Everything Carries Me to You (Axton and Leander Book 3) (17 page)

Really, it was unlikely that Dana was dying, given the amount of damage he could apparently take.

On the other hand, if Dru and Dana had fought--Dana was strong; Dana was fast. Dru had probably taken some damage, too...

Axton turned his head and looked at the big house thoughtfully.

He could do it, he thought.

But the wolf in him nearly always wanted a fight now, and it was in the wolf's nature to think he could win, if the circumstances were right.

Making his decision, Axton jumped off the porch and ran away from the big house. Drips and drops and streaks of Dana's blood painted the way down the road, keeping the scent big and easy to follow, blossoming the through the air like orchids on a branch.

Axton felt a curious hollow in his chest, and picked up his pace.

Eventually the smell of a burning fire overtook the scent of Dana's blood, and Axton would have been worried if he hadn't known that Dana's preferred place to brood was around a fire, if he hadn't seen the pit for it behind Dana's house. By the time the fire was visible through the trees, two other scents had joined in loudly. The first scent was a very specific, unpleasantly sharp smell that tickled in Axton's nose. It was the smell of a particular type of werewolf exhaustion, when the body had tried to shift between shapes too many times. Axton hadn't occasion to smell it often in his life, but he knew it keenly all the same. The second scent was spilled whiskey.

Well, that was a good sign, probably.

Axton stepped up, unnoticed, to the very edge of the darkness that still lingered. Soon it would be properly dawn, and there would be no shadows left, but for now if he stood outside the light cast by the fire, he was still shrouded.

But he was very close, and Dana hadn't called out to him or maybe even noticed. That was possibly a bad sign.

Axton trotted up to Dana's prone body, nuzzled into his neck and gave him a gentle nudge with his nose.

Dana grumbled and shoved himself upright, which made Axton sit down on his haunches and narrow his eyes accusingly.

"Ax," Dana slurred, "Fuckin--ow." He winced and looked Axton over. "Don't look at me that way, all reproachful-like, with my blood on your snout."

And indeed, Axton was annoyed. Pawing the blood off would be ineffectual, but he didn't want to lick it off, either. He turned his head and rubbed his face against his furred shoulder, but it didn't work very well.

"Fuck, just--" Dana tried to lean closer and nearly fell over. "C'mere, fuck. Lemme..."

Axton stepped closer and let Dana wipe most of the blood off his nose. It was slow going because Dana was still bleeding in many different places, and the exertion of just being upright seemed enough to make him dizzy, and he sprawled into the dirt when he was done.

"I ain't dead, just piss drunk and beat up," Dana muttered, when Axton made a disapproving grumble. "Don't you worry none."

Axton sighed.

"Back door's open," Dana said when he had shoved himself back on his elbows. "Feel free to get some jeans and come back out, if you're gonna hang around."

Feeling the tug of obligation in his guts, mindful of that sharp smell in the air that told him that Dana couldn't change shapes again if he wanted to, needed to, Axton went to the cabin and slipped through Dana's propped open door. His unease made the change to human harder than usual, and he paced through Dana's kitchen while he waited, not wanting to spend more time than he had to in the bedroom.

Happy thoughts. He should think happy thoughts.

He didn't have any.

A shade nervously, Axton wondered what Leander would do. It was a nonsensical question--how would Leander even be in this kind of position--but Axton had frequently asked himself what Leander would do when they were together, and in truth, he still considered them
together
in at least a one sided way. Would Leander show mercy? Would Leander want
Axton
to show mercy?

Troubled, Axton shed his wolf shape and stayed crouched on the floor for a moment longer. Shaking himself off, he reluctantly entered Dana's room to get to his closet--leather jackets, leather vests, leather pants...for fuck's sake, where were the...scrubs, why did he own so many pairs of...ah, there. Jeans, jeans, more jeans that wouldn't fit, and...

...and jeans in his size?

Axton peered at them more closely. He was pretty sure these weren't merely jeans in his size, but a particular pair of jeans he thought he'd lost years ago.

He kicked listlessly at a box full of scrubs. Fucking Dana, and how he had turned out to secretly be a romantic idiot.

