Everything Carries Me to You (Axton and Leander Book 3) (35 page)

"I think it's probably individual variation more than anything," Jack said, "but how bad did Dana beat
you
up that you still got a shiner and a half?"

Axton rubbed at his face absently, like he'd forgotten about it, but yes, bruises still bloomed over half of his face. The damage had faded and mostly healed--but only mostly.

"Pretty bad," Axton admitted. "I think he broke both cheekbones. My nose. Maybe a couple ribs. It's hard to tell after a while."

Helen snorted and rolled over in the grass. Axton pet her flank gently.

"Offer to stay at my place is still open," Jack said, "though I guess you're covered for company."

"I was thinking of making an appearance," Axton said, scratching behind Helen's ears, "while my face is still a little fucked."

"Holdin' your head up high?" Jack asked, and his smile was both wry and tired.

"There's many different flavors of defiance," Axton said.

"Well," Jack said, "I was going to patch you up if it was real bad, but you seem right enough. Physically."

There was a loaded pause and Jack raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Oh, I don't know," Axton said, "so far nothing's been a surprise."

"That's not the same as not being hurt."

"It can only hurt so much," Axton said, "before it's all the same anyway."

"I'm not sure that's the case."

"There's only one thing in the world I really want," Axton sighed, "and I can't have him. I might as well live a life with meaning, then, even if it's difficult."

"Dru still expects you to join on hunts," Jack said cautiously, "and the meetings. Assignments."

"Of course," Axton said, "all take and no give. I'll do it. I'll be an upstanding werewolf citizen."

"Are you sure there's nothing I can do for you?" Jack asked, "even if you don't want a place to stay?"

"I could go for a cup of tea," Axton said.

"Sure," Jack said. "My pleasure."

"Great," Axton said, and then he lowered his head to address Helen. "I won't be gone too long, okay? Do you want to come with us?"

Helen ignored him and rolled over for a belly rub.

"Do you think she understands you?" Jack asked.

"She understands me when I'm a wolf," Axton said.

"But does she understand you when you talk?" Jack asked.

"I don't know," Axton said, "and I don't need her to."

"Most wolves are uncomfortable around ferals," Jack said.

Axton shrugged.

"I've been there," he said. "I get it." He stood up. "Tea?"

"Sure," Jack said. "I'd recommend putting some pants on, first, if it's all the same to you."

"Oh," Axton said.

"Goddamnit," Axton muttered, circling around the tree where he'd stashed his things. "
Really
, you guys?"

His clothes and books were strewn around haphazardly. Someone had taken the time to dump out his art kit and scatter the pencils. One of his books was in a puddle, and even the ones in the dirt proper had pages curling from moisture, from mist and morning dew.

Jack said nothing, just started walking around and picking up clothes.

"For fuck's sake," Axton's said. "How juvenile is this going to get?"

"Probably pretty juvenile," Jack said, "if I had to guess."

"Go on without me," Axton said. "I'll meet you at your place, but I just--need a moment."

"You sure?" Jack asked. "What if someone--"

"Then I'll bite their hamstrings out," Axton said, "and feel bad about fucking up my peaceful protest later. I'm irritated."

"Peaceful protests are hard," Jack said, handing Axton a pile of clothes.

"My
books
," Axton said. "Fucking illiterate assholes. Jesus."

"I'll pull some stuff from my shelves," Jack called out, as he left.

Once again, Axton thought it was fortunate he didn't have too many things. It didn't take long to walk around and pick up his clothes, his damp books. His clothes were damp, too. He stayed human, despite the petty annoyance that curled inside him, because if he'd gone wolf, he would have been able to press his nose into his clothes and breathe deep, and know who had fucked with his things. In spite of the frustration that had whiplashed through him, Axton didn't want to know who was responsible. It didn't actually matter. Dignity, he would react with dignity.

Besides, what if it had been someone he had kind of liked?

