Everything Carries Me to You (Axton and Leander Book 3) (46 page)

"No, I mean that they're banging," Leander said. "Her and New York, the guy. And he's good for it. Useful in a fight. Not that it'll come to that."

"We're about to cross another state line," Axton said.

"Let me know when," Leander said, but just then a relevant sign flashed by. Leander leaned over and pressed a kiss into Axton's cheek. "And a checkmark for Vermont."

"If we hustle," Leander said, from behind his sunglasses, "the drive could be done in, say, ten days."

"Given that it's day, what, four," Axton said, "and we're not even halfway there--"

"If we hustle," Leander said, "if."

"If we really want to hustle," Axton said, "and keeping in mind that I don't need to sleep--"

"I'm not letting you drive for seventy something hours," Leander said, "werewolf bullshit or no."

"I thought we were on a schedule," Axton said, far too seriously.

"Look, do you want to make out at weird roadside attractions or not?" Leander asked. "You can choose the abandoned amusement park with the gnome garden or the Spam Museum."

"You take me to the nicest places, babe."

They drove when it was rush hour and they stayed where it was crowded. It should have made Axton's skin itch, staying human for so long, folded up in a car until they flopped out in an anonymous motel room, but the light was syrupy and beautiful as it sluiced over them, and Leander's skin was warm and his hands were rough and his lips were soft and Axton tumbled into bed with him every night, heady with bliss, almost dizzy with it.

In Axton's memory, the road trip spiraled on as if it had lasted forever. But even while it was happening, the whole time had a dreamy, surreal quality, like the colors were too vivid, and everyone felt serene without knowing why.

"You know," Leander said one day, idly, throatily, as he leaned against the window and Axton drove, "He's being slow."

"Oh yeah?" Axton said. He couldn't see Leander's eyes behind his sunglasses, but he knew Leander was looking at him all the same, even as he pretended to look out at the road.

"We could simplify things," Leander said easily, like he was talking about what to eat for dinner, "Just get on a plane."

Axton hummed in agreement.

"Where to?" he asked.

"Fly to China, fly to Brazil," Leander said lazily, like it didn't matter, like he didn't care either way, "Australia. Europe."

"I don't know what the werewolf distribution is in Europe," Axton said.

"I'd have to learn more languages," Leander mused, "You, too, until we picked a place to be expatriates in."

"I've always meant to take some courses," Axton agreed.

"I think we're going to have to start using credit cards," Leander said, "If we want him to find us."

"It's a big country," Axton said slowly, "It's tempting to--"

"Just drive forever," Leander said, "Sunset to sunset. Stopping at beaches, picking up shells and then driving to the other coast, to throw the shells into a different ocean."

"Anywhere, together." Axton said.

"Just running," Leander murmured to himself, "Forever."

"Is it running, at this pace?" Axton asked. "More like meandering forever."

"But you'll need woods, eventually," Leander said, still mostly talking to himself. "Even more than I need the sea. And soon I'll miss real food, made in my own kitchen, and we can't escape reality forever..."

"Forever with you," Axton said. "Why not?"

Leander's fingers rippled across his knee, considering.

"It's better to make sure," he said, with a note of reluctance.

"Are you sleep deprived?" Axton smiled. "Do you need to rest? This is what you sound like when you haven't slept."

Leander made a noncommittal noise.

Ten minutes later he was sprawled out, seat reclining, eyes closed behind his shades. Axton spared a moment to pat his thigh and kept on driving.

They stopped for popular landmarks, the ones that were crowded enough.

They started paying for their flophouse motels with credit cards.

Most nights were like the diffused light of a neon sign through a window, playing across the face of a lover. Axton and Leander tumbled into bed, into each other's arms, flinging themselves apart only to throw their heads back in ecstasy. They nuzzled into each other, in the night, and they laughed in the mornings and groped towards each other sleepily.

So most nights were good.

