Everything Carries Me to You (Axton and Leander Book 3) (36 page)

The ceremonial killing bite went to Dru, always, and he was the first to start eating. Dana went either second or somewhere mid-pack; it seemed to change with how well he and Dru were getting along on any given day. Fridge Guy was surprisingly high up in the order. When Dru was gone, Dana and Fridge Guy led the hunt together, less ceremonial and more efficient. They worked well together, like they were used to each other, like they had long hours of practice. Axton supposed that this might mean that Fridge Guy was who Dana meant when he--melodramatically, Axton thought—referred to his second in command. But Axton had never paid attention to the name of Dana's second, and he'd never actually figured out Fridge Guy's real name even though he was sure they'd been introduced, and Axton sure as hell wasn't going to learn his name now, because fuck that guy.

Peaceful protest, Axton reminded himself, peace in your actions and your heart.

But it was hard.

All three wolves who had spoken up, however briefly, at Axton's ill received coming out speech, had been demoted in the eating order. The stocky one wouldn't meet Axton's gaze, just turned and dropped his eyes. Axton could tell that he felt bad--he felt guilty for not saying more, but he was afraid of Dru.

Axton wondered what had happened to him, after the meeting.

The twins took their demotion in different ways. The softer one was stoic, acting as if she hardly noticed that anything had changed. She met Axton's eyes when he glanced at her in quick apology, and nodded to him just the same as she would have before.

The other one--the twin that had been ready to fight when she came looking for Dana--took it differently. Her lips seemed ready to curl back into a snarl at any second, and she ate her portion of the kill with eyes of fire. She looked at Dru and didn't look away until he snapped at her rudeness.

If Dana didn't challenge Dru for the pack soon, Axton thought,
she
was probably going to take it.

Her defiance likely had precious little to do with him, Axton figured. It wasn't that she didn't care--apparently she did--but her resentment of Dru seemed long and old.

Axton ate last.

Last was dead last. It was tiny strips of meat clinging to bones. It was none of the good bones being left. It was none of the beautiful juicy entrails. Last was last. Worse than that, last was watched. Everyone had to watch, because they'd eaten their portion but hadn't been dismissed. Axton was keenly aware of a dozen avid stares and some politely averted gazes as he picked at what was left.

Last was a spotlight.

Last was: know your place. Know it's at the bottom. Know that we all witness it, making it more real. Know your place because we won't let you forget.

Axton hated it. Axton hated every second of it. And Axton wouldn't have traded it for anything.

After the pack was allowed to disperse, some nights Axton would cut loose and run wild through the woods, panting with the humiliated exhaustion of it, running until the whites of his eyes showed, until his flanks heaved, until he had no thoughts but the blinding burn of exertion, until he collapsed. He would lie in the dirt, or in the grass, letting his tongue loll out of his mouth, feeling how fast his nose was twitching to keep up with his breath. Gradually, his tongue would recede, bit by bit, behind his teeth again. He would roll over on his back, scratch his shoulders against the earth, and shake the dirt off his fur when he stood up. Then he was fine. Life was entirely livable until the next hunt.

Eventually, Axton built himself a little shelter, close enough to the rotting house that he was plausibly within the bounds of his mild banishment, but far enough that he felt comfortable. He didn't bother making it much more than four walls and a roof--it wasn't like he was going to be entertaining guests. It was basically a glorified dog house with a pile of blankets in it. And truthfully, he spent very little time in there. He was spending very little time in his human skin. Building a shelter at all was kind of--not pointless, because Axton very much had a point. But the shack was more of an ideological point than a useful one, because he only went human to build a bit of it each day, and then he went wolf again.

Still.

A flare of craftsman pride still burned in Axton's chest.

He sat in his wolf shape and contemplated his shack. Something nice for the door, maybe. If he wanted to get very serious about it, possibly a window. On the other hand, that would be bad for winter, letting the cold air in. On the other
other
hand, did that matter? He was probably going to spend this winter solidly in his wolf shape, so who cared about drafts?

It was on one of the rare occasions when Axton was on two legs that he sensed an intruder. It wasn't entirely scent; it was a snap of branches when there should have been none; it was a flicker of movement on the edge of his vision.

