Everything Carries Me to You (Axton and Leander Book 3) (39 page)

Wolves are crepuscular, most active at dawn and dusk. Werewolves away from human settlement seemed to settle into a similar biorhythm, in Axton's experience. In the winter, with no threats and no abundant hunts, Axton trotted around alone and undisturbed during the middle of the day, even as he passed the communal house.

He did not vary his usual routine, feigning his normal interest in hunting small, scurrying things at dawn, running by the human camp, then reporting to Dru in a few terse sentences. He slept at the edges of the treeline--he curled up and pretended to sleep--for a few hours, then stood, stretched, yawned elaborately--

And bolted further into the woods.

Blinding white heat engulfed Axton's mind--he strained to keep his senses sharp, to be able to hear any potential intruders or threats, but in truth he could hear nothing over the desperate pounding of his heart. He could smell nothing but the overwhelming scent of pine and his own wild rushing hope.

Hurtling over fallen logs, Axton felt a sharp pain in his chest and could not stop, could not imagine stopping, could not--

Someone collided with him.

Flanks heaving, Axton was back on his feet in a flash, staring down the man that stood in his path.

It was Trevor.

Trevor froze.

Axton's breath was loud and harsh in the air, bursting like smoke from behind his teeth because of the cold. He stared Trevor down.

Trevor held up his hands.

"Easy," he muttered. "Easy, Ax." He gave Axton an intense sidelong look, averting his eyes like a wolf should, to signal that he didn't want a confrontation. "You're leaving," Trevor breathed, "aren't you? Leaving for good?"

Axton did not move, except to crouch down closer to the ground, legs coiling, readying for a jump.

"I'm not going to stop you," Trevor said softly. "I'm not. I'm not going to tell."

Axton pulled his lips away from his teeth, uncertain. The wolf in him had no time for nuance. There was someone in his way, and he needed to
go
--

"Back to your guy, right?" Trevor whispered. "I don't blame you."

Axton's tail swished high in agitation.

"I didn't see anything, man," Trevor said. "I'm going to be the last to notice that you're gone, all right? I'd leave here, too, if I were you. Maybe even if I wasn't you, but had a place to go."

The man inside Axton wanted to pause, wanted to examine those words, wanted to offer sympathy, maybe. But there was no time--

Axton growled quietly, just a soft velvet rumble from the back of his throat.

Trevor stepped aside.

Snow sprayed out behind Axton in a graceful arc as he leaped away.

When he came to the spot where he had found the watch, Axton shoved his nose in the snow, looking for--anything, everything. He blundered into a scent trail by sheer luck, and followed it blindly to a--

Was that a cage? That was a crate. Something smelled of lavender inside it--Axton wandered in and stuck his nose into the t shirt he found at the back corner.
YES,
that smelled faintly like--

The open end of the crate slammed down and shut. In a panic, Axton hurled himself at the bars, paws scrambling at the bottom edge of the container as if that might help. This was
so
bad, and he was in
so
much shit even if he wasn't missing a reunion with--

Axton heard the cheerful crunch of footfalls over the snow. He froze with his head down.

A boot stepped in front of the cage.

"Well," said a familiar voice. "That was easy."

There was a moment, just a moment, where Leander leaned down and stuck his fingers through the cage. That was his face--his beautiful, perfect, unbruised face. Axton, trembling with relief warring with fear, licked at his fingers, trying to say--

I love you
but maybe also
how could you
and
don't you understand what I gave up to keep you safe? Don't you understand that your death here would kill me?

"Shhh," Leander said, his other hand coming up to his lips, warning Axton into silence. "Don't celebrate yet. Sit tight." He straightened and waved to someone in the cabin.

"Okay!" he shouted. "This is the one." Leander strode back towards the cabin.

Dazed, Axton distantly noticed that there were other people coming, that the crate was being pushed through the snow, that he was being loaded into a truck.