But some nights were--

Axton woke up, consciousness slamming into his brain like a train wreck to the heart so that all his stress hormones exploded out at once. His pulse was pounding but he felt weak all over; he felt like he should be covered in sweat but he was not, could not, because of the fur, so he could only sweat through the pads of his paws. The hunger, fuck, the
hunger
and the dark and the smell of rot and he was all
alone
, again, and he was going to die here in this basement and that's what he wanted but only because living with failure was worse and, god, the numbing soul destroying
nothingness
all around him and his head hurts and his nose hurts and in this shape he can't even weep and he is going to die, and Leander--

"Ax!" Leander yelled, shaking him by the shoulder, "Ax, wake up--"

pain fear noise
, but the thought is without words, no words, what are words?

Lights turned on--

Axton surged up suddenly and snapped blindly at the air behind him--

Leander stumbled back, barely throwing himself out of the way in time. In a flash he was off the bed and had rolled to his feet, stance low and ready to lunge sideways if Axton jumped at him.

"Axton," he said urgently, "it's me, Ax, it's Leander--"

Leander stopped talking, eyes darting to Axton's face. The wolf was coiled up on the bed, flanks heaving, lips pulled back from his teeth--but his eyes were glassy and unfocused. Experimentally, Leander moved slowly sideways, observing how Axton turned with him, ready to circle together, as if one of them was going to pounce.

"This again," Leander muttered, striving for a wisecrack without conviction that it would work. "I hope to god that you haven't lost your shit for good because I am fresh out of mountains to kick you down, let me tell you."

Axton was still panting, crouched down on the bed, but he shuddered suddenly, and then raised his head, smelling the air.

"It's okay," Leander whispered, like he was talking to a startled horse. "Ax. Shh. It's okay."

Given the abruptness of his wake up call, Leander was satisfied--proud, even--of how he'd responded to the stress. He was tough and adaptable and ready for anything.

Axton tossed his head back and gave a long, low howl of distress. It was so intensely and immediately mournful that Leander startled back.

Well
, Leander thought, back up against the wall now,
not anything, as it turns out
.

Soft and keening, the howl went on, undulating with grief.

"Oh, Ax," Leander murmured, because he felt like his heart was being methodically beaten with a wooden spoon. "
Corazón
, don't--"

The last pulsing note of the howl melted into the night and the wolf's face peeled away with it, so that Axton's human head reappeared from the inside out as the howl died in the air.

Jesus Jesus Jesus fuck
, Leander thought privately, because the sight had been terrible to see--he'd witnessed many transformations from Axton, but most looked painless and vague, rippling like shadows, details lost; yet for all the usual speed this change had looked visceral, brain and bones and blood. Outwardly, all Leander did was blink once, and then he was reaching out for his lover--

"Don't," Axton said, sharp and fast as he jerked away.

"What?" Leander asked, baffled and frozen in mid-air.

"I hurt you," Axton said miserably, swinging his legs off the bed and hurtling towards the bathroom.

"What?" Leander tried again, immediately following, about to catch up--

Axton shut the bathroom door in his face.

Leander's hand shot out to try the doorknob.

Axton had just locked it.

Fuck.

Leander rattled the doorknob anyway.

Well,
fuck
.

Leander raised his forearm and rested it against the door, and then pressed his forehead to his arm, leaning, and he tried to think.

The door was shitty, obviously. He could shoulder check it open,
easy
, and that wasn't even the correct form for busting down doors. Sure. He could
so
get into the bathroom, and if he suspected Axton of self harm or something, he was totally going to muscle in there and be useful. But until then--

Leander breathed hard and harsh, because he was frustrated and scared and had just been yanked out of a deep and restful sleep. Shit.
Shit
. His boyfriend was locked in the bathroom. Leander didn't have bullshit werewolf super senses or anything, but he was pretty sure Axton was crying behind that door.

Sweat cooled on his skin, and then Leander felt it. There was a liquid trickle down his shoulder, and given what Axton had said, and how he'd just been shot through with adrenaline, had he missed...?

Leander touched his fingers against his skin, and glanced down at them when they came away bloody. Biting back a sigh, he turned and went to the only other mirror in the room, flipping on another light as he went.

