the Gray Lady wanted to speak to all of us later, so I have something of a day pa.s.s." A small smirk curled the edge of his lips. "I nearly ran over Jed and Redford. Did you see them?"

"No." Randall took another cautious step forward. Victor smelled like tea and shaving cream and a tang of oranges, but Randall wasn't sure if under that there was acceptance for his presence or not. Reading nonwolves was hard sometimes. "Where was Redford? His cabin was next door to ours, but I was busy convincing Edwin not to go for a midnight run with strangers. I didn't see him after he went to bed."

"Oh, he was out at the gate with Jed." Victor waved a hand in the direction of said gate. "Lying on the ground with a sleeping bag underneath the gate. I'd almost call it cute, if it wasn't so amusingly melodramatic."

Randall wrapped his arms around himself, warding off the morning chill. "They acted like it was forever. I don't understand. It was only one night. You would have thought one of them was shipping off to war."

"The perils of being in love." Victor looked torn between being amused and exasperated. He gave Randall a look he couldn't quite identify, something deeper than the idle smirk Victor was still wearing. "I suppose one only understands when one has felt that way about another person."

"Haven't you?" The question was out before he could stop himself. Randall wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer or not. Dropping his eyes, he shrugged, striving for a casual tone. "I mean, I would have a.s.sumed someone like you would have."

The way Victor absently rubbed his fingers over the two scars on his neck made Randall's hackles rise. "I thought so," Victor said contemplatively. "It was love, in a way, and very much not love in others. But it was acknowledged-" He paused and gave Randall a rueful smile. "Well, it's probably not something you want to hear me prattle on about. I do apologize." He abruptly changed the topic. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

Actually, Randall did want to hear. He wanted to know what made Victor have that expression, who gave him those scars that sent tight, sickening waves of jealousy through Randall every time he saw them. He wanted to know, but at the same time, the mere topic had him wishing he could run away. Not that it mattered. Victor had the person whom he'd loved, he had whoever else he was with, and none of it was any concern of Randall's.

He shuffled a few steps away, forcing a smile. "No, I haven't. I, uh, I had some things to do this morning, I haven't had a chance. I was going to go get some to take to Anthony and Edwin. They're of the 'hearty breakfast' school. If they don't eat first thing, they complain for the rest of the day about starving to death."

"Excellent." Victor sounded revitalized by the prospect of food. He hopped out of the van, tea in one hand, book tucked under the other arm. "I wonder if the pack will have anything other than meat? Not that a bit of ham or sausage isn't excellent at breakfast, but one does wish for variety."

"I certainly hope so," Randall said, falling into step beside Victor, careful not to walk too close. He wanted to. He wanted to get close enough to bury his nose in under Victor's ear, to wrap himself up in the scent and warmth of him, and then to go chasing after him to find breakfast. Because he was, at heart, an idiot. Being around this many wolves was apparently making him more and more like Edwin every day. Since when did he like cuddles? This was most disturbing. "I prefer a bit of fruit and tea to ma.s.sive quant.i.ties of meat products. We can hope for the best, I suppose."

Victor gave a hum of agreement as he sipped his tea. He glanced at the sky, his eyes narrowing at the brighter light that was starting to spread over the tops of the trees. "If I may ask, what were you doing up so early?" He sounded like he could scarcely imagine that anybody woke up before nine in the morning. "I'm only awake because I barely slept."

Randall hesitated. "I had to get up before Anthony," he admitted. "Otherwise he wouldn't have let me go see her."

He didn't need to explain further-Victor obviously understood what he meant. "And how did that conversation go?"

Randall puffed out a silent sigh, watching as his breath left a faint curl in the air. It would be blazing hot later, once the sun came up fully. One of the things he loved about early autumn, it was like two seasons at once. Then again, he usually enjoyed the cold while curled up in bed. This wasn't so bad, though. "Frustrating. I begged." He glanced over at Victor, looking embarra.s.sed and defiant all at once. "I'd do it again. But in the end, she agreed to let us stay. Not that she knows if it'll make a difference, but it's a step, I suppose."

"I'm glad to hear it." Victor, though his tone was a little distant, did genuinely sound glad. "I doubt I could be of a.s.sistance in any way, but if I ever may be helpful, I'd be more than happy to offer."

