Everything Carries Me to You (Axton and Leander Book 3) (21 page)

Axton wanted to lunge at his throat all over again.

"What do you want?" he asked instead, warily. "What do you want me to do? Not break formation in front of everyone again? Not challenge you like that?"

"It's not really a challenge as such, is it?" Dru asked. "You don't want to lead."

"No," Axton said shortly. He didn't.

"But you're right--I'd appreciate not being shown up like that." And there,
there
was where the anger was lurking, deep under the nice boss, open door policy act. There was something too sharp about the word
appreciate
, something that let the listener know that
appreciation
was shown by not sinking teeth into your skin. You wanted appreciation because the alternative was bad.

"Fine," Axton said. "Fine enough." He took a drink. God, he wanted to lunge at Dru so fucking bad. He had never before been a sullen, sulking wolf coiled in barely suppressed defiance, and he didn't like being one now.

"Good," Dru said, voice firm. "Then we can get on."

Axton eyed Dru with a new and open wariness.

"You respect me for it," he said, "a little."

"Respect's a strong word," Dru said. "It's a thing you earn."

"You look down on me
less
, then," Axton said. "If not respect, it's a lack of disrespect. Better?"

"No real man would let himself get shit on forever," Dru agreed. "I'm glad to see some fire in you. Means you got a future."

"You think I'm soft," Axton said. Manhood was violence to Dru. Of course it was. Axton couldn't have disagreed more. Life, to Axton, was violence--but only to a certain extent, and that's not all it was, and it was the nature of a
person
to make life more than that.

"I'm willing to reconsider," Dru said. "As a show of good faith, I'd like you to do something for me."

I'd like to break your face open
, Axton thought.
Would you respect that?

"Sure," he said out loud.

"There's a group of scientists who set up at the edge of our territory," Dru said. "Studying something to do with wolves, it looks like. They're tagging and releasing."

"Population counts," Axton said, eying Dru with uncertainty. "Sure." He wasn't sure where the request was going.

"I just need someone to keep an eye on them," Dru said. "That's all. Run around a little, make the woods seem populated enough. Don't get caught."

No werewolf was ever caught by researchers--

"Make sure no one else gets caught," Dru finished lightly.

--unless the werewolf was feral, too far gone to know that being caught was forbidden, and with good reason.

Helen
, Axton thought.

"Why me?" he asked instead.

"As a show of trust," Dru said. "You'd be working with the pack, doing something that helps us all out."

"Ah," Axton said. This was how Dru kept Dana busy, too--
oh, look how much I trust you, to do all these things for me, aren't we one big happy family?
But what else was there to do, really?

"Gives you an excuse to be out on your own," Dru added. "Enjoying the solitude."

Keeps me away from everyone so they don't see or catch my bad attitude
, Axton knew.

"Sure," he said again. "Fine. Thanks."

Dru smiled, jovial but not overbearingly so, just the right amount of cheerful.

"I appreciate it, Ax," he said warmly.

"Yeah," Axton said numbly, not liking the sound of his name in Dru's mouth. "Yeah, any time."

Dru stuck out a hand, and Axton shook it like he was in a dream.

"It'll feel like home in no time," he said.

"Absolutely," Axton said. Was he dismissed? He glanced at the door, started to make a move for it.

"One last thing," Dru said, and Axton froze mid-turn.

"Mm?" he said, because of
course
there was one more thing.

Dru put down his now empty beer, trailed a hand along the counter as he moved to stand in front of Axton again.

"There's not going to be any...trouble...is there?" His eyes were dark and fixed on Axton's, pushing in every way but the obviously physical.

"Trouble?" Axton echoed, and he had to fight to not step back. He felt cornered. He felt threatened.

"There's bound to be a woman or two there," Dru said. "Maybe beautiful women, who don't mind roughing it out here. Probably women you have things in common with."

Axton looked back steadily, unsure and refusing to show it.

"Yeah," he said. "Probably."

"Beautiful
human
women," Dru said. "That going to be a problem for you?"

If he hadn't been locked in the stare down, Axton would have blinked. What? Why would...?