Whatever. No real loss. In a fit of paranoia, Axton had buried his favorite things in a deep hole months ago, towards the edges of Helen's territory. The chain and pendant Leander had given him, the book of Neruda poems, Leander's shirt that he had slipped into before he'd left L.A.--those were sealed in several layers of airtight bags and stowed deep under the earth. Axton had figured Dana wouldn't be above taking his mementos of his lover, but he didn't think Dana was petty enough to mess with his things in general.

"My jeans are wet," Axton sighed to the world in general. "I hate wet jeans."

Oh,
fuck it
. Axton threw a pair of jeans over a low hanging branch, built a quick fire. Then he turned wolf and went to do some digging.

When Axton turned up in the main camp about an hour later, he made no eye contact. But he held his head high and his gaze was not afraid--merely uninterested. His face still showed bruises, though the swelling was gone. The dramatic taper of his cheekbones only served to emphasize the damage, adding shadow to mottled skin. The bruises ranged from yellow to green, from blue black to purple, and his right eye, in particular, burned bright from a splash of particularly deep purple.

Dana was nowhere to be seen.

Axton had a worn flannel shirt on, and left a couple of buttons open at the throat. It wasn't an unusual werewolf inclination, to reject tightness around the neck, but today Axton did it to emphasize the sleekness of his build and the faint glimmer of silver chain. No one else knew what it was, but Dana did, and perhaps people could guess. Axton kept his gait graceful and easy, and he walked past everyone to knock on Jack's door without stopping.

"Hello," Jack said, slightly thrown off by the stares of people behind Axton, who were trying to not look like they were watching. "Uh, come in."

"Thanks," Axton said, and he did.

"Can I help you?" Jack asked the informal crowd. "Are you waiting for something?"

He glared until people dispersed, and then tried to not slam his door.

There was a spread of food, not just tea. Axton gratefully helped himself while Jack paced around.

"So," Axton said, after many mouthfuls, "how are you?"

"I should be asking you that," Jack said.

"I've basically said, though," Axton pointed out. "I don't really want to talk about it more."

"Still," Jack said. He was still pacing.

"Really, though," Axton said. "How are
you
?"

"Just finally wondering what I'm doing with my life, living under the rule of a potential murderer, with his asshole of a nephew, in a pack that doesn't even want me here, that doesn't listen to me, and I don't even get to have recycle bins," Jack said. The pacing kicked up a notch. "Oh, and the beautifully mentally unstable widow, don't forget her, and my best friend is still, in fact, dead, and has been for years now, and what the hell are we
doing
here, Axton?"

"Well, I'm here to get political since I don't have anything else going on," Axton said. "Apparently."

"I should rip out his throat," Jack muttered, "right now. I'm older. It's my responsibility."

"Going by tradition, that's Dana's responsibility," Axton said, "but this is the first time I've ever heard you say that--anything like that."

"He rules here like an abusive father," Jack said. "No one gets to come or go without his permission. No one dares say anything for fear of being put violently in their place. Everyone feels isolated and alone and on edge, and it makes them
cowards
."

"I'm not sure about that," Axton said. "The longer I'm gone from home the more I realize my father was pretty just and fair as an alpha, and I still got kicked out without a peep from anyone. I don't think people need fear to be--intolerant."

"Fear precludes the
possibility
of change," Jack said. "The pack is sick, but the pack is a reflection of the leader."

"I think," Axton said gently, "that you're probably just upset right now, and you don't actually want to kill Dru."

"But what if I do?" Jack asked, turning around.

Axton scrubbed a hand through his hair.

"Then I'd like it if you waited a bit," he said, "so I can heal some before I go play back up."

"I can't believe Dana," Jack said softly. "I just can't. And I'm sorry, Ax, I'm real sorry, and I take back every damn fool kind thing I ever said to you about that man."

"He's not that awful," Axton said. "Just fucked up."

Jack gave him an incredulous look.

"What?" Axton asked. "He's not. The self-hatred just makes him an asshole."

"Oh, lord," Jack muttered, and resumed pacing.

"I didn't say he was a
good
guy," Axton said, "but, I mean. He's complicated."

"Yeah, there's a word for this," Jack said.

"What, for Dana?" Axton asked. "Self-hating homosexual?"