Just that little tendril of kindness felt like far too much. It felt like Randall had been fighting and pushing, making lists and doing research and creating plans he couldn't ever talk to his brothers about, since the day he'd found out Anthony's diagnosis. And to hear the offer of help, even if Victor probably didn't mean it, was enough to make Randall's eyes burn, all the exhaustion and fear catching up with him at once. Like that polite offer, which meant nearly nothing at all to Victor, made it so Randall could feel all the weight he was carrying.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, taking off his gla.s.ses to scrub his hand across his face. "Thank you, I mean. That's, uh, that's extremely kind of you. I know you have better things to do than watch out for a bunch of silly wolves. You've already done too much."

Victor stopped walking to turn to face Randall, lightly putting a hand on his arm to halt him. Where anybody else would be meeting Randall's eyes, Victor's gaze was focused somewhere around Randall's left temple. "Randall," he said firmly. "I came on this trip, didn't I? Believe me when I tell you this is the best, the most worthy thing I could be doing right now. I want to help in any way I can."

Randall took a deep breath to get himself back together. It was embarra.s.sing, the positions Victor had seen him in, the number of times Victor had witnessed him at anything but his best. Randall had his own set of scars, though he hardly touched his with anything resembling fondness, and it had been Victor who had pulled him out of that h.e.l.l. And now it was Victor again, a.s.sisting him out of another one of his nightmares come to life. "Anthony appreciates it," he told Victor, a very faint smile touching his lips. "As do I. You are a good man, Victor."

"Far from it." Victor looked bemused at the compliment. "But I do mean it. You don't have to shoulder this burden alone."

With a perfunctory smile, one that didn't reach his eyes, Randall turned and began walking again toward the kitchen. "Yes. I do."

Victor caught up with him with a few short strides. "Randall, you have Jed helping you, and Jed doesn't normally help people like this. You have Redford and I, and Edwin, and now the Gray Lady. You-"

"You don't understand." Randall cut him off, lips tight. "This is our pack. Anthony has been our leader, has taken care of us, since we were kids. All of us were children, Victor, and Anthony was figuring out how to feed us and find shelter and.... This is our pack. Only Anthony is sick. He's sick and he's not getting better. So I have to do this, I have to be him now. But I don't want to."

G.o.d, he'd never said that out loud.

"I don't want to be him," he repeated in a miserable whisper. "I don't want to be in charge or have to be responsible for them. Because I'm a terrible, selfish person."

"Randall, you just disrupted your entire life to find a cure for your brother," Victor said gently. "Are those really the actions of a selfish man? You brought your family here; you got the mother of all wolves to agree to help him. Does that sound like the actions of a man that cannot be a leader?"

"I dropped out of school." Randall sounded horrified. He was horrified by it. It still hurt to think about. All that work, all the sacrifice, and he'd never even gotten to step on campus. "I was supposed to go next month. I'd transferred from our community campus to a university I've wanted to go to since I was eleven. But I dropped out. And I'm mad that I had to. I'm mad at Anthony, at this stupid disease. I did all this because I need him, Victor. I need him to be better. I need him to be who he is again so that I can be who I am. I need my brother. I would move heaven and earth if I had to, to get him well again. Because I love him, yes, but also because I'm terrified of being without him."

Of all the reactions he would have expected from Victor, a quiet little laugh was not one of them. Randall immediately withdrew, expression shuttering away, shoulders tense. "You hold yourself to incredibly high standards, it seems. It's quite all right that you're not some flawless protagonist in a fiction, Randall."

"You've clearly never met my brother," Randall offered after a moment, hesitant, still not sure if Victor's laugh was something he shouldn't shy away from. "Because he's kind of horribly perfect."

Victor took a breath as if to say something, but he paused. His expression looked distant, like he was thinking of something so clearly that he didn't have time to notice the real world at that moment. Randall wondered, with a sudden horrifying realization, if Victor was mentally replaying what he'd seen of Randall's memories.

"You're a better man than you give yourself credit for," Victor finally said. "I hope, one day, you'll see that."