Oh
.

Yeah, he was angry all over again. He'd forgotten that Dana hadn't said that his human lover had been a man. Undoubtedly, Dru would have been harsher on him if he'd known, so Dana's lie made perfect sense. Dana thought he was being smart; Dana thought he was being nice. Dana thought he was
protecting
Axton.

What Dana failed to understand was that the lie made Axton furious, made something twitch in him deep down.

Axton's lips pulled back from his teeth, unconsciously preparing to snarl or bite. He tried to force them back down.

"No," he said. "That won't be a problem."

That, at least, wasn't a lie.

Dru held his gaze a moment longer, than leaned back, giving Axton his space.

"Good," he said, satisfied.

Axton whirled around like he'd snapped a rope that had been holding him back and he stalked out. When he'd cleared the door and the porch, he stopped for a moment, trembling. His hands were shaking. He was
angry
. He thought he'd been angry before. That had been nothing. He wanted to cave Dru's smug face in; he wanted to kick Dana in the teeth. He felt so fundamentally violated by having to lie that he didn't know what to do with himself, and he stood there, shaking from the force of not acting on his emotions.

It felt like a betrayal of himself. It felt like a betrayal of his lover. In that moment, Axton would have preferred to be picked on, spit on, threatened--anything would be better than denying Leander. He wanted the name of his lover emblazoned about his chest like a scarlet A; he wanted to be punished for the
correct
crime. He wanted everyone to know that he had found love in the arms of a
man
, not just a human, and he wanted everyone to know so he could bear his punishment with
pride
. He wanted everyone to know so that his lack of shame would be defiant. He wanted everyone to
know
exactly what he was defiant about. He wanted everyone to know--

There is nothing wrong with it
, Axton heard himself in his memory.
There is nothing wrong with
me.

The entirety of his lanky body shuddered one last time, and without looking he threw the glass bottle still in his hand at the wall of the house behind him. It shattered, glass scattering into clumps of grass clinging to the dirt, but Axton was already walking away without looking back.

Time wore on, and Leander could have counted it by physical therapy appointments and follow up doctor visits. Surely, it would be time for crutches soon. Surely. He was really tired of having Sarah drive him places.

She parked in the first handicap space of the office parking lot.

Leander glanced out the window and had to blink. The first thing he saw feet. His gaze was pulled inexorably to white leather shoes that were both obviously obscenely expensive and thoroughly trashed, like the owner didn't give a fuck. Those shoes were obnoxious and well-loved shoes. Those were the shoes of an eccentric rich person.

"Oh no," Leander said. "
Again
?"

The car door opened. New York folded his long legs and swung into the backseat.

"Heeey," he said, beaming.

"Uh," Leander said.

"Sorry," Sarah said. "I didn't have time to war--let you know. He literally just texted that he was outside the office."

"I came to keep you company," New York said.

"I see," Leander said. "What a surprise."

"Yeah, I figure since you're carefully orchestrating some elaborate bullshit, I should get you used to surprises," New York said.

"Right," Leander said, "and it's not that you're bored and ignoring work?"

"This counts as a business trip," New York said, "despite the jeans, leather jacket, purple shades, and casual demeanor, I am, in fact, here on official business."

"It's been very educational learning how white collar crime must work, these past few years," Sarah said. "Like, I totally see how this casual sense of entitlement leads to embezzlement."

"My sense of entitlement is innate," New York said. "You could take away my family fortune and I'd still be like that."

"He would," Leander agreed. "He totally would. We tested that once."

"Thank you," New York said, obviously pleased, "but come on, we need to get going. I found you a guy that's rehabbed like four mixed martial arts guys after car accidents. He's great at busted legs."

"Really?" Leander asked, perking up.

"We
agreed
," Sarah started, "that we would wait before we told him about that."

"Ah," New York said, holding up a finger, pushing up his sunglasses with his other hand. "No, not actually. You said we should wait and I said that was probably a good idea. That's not the same thing."

"He can't possibly punch things yet," Sarah said.

"I can
so
punch things," Leander said.