"Stockholm syndrome, I was going to say," Jack sighed, "but sure, that too."

"I do not have Stockholm syndrome," Axton said.

"No feelings of unreasonable tenderness for your kidnapper?" Jack asked.

"I wouldn't go so far as to say tender," Axton tried. "But--"

Jack raised one grey eyebrow.

"--maybe a little," Axton conceded hastily. "Maybe just a little Stockholm syndrome."

"Mm," Jack said.

"Maybe it's just that we have a--a history," Axton said.

"It can be both," Jack said, twitching a curtain back with one finger, making a delicate slit he peered through. "Bastards," he muttered.

"What are they doing now?" Axton asked.

"No, I just meant in general," Jack said.

"Your bruise is healing," Axton observed.

"Damn," Jack said, touching his brow. "I'm slipping. Distracted."

"This upsets you," Axton said. "What about this in particular upsets you?"

"Everything! Everything about this upsets me!" Jack snapped. "Why wouldn't it? But come to the kitchen so I can put the kettle on."

Axton followed silently, folding his arms over his chest and perching his hip on the counter.

"You seem to be getting progressively more upset," Axton said, "instead of less."

"Because I'm not
doing
anything," Jack said, clattering around the kitchen in the most furious round of tea preparation Axton had ever seen, "and each day, each
hour
that goes on makes it worse."

"But you are doing something," Axton said, cocking his head to the side. "You're having me here. You're showing everyone how you feel about the situation. You're standing with me."

"Don't give me points for basic decency," Jack said. "Not when I should have stood with you stronger."

"Plenty strong already," Axton said. "Couldn't be stronger without Dru taking it as a challenge for the pack. And you don't want that. Not really."

"No," Jack sighed. "No."

"And I don't either," Axton said.

"I hate confrontation," Jack said. "I hate power plays. Always have. But I hate--this. I hate this, too."

"Do you think I shouldn't have?" Axton asked, raising one eyebrow slightly.

"I think you shouldn't have had to," Jack said, "but it's damn good that you did."

Axton uncrossed his arms and felt his body relax minutely, releasing tension he hadn't even known was lurking in his shoulders, crawling through his spine.

"Thanks," he said. It was nice to have someone say that out loud, really. If no one had given him approval, that would have been fine, but, well. It was nice.

Just as Axton wound down, Jack seemed to wind up and he turned, suddenly, and looked at Axton intently.

"You know you can come to me," he said, "at any time, if you need help, if it gets bad, or just if you need to talk."

"I'm here, aren't I?" Axton asked, and while his smile wasn't easy, it wasn't hesitant, either.

"If there's anything I can do--" Jack started.

"You're doing it," Axton said.

"If there's anything
more
I can do," Jack corrected, with a sigh.

Axton drummed his fingers on the counter.

"Could I borrow some tools?" he asked.

Life was different and life was the same. Axton suspected that the shunning would have been more effective on someone who liked people. Not that Axton
disliked
people, but he mostly found interacting with them tiring, and suddenly having every excuse to stay in the woods away from everyone was a relief. If he didn't think about the why of things, he was actually relatively content. Really, Axton had a lot of practice at just running alone in the woods, not thinking about his feelings. His whole adult life, practically, was running alone in the woods not thinking about his feelings. By this point, he was very good at it.

Axton did not join the hunt most nights. Even though he didn't need other wolves to hunt, he did actually enjoy it--it was the only thing he truly felt the joy of running in a pack for. Therefore: it was the only thing where the shunning could actually hurt. And it did.

Scraps for dinner on the hunt wasn't about going hungry. Although the game was thinning, prey was still plentiful and would be for a while yet. Axton couldn't have gone hungry if he tried, because even if he didn't take the time to run down a buck, even if he didn't risk broken bones by leaping in the path of a moose, there were rabbits and squirrels and birds. And small things were such
fun
to catch, even though it was easy, and sometimes he couldn't help but leap and snap his jaws at a flurry of movement.

Scraps for dinner on the hunt was about hierarchy, not hunger.