Right, yeah, that was blood. No surprise there.

The wound wasn't bad, but it was long, and deep enough to still seep blood. It looked like one of Axton's canines had
just
managed to swipe at his skin as he jumped back. Given the size of Axton's teeth and the strength of Axton's bite, Leander felt lucky--and quick. Definitely quick. He felt like his own reflexes deserved a nod.

Whatever. He'd had worse in sparring matches. Granted, those weren't usually slice wounds, but there had been that one time with New York and the training knives...

It still wasn't
good
, though, and Leander knew that. But bedding down with Axton had never been exactly danger free, and he'd woken up, once or twice, to the sudden press of claws against his bare chest as Axton slept through the change. No big deal and Leander didn't mind, but...this could be different; this could be potentially bad. It would have been foolish to not consider the possibility.

But--

Leander glanced back towards the bathroom and ambled over to it slowly. Yeah, Axton was definitely crying. He knocked, but he didn't expect an answer, and he was not surprised.

"Look," Leander called through the door. "It's no big, all right?" No answer. The silence was disagreement. "A little bit of PTSD is kind of expected," Leander went on. "It's all right."

"No!" Axton objected, muffled by tears and also the door. "It's
not
all right!"

Leander sighed. That was the response he should have expected, really.

"It can be," Leander tried hopefully. "It can be all right if we say so."

"No! It can't!"

Sweet baby Jesus
, Leander begged the universe, or his inner self, or his boyfriend, or whatever,
I don't want to decipher an emotional crisis; I want to go back to sleep
. Okay, how to do this? Was there a shortcut?

"Hey, see," Leander said in a suddenly upbeat voice. "It stopped bleeding!" He gave the door an intense look.

Right on cue, Axton opened the door and stuck his face out anxiously, eyes shining with hope and--

Leander lunged forward, wedged his foot into the space between the door and the frame, wrapping his fingers around the door for good measure. Given that Axton was so distressed by hurting him even accidently, Leander knew that he wasn't going to force the door closed.

"It has
not
stopped bleeding," Axton said resentfully. He didn't slam the door shut, but he didn't open it, either, even though Leander was leaning on it heavily.

"It will, though," Leander promised. Optimistically, he leaned on the door a little harder, in case that would get his point across. "Let me in?"

"Why?" Axton asked, shutting his eyes in distress, but stepping back and relinquishing his hold on the door. "So I can bite your face off when I have a panic attack for no good reason?"

"Okay, for one, you didn't bite," Leander said, checking himself out in the mirror once he was in, "and two, you have plenty of good reason."

Axton crossed his arms over his bare chest and looked away, trying to suck in enough air as he sniffed to hide the signs of tears. Given that his eyes were red rimmed and he'd forgotten to wipe off a trail of moisture on his left cheek, it didn't really work.

That hurt Leander more than the little wound on his skin did--Axton was miserable, and always so quick to blame himself. There was a sweet roiling anxiety in Leander's gut, even as he inwardly played at being flippant and annoyed. Axton was
hurt
and he couldn't fix it and the awareness of those facts itched. Leander would have scratched until the skin was raw and bleeding, if the itch had a physical place on his body. He dithered, briefly unsure of what to say or do, until he saw that Axton was standing behind him, eyes intense. He met Leander's gaze in the mirror with a flat, resigned despair.

"There is no good reason," Axton said, with a blunt finality. "There will never be good enough reason to hurt you."

Leander couldn't look away. For all his bravado, machismo, and genuine emotional stability, Axton unnerved him and always had. Axton made Leander feel a little unbalanced at the best of times, like the weight of his anguish and love could drown a man.

It probably could, Leander thought. It had almost killed him once. It might very well kill him in the future. But for right now, he was alive and well and Axton needed him to come through somehow. Leander's own worry and fear threatened to bubble up, as did his own despair at how he hadn't been able to prevent his lover's suffering. But there wasn't
time
to feel that, not now...