"Yeah, see," New York said.

"Not very well, you can't," Sarah said.

"Ouch," Leander said.

"Ow," New York echoed, laying a melodramatic hand over his heart.

"I'm not driving you assholes anywhere," Sarah said.

"It's just a meeting," New York soothed, "to see if their personalities mesh. I'm sure the coach will want to wait until California's cleared to walk again, at least, before starting any sort of work out regime."

"Fuck that," Leander said. "There's got to be something more to do than this physical therapy shit--some sort of prep work. Relevant stretches. Something."

"Shh," New York said. "Let her think you're docile."

"I don't lie to her," Leander said.

"You so do," Sarah said.

"I do not," Leander said.

"Why aren't you reporting Dana to the cops?" Sarah shot back. "What really happened with you and Axton? Why can't we tell Christina who set her fucking house on fire?"

Silence.

"Well, that brought down the mood," New York said eventually. He rooted through the slim leather satchel at his side. "Gum?" he offered.

"Doesn't it bother you?" Sarah asked. "Doesn't it bother you that Leander isn't telling us shit?"

"No," New York said serenely. "California doesn't have to tell me anything."

"Thanks," Leander said.

"I don't need to know," New York said. "It's an unspoken rule of bro-ship. I'm just here to punch a guy."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Sarah said. "You too?"

"You
are
a good friend," Leander said, touched by the formal statement of what he had hoped to be true. Punching a guy was whatever--New York would take any excuse--but the promised lack of questions? That was beautiful. Leander had suspected that there wouldn't be questions, but, ah. The confirmation felt good.

"I know," New York said. "I'm awesome."

They fist bumped.

"Somebody's going to get shot," Sarah muttered.

"Didn't someone already get shot?" New York asked.

"What?" Sarah said.

"Dana got shot," Leander said. "I mean, not fatally. Sadly."

"You told him that?" Sarah asked, incredulous. "You told him that before me?"

"Um," Leander said.

"Fuck you guys," Sarah said.

New York chewed gum noisily.

The truth was this: they had been friends once. Before their combined falling out and work reassignment fiasco, Leander and New York had been friends. They had, in fact, been friends for a long time, since they crossed paths during angry adolescence. Because they had both been getting into fights in school, they had ended up checked into the same pseudo Buddhist summer camp by their concerned mothers. Leander had eventually learned how to meditate and embarked on a life of remarkable emotional stability. New York mostly picked up a fetish for Japanese weaponry and had gone on to do a shit ton of drugs.

So it was natural, then, that after some initial weirdness, they ended up watching war movies and bitching about the historically inaccurate formations.

"I mean, that's a really shitty excuse for a phalanx, fucking bullshit," New York said. "Also, did you quit your painkillers yet?"

"And the swords are all wrong," Leander said. "You'd think that someone could be fucked to do like ten minutes of research, but that's apparently too much to ask for. Also, that's a really fucking artificial way to change topics and it gives you away. I quit the painkillers forever ago."

"So can I--"

"No," Leander said.

"Spoilsport," New York said sulkily.

"Like you don't have pills on you," Leander said. "Please."

"I actually don't," New York said loftily. "I've cut back. I'm taking my assigned duties very seriously."

"I actually can't argue with that," Leander said.

New York was sprawled sloppily across the couch--he was exactly the kind of asshole who sat with his knees splayed as far apart as possible on the subway and took up maximum space--but on the table in front of him was a thick manila folder. The leather satchel he'd brought had a few others like it.

For all of his ceaseless party boy fuck-upery, New York was actually brilliant. Given outside purpose and direction, he was focused and productive. They had a dozen potential werewolf settlements picked out. That was only the first step of a very long plan, but Leander was buoyed by this early success. If he was crazy, he could presumably warp any data to make apparent sense in the context of his delusion. If he was crazy, the data wouldn't be meaningful if considered by a third--or fourth, or five times removed--party. But the data made sense in isolation from Leander; the parameters he had laid out actually revealed coherent patterns. They were on to something. They just had a much bigger area to search; this was one part of the puzzle.