"I know you're there," Axton called out.

Slowly, Fridge Guy emerged from behind the shack.

"Yo," he said.

"Ah," Axton said. "I was hoping it wouldn't be you." He dropped the tool box he was holding but kept the wrench in his other hand.

"What?" Fridge Guy said.

"Come on. Let's do this," Axton gripped his wrench.

"What?" Fridge Guy said again.

"Just get it over with," Axton said. "I'm ready. Go for it, Fridge Guy. I can take you."

"Fridge Guy?" he echoed, baffled.

"Whatever," Axton said, taking a step forward.

"Whoa, whoa, holy shit, dude," Fridge Guy said, holding up his hands. "Why are we gonna rumble?"

"I don't know, systematic oppression?" Axton said, wrench half raised. "Stagnant culture due to long lifespans?"

"I am so lost right now," Fridge Guy said.

"Well, come on," Axton said. "I don't want to take all fucking day doing this."

"What are we doing?" Fridge Guy asked. "I mean, I get that we're fighting, but, like, why?"

Axton narrowed his eyes.

"Why are you here?" he asked, "if not to try to beat the shit out of me?"

"Oh," Fridge Guy said. "No, man, I--I guess that's what I wanted to talk about."

"Talk," Axton echoed dubiously. "Like Dana came to talk to me a while back?"

"No," Fridge Guy said, with a sharp inhale. "No, that was fucked up. What Dana did was fucked up. There was so much blood on him when he got back."

Axton lowered his wrench but didn't drop it.

"I don't disagree about Dana," he said, "but what, kicking me into a health hazard of a house is fine?"

"No," Fridge Guy said in a small voice, "it's not."

He was having trouble looking at Axton--he was deeply uncomfortable. But maybe that wasn't disgust…maybe.

"I'm listening," Axton said evenly, and he tossed his wrench on the ground.

"I, uh," Fridge Guy cleared his throat and looked up at the sky. "I freaked out, man. And I didn't think Dru would tell you to come here."

"What did you think would happen?" Axton asked.

"I don't know," Fridge Guy said. "I just…I'm not proud of how I reacted. I'm not proud of how the pack reacted. I don't think it's right that you got sent here."

Axton stayed silent.

"And I guess I just…I want to apologize," he finished, "for the way I acted, for how Dru treats you now, for what Dana did to you." Fridge Guy took a deep breath and forced himself to look Axton full in the face. "I'm sorry."

Huh.

Axton wasn't sure he'd been sincerely apologized to before. He blinked. The novelty value alone was interesting, but for once, he knew exactly how to respond.

"Thank you," Axton said.

Fridge Guy hesitated but then took a few steps forward. When he was within reach, he offered a tentative hand.

"I know that saying I'm sorry doesn't change anything," Fridge Guy said, "but I had to."

Axton glanced down at his hand, and then shook. Fridge Guy's grip, at least, was not hesitant. He at least committed to the handshake. At least.

"It changes things a little," Axton said. "I appreciate knowing." He dropped hands and stepped back. "But I do want things to be different."

"I do, too," Fridge Guy said. "Like, I know it's not easy, and I know I'll probably freak out again but I'm trying, and--and we could all try."

"Well, you want to try," Axton said. "That's more than I expected."

"I used to think that things would change once Dru wasn't alpha," Fridge Guy said, "but now--I dunno, dude."

Axton raised an eyebrow.

"I'm just saying, Dana doesn't seem like a great alternative right now," Fridge Guy finished.

Axton rubbed his face absently--cheekbones, right, that's what his new nervous touch spot was. Dana had broken those.

"If he hadn't beat me, would you have come here and apologized?" Axton asked. "Is physical violence the line?"

"No--maybe--I don't know," Fridge Guy said, sounding miserable. "I hadn't thought about it much before."

He really has no idea
, Axton marveled softly,
he has no idea about Dana, and they're close
. Dana's life was more bleak and sad each time Axton looked at it. How lonely. How utterly fucking soul destroying. It explained so much about Dana.

"All in all, I think you'll turn out okay, Fridge Guy," Axton said.