The instinct, of course, was to brush that off. Compliments were never easy to take, much less from someone who gave Randall as many confusing emotions as Victor. But Victor wasn't saying something nice just because; he wasn't offering empty flattery. He'd seen Randall, all of him, just as clearly as Randall knew himself. His memories were Victor's now. And that was a huge, scary, horrifying idea, yes, but it also meant that he couldn't exactly blow Victor off. When Victor said that, it was with the full weight of knowledge.

"Well," Randall said after a moment, taking a step closer, studying Victor's face, "who am I to argue with my Beatrice?"

There was a moment, he thought. Maybe just in his head, but it felt like a moment. Like heat racing through him, like shivery fire. And there were things he could do in that moment-he could be brave, he could sprout wings, he could dare a thousand things that seemed impossible any other time.

"Randy!"

Of course, he could only do those things in the moments where his younger brother was not tackling him.

Edwin shoved himself into an overenthusiastic hug with Randall, grinning at them both. "Hi, Victor! You got back in, awesome. I was hoping you would. Hey, Randall, let's get Ant breakfast, okay? Man, do I smell bacon? I love bacon!" And then Edwin was gone again, charging up the stairs to the kitchen, beaming a smile at everyone he met. He was a force of nature, Edwin. And he'd completely ruined the moment.

Then again, maybe that was for the best.

Anthony followed him at a much slower pace, giving them a greeting and a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amus.e.m.e.nt before he labored his way up the stairs. Clearly Randall had been right. The cold early morning air had not done his joints any favors. Randall bit back the urge to help him. Edwin was right there, circling around to casually loop an arm with Anthony's, talking about all the meat he could smell and pretending, of course, that nothing at all was wrong.

With a slight smile and a sigh, Randall gestured toward the building. "Shall we?"

Victor was blinking, startled in the wake of Hurricane Edwin. He shook his head, collecting himself. "Yes, let's. I only pray we'll find some toast."

The hall was half filled with families and groups sitting at long tables. There was a counter at one end with an open kitchen, food in trays for people to take. There was a rather alarming amount of meat, both cooked and raw, but to his relief Randall spotted fruit and toast and a large pan of scrambled eggs. Every wolf was different-Edwin, for one, was happy enough with several raw, b.l.o.o.d.y steaks piled on his tray and a rather large gla.s.s of milk-and it was nice to see the pack wasn't trying to force a specific eating choice. He had been hoping to get breakfast for Anthony before the stubborn wolf had made his painful way across the camp, but clearly he'd dawdled for too long. Randall kept shooting concerned glances at Anthony as they waited in line, silently standing just close enough that he could ease a shoulder in under Anthony's arm, to be his support, while pretending he was doing nothing of the kind.

Between the two of them, he and Edwin got Anthony's tray handled, despite Anthony's insistence that he could do it himself. Randall got him a slice of toast and some fruit with a pointed look-some went on Edwin's tray as well in an attempt to get him to eat more than the meat-and Edwin piled on sausages and chicken legs.

Randall's own plate held a modest sausage alongside toast and eggs. The fruit was a welcome addition. He did enjoy something refreshing first thing in the morning. He and Edwin juggled the trays toward the tables, Anthony between them, searching for a place to sit.

"Hey! Furb.u.t.ts! Over here." Jed's strident tone called them over, and they made their way to one of the tables in the middle of the room. Jed was sitting with Redford on his lap, the two of them reading the paper over their coffee and breakfast. Jed's chin was resting on Redford's shoulder, and they didn't seem to care at all that they were an interspecies couple in the middle of a very tight wolf pack. Then again, none of the wolves around them seemed bothered either. The few who had chosen to sit by them were obviously of the open-minded sort. Knievel was sitting on the table next to them, her own tray in front of her with some bits of chicken and a small pile of raw meat and what looked like a bit of squash that she was happily gnawing on.

"Morning," Edwin greeted with a huge smile, setting down his tray next to them and slinging himself into the seat to immediately start on his food. To Randall's exasperation, he didn't use utensils, instead picking up the slab of meat with his hands and chomping a rather large bite. "They have venison," Edwin told Redford enthusiastically. "Fresh too. It's really good, did you have some?"

"I don't know if I like venison," Redford said contemplatively, glancing back toward the food.

"You had the liver, remember?" Edwin grinned at him, b.l.o.o.d.y and unrestrained, like some mix between a cherub and a horror film. His brother, the next Miss Manners, everyone. "It was good, right?"