There was a rotation in Axton's body to go along with the halfhearted kick, and during the twist, Axton's eye caught a flash of something silver on Dana's nightstand. For all of his bad boy biker chic, Dana wasn't much one for jewelry, so Axton's glance lingered--

Son of a bitch
.

Clothed in his own jeans and one of Dana's shirts, Axton stormed back outside. Dana had dozed off again, and Axton kicked him, not entirely kindly.

"I'm not sure you should be sleeping right now," Axton said.

"Mornin' to you, too,
sugar
," Dana said peevishly, cracking his eyes open. "When did you get your nursing degree?"

"You piece of
shit
!" Axton yelled, now that he was sure Dana could hear him. "You stole my rings, you asshole! You kept my jeans!" Furious even if it seemed petty, Axton threw one ring at a time to punctuate his words, hitting Dana consistently. "You! Hypocritical! Sentimental! Son of a bitch!"

"Ow, fuck," Dana said. "Calm down, pussycat."

"You used to tell me how
soft
I was for you!" Axton yelled. "You used to make me feel like utter shit, just because I fucking
liked
you! And meanwhile, you're taking fucking
keepsakes
?"

"It's complicated," Dana said.

"It is not!"

"Well I'll slice myself open in
apology
, if you like," Dana said, tugging a pocketknife out of his jeans. "If that'll help--"

"Dana, stop it," Axton said. "For fuck's sake. You're still fucking bleeding out. I know you can heal faster. I've
seen
it." His voice dropped. "I saw it that night."

Dana winced.

"I can't heal faster for fucking ever," he said grudgingly. "How many rounds you think ol' Dru put me through before he let me go?"

"How do you even lose to him?" Axton asked.

"I didn't fight," Dana said. "Not really. Not today. I took my beating."

"Why?" Axton asked, bristling. "Why let him do that to you?"

"Sometimes you just gotta," Dana said. "'Sides. I probably wouldn't have won anyway."

"Why, because you don't fight equal opponents?" Axton said, venom creeping into his tone even as Dana's blood seeped towards his toes.

"Nah," Dana said placidly. "That ain't it."

"Then what is?" Axton asked.

"Tactical inferiority," Dana said, shrugging.

"What?" Axton asked, mystified. He hadn't expected an answer--or at least, an answer that wasn't a furious denial.

"I mean, I fight fucking stupid," Dana said earnestly, "because he makes me feel so--" Dana broke off to pant, looking away from Axton, away from everything.

"I know," Axton said quietly. "I know how he makes you feel. He makes me angry, too, and I'm not even--"

"No," Dana said raggedly, trying to get up and failing until Axton reached down and helped haul him into a seated position, "Axton. You don't know. You don't know fucking half of it."

"Well, it's not like anyone here has tried to tell me," Axton said.

"Ax, no," Dana said, blinking back blood that was getting into his eyes, too much for his lashes. "Axton, baby. You don't know."

"Don't call me baby," Axton said automatically. "And
what
? Actually, no. Stop fucking talking. Save your--"

"Ax," Dana said urgently, ignoring him and clinging to Axton's jeans. "Ax."

"Shut
up
," Axton said sharply. "Whatever you're going to say, it can--"

"I think he killed Daddy," Dana said abruptly.

Axton stopped pulling away and stilled.

"That's a big accusation," he said. "Dana, you're hurt, and you're drunk--"

"And what, you don't believe me?" Dana asked, and it would have been demanding if he hadn't been swaying each time he tried to push away from Axton's legs.

"I..." Axton tried, and then he gave up. "No, I kind of do--I actually really do--but we need to talk about this later, when you're not..."

"When I ain't
what
?" Dana demanded, and the accent was thickening in a way that made Axton panic a little, because Dana seemed so out of it.

"You're--you're not okay right now, Dana, you need to rest."

"Naw," Dana said. "Lemme be, baby."

"Don't call--" Axton sighed. "Dana, no."

"Fuckin' hard headed son of a bitch," Dana said with admiration.

"What?" Axton asked, exasperated.

Dana--
giggled
. He actually giggled, leaning against Axton's legs for support.

"That was good earlier--so worth it--the look on his
face
when you just stared down the entire pack." Dana grinned, and then let out a satisfied sigh.