"Yeah, no, you guys were great, thanks," came the pleasant buzz of Leander's voice. He was also saying things like, "Definitely the right specimen," and "I know he's been impossible to tag--crazy, right?" and "Copies of the paperwork," and other things Axton did not understand.

"Look at that stress panting, poor baby," someone else said, fussing at Axton.

"We'll have a vet looking at him in two hours flat, once we're at the rehab center," Leander soothed. "Nice meeting all of you. You've been great. The check's in the mail."

He smiled, waved, and jumped into the back of the mack truck. The doors closed, and it was dark save for a small, dingy light on the ceiling. The truck started up. Minutes passed in silence. Five. Ten. Fifteen. Axton panted.

There was a beeping sound, and Leander pushed a button on his wristwatch.

"Should be far enough," he murmured, and, braced against the motion of the moving vehicle, he walked up to the crate, crouching down.

Axton's eyes were glassy and distant, and a look of concern flickered across Leander's face.

"It's me," he said. "You know it's me, right?" There was no answer.

Leander hesitated, only for a second, and then opened the crate.

Axton flew out at him, mouth open, fluid and dark as shadows--knocking Leander over, paws on his shoulders, pinning him down.

A ripple, a moan--

Silence, save for the scuffing of bodies on the floor, the rustles of clothing being shoved away, the wordless hitches of breath that came with sacred urgency.

Axton buried his face in Leander's neck, breathing in the impossibly
there
scent of his skin, his hair. Leander's heart was pounding and Axton could feel the throb of his pulse, how the skin fluttered. He pressed his face against it, hiding there, and his body shuddered and trembled as he clung to Leander like the air itself would tear them apart. Tears pricked at his eyes and Axton stayed where he was, letting the tears squeeze out to smear over Leander's pulse point, because it was as if this was the only way he could touch Leander's heart, as if the path was made of tears and blood. Leander was curled around Axton and crushing him even closer, chin hooked over Axton's shoulder as he, too, struggled to breathe. Axton could smell his love and his fear and his
relief
, a startling scent that slapped his senses like the sudden salt of the sea.

Blindly, Axton shoved his face up, seeking Leander's mouth like a fish without eyes swimming upstream. He was still shaking; he felt frail and brittle and that made him misjudge, and he bit more than he meant to, drawing the tiniest bit of blood. Leander kissed him back with unflinching fierceness, changing his grip to lose one hand in Axton's slippery hair, crushing him close. He, too, was shuddering intermittently, though soon they were panting together.

"I dreamed about this," Leander breathed unevenly, pressing his forehead to Axton's, eyes closed in reverence. "I dreamed about this so much."

"I didn't," Axton said, voice thick. "God, Leander. I didn't dare. I missed--I didn't think I'd ever see you again--"

"I told you I would find you," Leander said, and
there
, there, there, there, oh, god--there were his tears, Axton saw. Leander didn't try to hide them.

Axton breathed unsteadily, feeling like his chest was going to collapse in on itself.

"But how could you?" he said, fighting tears. "How fucking could you, don't you understand that I left to keep you safe, don't you understand how fucking hard that was--"

"I couldn't," Leander said urgently. "I couldn't
not
, Axton, I couldn't--"

"You're an
idiot
," Axton said, in a furious whisper that did nothing to hide his tears. "You could have been fucking killed--it would kill me, too--"

"I'm sorry," Leander panted, blinking rapidly, letting the tears fall, clutching at Axton so hard it hurt. "I
couldn't
. How could I? How could I not? I love you, Ax, I--"

"Shut
up
," Axton said, and now he was crying freely, too. "Shut up, shut up."

Leander obeyed, pressing his lips to the place where Axton's pulse throbbed, right under his jaw.

"I love you," Axton said, voice breaking. "I love you--"

"I love you," Leander whispered back.

Axton shook his head--he was in love; they might be doomed; they might make it out alive; they were
together
; there was so much to feel. Every emotion roared in Axton and he could honor none of them fully, because he was in love, and that was the loudest even as a sigh. He shoved Leander down to the ground again, fitting their lips together.

They breathed with each other, like drowning men.