"Yes," Redford acknowledged, sounding reluctant. "But I'm not, you know." He hesitated before leaning in, and for a horrible moment Randall was quite sure Redford was going to share the location of a particularly disgusting mole or some such, from the way his eyes were darting around. "A wolf right now."

Anthony, Randall, and Edwin all exchanged looks. Randall found it very hard to not laugh, which was dreadful, he knew, but still. That would be adorable if it wasn't so very sad. "You are a wolf," Randall pointed out, attempting to be delicate. "Your form is simply not at the moment."

Blinking owlishly a few times, his gaze inevitably going back to Jed, Redford responded only, "Oh."

"And that means it tastes good now too." Edwin was surprisingly polite about it. "Seriously, you'll love it."

Victor was staring at Edwin. "Aren't you going to get E. coli or some other dreadful disease, eating that raw?"

Edwin stared down at his plate, nose wrinkling. "Cooked meat is gross. I mean, I'll eat it if I have to, but it tastes all bland when it's not raw." Chewing as he considered the matter, Edwin amended, "Ant's stew is good, though, and he makes these dumpling things with chicken I like."

Randall sighed as he prepared Anthony's coffee. "I'm sorry." He would apologize, because G.o.d knew Edwin never would think to. "I know it's a little... off putting, for people to watch him eat. Wolves are all different in what we like, but Edwin's always preferred his food to be as fresh as possible. He was an impossible child." But his tone turned fond at that, and Edwin shared a grin with him, sticking out his tongue.

"You love me," Edwin said, cutting off a piece of the meat and sliding it onto Redford's plate for him to try.

"Yes, well, you are very demanding," Randall replied blandly, squeezing Edwin's shoulder as he finally sat. He'd found some tea, and he took an experimental sip. Not fantastic, but at least it was drinkable.

Anthony slowly tipped over to lean slightly against Randall's shoulder. He never did that; he never let himself appear weak. Randall knew all of them were keeping it together by pretending the worst wasn't actually happening. That if they simply didn't talk about the nightmare, that meant it wasn't occurring. But Anthony looked tired, his fingers shaking as he tried to cut his meat. He wasn't even jumping into the conversation to tease Edwin about his eating habits. Without a word, Randall pulled Anthony's plate over in front of himself and sliced the sausage into bite-size pieces, then pulled the chicken off the bone.

With a thick lump in his throat, he slid the plate back into place like nothing had happened. Turning, he pressed his lips to the top of his brother's head, taking a slow, shaky breath. It was going to be okay. Everything was going to be fine now. The Gray Lady had decided to let them stay. Randall had done everything his research told him to do, so it had to be fine now.

"Thanks," Anthony muttered lowly. He sounded frustrated-not at Randall's help, but the fact that he needed it. "You weren't in the cabin when I woke up. Where'd you go?"

Randall looked over at Victor, a quick glance, before going back to his breakfast. Edwin was pretending he wasn't listening, but he'd moved his chair close enough to b.u.mp knees with Anthony, cutting little looks over at the two of them in between bites. Even Redford and Jed were watching Randall over the top of their newspaper. Randall shrugged off his sweater and wrapped it around Anthony's shoulders. "It's cold," was all he said.

"You two f.u.c.king?" Jed asked casually, waving his fork between Victor and Randall.

"What?" Randall spluttered, color hitting his cheeks. "No! Why on earth-"

"You just looked h.e.l.la guilty." Jed shrugged, returning to his eggs. "Figured it was that or you did something your big brother wouldn't approve of. Wash lights with darks or something."

"Your mind goes straight for the gutter," Victor said blandly. "Not every situation involves someone's genitals. Really, Journey, keep your nose out."

"Don't call me Journey." The protest seemed so automatic that Jed wasn't even paying attention when he shot it back at Victor.

Redford was tentatively trying the raw venison, clearly intrigued by his own taste for it. Randall would admit that fresh meat had a vastly superior flavor. He just wasn't comfortable eating it in mixed company. It seemed rude to be b.l.o.o.d.y around those who might not find such a look appetizing. Knievel seemed just as content with the uncooked food, however, purring loudly as she attacked her own serving.