"Fucking ceremonial bullshit," Axton allowed, but then: "Dana, look. We need to get you inside."

"Yeah, the sunlight's blinding the shit outta me," Dana agreed too easily. "I can drink inside."

"No," Axton said stubbornly. "You need rest."

"I'm not gonna die, Ax," Dana said.

"Have you
seen
the amount of blood you've lost?" Axton objected. "The ground is fucking
soaked
with it."

And indeed, Dana himself was still covered in blood, in puddles and streaks and still oozing wounds.

"Not gonna die," he repeated. "I heal different than you."

"No," Axton agreed. "But this isn't good for you, either."

"Did I tell you," Dana mumbled, pressing his bloody face into Axton's jeans, "did I tell you, what I did to your pretty boy? How I didn't leave no teeth marks?"

"Dana, don't," Axton warned, because he had to hold back from kicking Dana in the mouth. Leander would not approve of kicking a man while he was already down, Axton suspected. It would be bad form.

"No, no," Dana said quickly, stumbling over his words. "Nothin' you don't already basically know, sugar. I mean, it's something I learned, right, one time when Dru beat the shit outta me worse than now, and I got--I got stuck--don't flip out--"

There was a loud cracking sound from Dana's spine, and he grunted in pain as slowly, slowly, some bones shortened and some elongated, and his hands turned into claws, but he still had fingers--

"What the
fuck
," Axton hissed, and he took a step back.

Unsupported, Dana flopped onto the ground and looked at him mournfully. Neither man nor wolf, Dana looked full monster when he was trapped in a between shape.

"Jesus," Axton panted. "JesusJesusJesusJesus."

Another crack, an anguished and excruciating full minute and a half, and then Dana was back as Axton knew him.

"Hands," Dana croaked out helpfully. "You can still have hands. Fists."

"Fucking
christ
," Axton said. "I'd always heard rumors, but I figured it was urban legend bullshit--fuck, Dana. What the
fuck
."

Dana was bleeding less but he was infinitely more tried, and the unpleasant scent of wolf pushed beyond healthy bounds was even sharper in the air now. Axton held in a sneeze.

"Hnnn," Dana said, which was maybe agreement, maybe disagreement. Axton wasn't sure, and he paced back and forth trying to decide what to do.

"I'm dragging you inside," Axton announced finally, and he did.

"Do you know," Leander said idly, scrolling through something on his tablet, "that solitary confinement produces brain scans in people that look like traumatic brain injury?"

"Yes," Sarah said, coming into the room briskly and setting down a bowl of soup, "I did know that, from when we did the prisoner's rights thing a couple of years back."

"I thought it was worth mentioning," Leander said. "But what do you think of that?"

"I think that this isn't what I meant when I told you to change your reading material."

Leander put down his tablet and looked up at her. Previously, he'd had precious little experience looking at her from this angle. Sarah was short, even in heels, and Leander so rarely sat while she stood. Now he had no choice.

"Give my books on Stockholm syndrome back," he said evenly.

"No," Sarah said.

She'd taken away the stack of books Leander had ordered.

"I'll just reorder them," Leander said. "I will order a dozen copies of every single book, and eventually one of them will be delivered while I'm here alone, and I will do it again and again until I have them all." His voice was calm.

"
No
," Sarah said.

"I've been agreeable," Leander said. "You took them and I allowed it--"

"You
yelled
," Sarah objected.

"--And I
adjusted
," Leander went on, "and I let the issue rest for few weeks, to be accommodating. And now--"

"No," Sarah said.

"I'm not a fucking invalid," Leander said, something sharp and potentially explosive lurking in his tone. "I should be allowed to make my own goddamn reading decisions, for fuck's sake--"

"It's
bad
for you," Sarah said furiously. "You need to heal up, you need to focus on getting better, not fixate on--on whatever you think might have happened--"

"What
did
happen!" Leander shouted.

Sarah exhaled sharply and stared him down.

There was silence.

"I don't have to be here," she said finally.

"As I've
said
," Leander muttered, but he looked away first. "Many times."

"It's bad for you," Sarah repeated. "Fixating on--things. Things like that."