New York was having the time of his life. The shady counter kidnapping was finally happening, and he got to pretend to be a truck driver. Sure, it wasn't a helicopter. Sure, California hadn't let him get out of the truck cabin to witness the negotiations for the boyfriend/hostage in a box, but whatever. He got to drive a big ass thing, and he still had hope that he'd get to punch the right guy before the adventure was over.

Maybe, just maybe, they would have to flee on the tiny airplane he had on standby. He hoped so. New York hadn't gotten a pilot's license just to, like,
not
escape the jaws of danger by flying a plane. One day, New York consoled himself, one day it would come up. He was sure of it.

Humming to himself, he parked the truck, looked around to make sure they hadn't been followed, and hopped out. He adjusted his twin revolvers. Ambling over to the back, he opened the storage door and peered in.

California was propped up against a wall, with fucked up hair and dazed eyes. Coiled around him in a protective straddle was--well, their rescued hostage, presumably, who was glaring daggers in his direction over being interrupted. Axton was wearing California's jacket and nothing else.

"Yo," New York called out helpfully. "We're here."

"Babe, I have to get up," California said.

Wordless grumbles.

"No, really," California said, and eventually they untangled their limbs enough to separate. California staggered out of the truck, and New York politely didn't comment on how he was covered in fresh hickeys and his shirt buttons were askew.

"Hey," he said.

"Thanks man," California said.

"Your dude coming out?" New York asked.

"He's not wearing pants yet," California said.

"Your fly is open," New York observed.

"Motherfucker," California said, looking down.

Having located the spare pair of provided pants, the freshly liberated hostage in a box jumped off the truck, light on his feet. He was still shirtless under the jacket.

"Axton," California said. "This is New York consul. New York, this is Axton."

"Hi," Axton said, sticking out his hand for a shake. "Um. Thanks."

New York gave him a hug. Bewildered, Axton patted him on the back.

"This is the coolest thing I've done all year," New York said, pulling back to slap Axton on the shoulder, beaming.

"Wow, way to make this about you," California said.

"You're welcome?" Axton said, hazel--no, not hazel, not really, New York thought, because his own eyes were nearly hazel but Axton's were past that and solidly into yellow--eyes blinking.

Whatever. There were things to drive. Planes to fly. Guys to punch, hopefully.

New York pulled a trucker cap on over his unruly hair.

"All right, I have to get this truck back if we're gonna keep cover," he said.

"What?" Axton said.

"California wanted a real truck driver, but then decided it was unfair to expose an innocent party to the potential risk," New York said.

"What?" Axton tried again.

"I'll explain on the way to the airport," California said, fishing keys out of his pocket, pressing the button that opened the doors of the rental car parked on the side of the road.

"The airport?" Axton echoed, after whipping his head around to the source of the sound.

"Yes," California said, putting a firm but gentle hand around Axton's arm, "And we're on a tight schedule."

New York walked them over to the car, and then he and California had an awkward moment in front of the door.

"I really appreciate it," California said. "All of this. Everything."

"This isn't even the wildest thing we've done," New York pointed out.

"We don't talk about undergrad," California said. "We swore."

New York grinned at him.

"I love you, man," he said, and they hugged and clapped each other on the back as New York added, "No homo."

California punched him in the arm.

"Don't die on me, you son of a bitch. Check in when you make it back."

"Same," New York said, and they fist bumped and parted.

Axton got in the car.

"Get me that memo on the Jones case when you get in," New York called out. "I'll be waiting."

"Fuck you," California shouted back as a parting gift, and then he got in the car.

"I'm serious, though," New York said, even though no one was going to hear it. "I'm not writing it."

New York hopped back onto the truck, and glanced back to see Axton leaning across the center console, lip to lip and entwined with California for a moment longer.

They were really sweet, New York thought, but he still wanted to punch a guy.

"You know, I expected more questions," Leander said, when he'd driven for a while in silence. "Are you in shock?"

"Probably," Axton said.

"Do you want to know where we're going?"