"My name is
Trevor
," Fridge Guy said. "I've introduced myself like five times, man, come on."

"Oh," Axton said, unconcerned. "Sorry."

Trevor shook his head.

"You say that each time," he said.

"Uh," Axton said. "I'm really sorry?"

"I can live with Fridge Guy, I guess."

"I'll try to remember this time," Axton said.

"I'd appreciate it," Fridge Guy/Trevor said, "and I gotta head back now, but--thanks."

"Welcome," Axton called out to his retreating form.

Alone in the woods, Axton shrugged.

One thing Axton had expected but was still surprised by was how little he saw of Dana now. For so long, Dana had become a daily feature, the only person he talked to. To not have that anymore was--

It was strange.

Axton didn't
miss
him, exactly. It was a feeling Axton understood very well now, the missing of someone, because of Leander, so he could say, with confidence, that it wasn't that he
missed
Dana.

But it was something, all the same.

Some nights Axton trotted over to Helen and they went on the hunt together, joyous and free. Sometimes he slept in her den, curled up nose to tail, and sometimes she kept watch but sometimes she curled up next to him, and they slept.

Axton returned Jack's tools, and then did not go back for a long time.

Moons bled into one another and nights slipped past like gently fleeing lovers escaping a tousled bed. Axton tested the limits of how often he could skip the hunt without rebuke, and learned the tacit limit so he could play fast and wild with it. Every day for a week and then absent for three days without a peep; or appearing on the edge of town five days out of seven but hunting strictly solo; either approach spawned countless variants. Axton wanted to stay unpredictable. Protean behavior, it was called, in animals. It was a way to survive.

It was a way to be quietly defiant, too. Axton was determined to keep his dignity and physical safety, but he still had a streak of polite rebellion lurking just under his skin at all times.

Eventually, Jack came to him in the afternoon, on a rare occasion Axton walked as a man to whittle away the precious daylight hours. It was autumn now, so the wind reached right through the sweaters that Axton had casually worn or ripped holes in, touching his skin, bathing it in cold airy kisses.

Axton heard Jack coming, or smelled him--it was hard to be sure which came first when each sense followed the other so quickly--and busied himself with meaningless carpentry adjustments around his shack.

"Hey," Jack said, hailing Axton, who said nothing. With no attempt at stealth, he walked closer, crunching over leaves. "Haven't seen you in a while," Jack said eventually, to Axton's silence.

"No," Axton agreed, "been busy, you know."

"Uh huh," Jack said, eying Axton's pointless sanding of the doorway.

Maybe he should have picked a different way to stall? Fuck. Axton wasn't any better at dishonesty despite telling one lie less.

"Okay, so, maybe not busy, exactly," Axton said, "but entertained." He looked away and scrubbed at the doorway.

"Right," Jack said, rocking back on his heels, looking up at the sky.

"So, yeah," Axton said. "I'm fine."

Jack nodded.

"So you can go back now," Axton said.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're downright unfriendly, son?"

"Not in so many words, no," Axton said.

"Come on," Jack said. "What's this about?"

Axton sighed and dropped his hands and then regretted it, because now he didn't know what to do with his fingers. He looked down at them, wriggled them back and forth, then looked away, then up, then anywhere but at Jack.

But more than most wolves Axton had known, Jack was patient.

"There were rumors," Axton said shortly, but only after a long pause. "I mean, I heard some. So I, uh--I thought it would be better to…distance myself."

"What kind of rumors?" Jack asked.

"I didn't want to cause you more trouble," Axton said. "So, I--yeah."

"What kind of rumors, Ax?" Jack pressed, but his voice was gentle.

Axton gave up even pretending to be busy. Soon it would be sunset, and twilight, and the darkness would obscure his expressions. Blessed mercy, the night. And soon. But not soon enough.

"Ax?" Jack said softly.

"That we're sleeping together," Axton said finally. "Just because you'll be seen with me in public, just because you invite me over--" Axton cleared his throat and let go of the curses hovering at the back of his tongue. "I thought that they might--I don't know--treat you worse, so…"

"So you made the choice for me," Jack said.