Everything Carries Me to You (Axton and Leander Book 3) (38 page)

It was Axton.

Leander gasped to a stop and pushed out of his chair so he could flop down on the ground.

Right, so. This was only the first phase of the plan, really. Axton was found. The next question was extraction. Extraction. Sure, he had some vague ideas, based on generalities about werewolves and their sensory capabilities, and he had, what, access to a boat, and--

Leander closed his eyes.

He needed to call someone. Someone? There was only one person he could call, really. He needed to calm down, so he could call.

Breathing, he needed to
focus
on his breathing, count the inhales, the exhales--hold for a moment, hold the inhale at the top of the throat for a count of two then three, then exhale…

It took fifteen minutes, and then Leander sat up in one fluid motion, eyes clear, breathing steady.

He looked at the screen to make sure he hadn't been hallucinating; or, at least, if he had been, was he
still
hallucinating in a consistent manner?

Axton. Still Axton. Still painfully, obviously,
achingly
Axton.

Leander groped blindly for his phone, somewhere on his desk, because he didn't want to look away.

When he dialed the phone rang through to voicemail. Leander immediately called again. This time, on the third ring--

"What," New York asked sulkily. "I was asleep early. Do you know how hard that is for me? Time difference, you bastard."

"I need you," Leander said.

"Um," New York said, "I know how you probably mean that, but phrasing, man."

"I need to talk," Leander said. He cast about for a correct feeling term. "I need to. War room? I need to war room."

"I like that as a verb," New York said, with a jaw-cracking yawn. "Add it to our lexicon. Okay. I'm here to war room. What?"

"I found him," Leander said. "We found him. Axton. We found Axton."

"Holy
shit
," New York said. "Fucking amazing. Why didn't you say so?"

Leander laughed, this time in a fast, short burst.

"Oh," New York said, "because you're losing your shit. Got it."

"We found him," Leander breathed. "Oh, god. We found him."

"Okay, so," New York said, and then they both asked a fucker of a question in glorious spontaneous unison.

"What now?"

The next day, Leander called the office to let everyone know he wasn't going to be in for a while. By that afternoon, New York was hammering on his door, demanding to be let in.

When Leander opened the door, his eyes were wide, his hair was askew, and he looked deeply, profoundly happy.

"Come in," he said. "I have maps." Like that explained everything.

"All right, cool," New York said. "Game on. Could you tone down your facial expression some, though? It's kind of freaking me out."

"How would you like to drive a truck?" Leander asked, intense and serene.

"Keep your facial expressions," New York said, "and yes. I want getaway vehicle duties. Give them to me."

"No helicopters, though," Leander said.

"Asshole," New York said. "Fuck you so fucking much."

Maps were strewn all over the room. Leander sat cross legged on the floor, surrounded by maps and print outs of transport routes and average weather data. New York sat across from him. They were looking at each other steadily.

"We could die," Leander said suddenly. "We could actually die. We could get killed."

"I know," New York said.

"You don't have to be there," Leander said.

"I know," New York said.

"He's not your boyfriend and Dana isn't your enemy. You don't have to do this. You've already done so much."

"Dude, I
know
," New York said, with an impatient sigh. He posted on one hand and swung his legs under to stand up. "Come on. You need a break." He extended a hand down to Leander. They clasped arms and New York hauled him up.

Leander didn't let go.

"We could die," he said, looking into New York's eyes. "We could die and I'm sending you in with imperfect knowledge of the threat that we're facing." He tightened his grip.

New York didn't look away, and he tightened his grip in response.

"I trust you to tell me everything I need to know," he said. "I trust you to come up with a plan that's timing and subterfuge instead of going in blind with guns blazing. We can do this. You can do this."

"I just don't--I don't want anything to happen to you," Leander said, "because of me."

"Then make the plan
really
fucking solid," New York said.

"Okay," Leander said, steadying his breath. "Okay."

New York squeezed reassuringly.

"You got this," he said quietly. "If I was stranded somewhere, I'd want you planning my extraction. All right?"

"You're good at pep talks when you want to be," Leander said, and they released each other's arms.

"I know," New York said. "Most awesome friend ever, remember?"

"You
are
," Leander said, letting the affection shine through, unhindered.

"But if you want to renew our blood brother pact that's totally cool too," New York added, "because one day I'm going to have to evade the Armenian mafia and I expect you to be there for me."

"Yeah, yeah," Leander said. "I know. I've been waiting for years. I've learned some Armenian."

"I have a knife right here," New York said. "Bam. Palm to palm. Right now."

"That is such a bad idea," Leander said.

"That's not a no," New York said.

"I love you, man," Leander said.

"I love you, too," New York said.

"But like, bloodborne diseases, dude."

"
Hah!
" New York said, and he whipped out a crumpled piece of paper that had been stuffed in his inner jacket pocket. "I thought you'd bring that up."

Leander looked down at the piece of paper now in his hands. It had New York's real name on it.

"You anticipated that I would question you about blood borne diseases," Leander said dubiously.

"Yes," New York said, radiating smugness.

"I'm really not sure what this says about us," Leander said.

"It says that we are
prepared
and awesome," New York answered.

"Like, you didn't
question
that I might think you picked up hepatitis C or something," Leander said. "You just skipped straight to proving you were clean. What does that say about your lifestyle?"

"It says that you underestimate my commitment to safe sex," New York said.

"And fresh needle usage," Leander said.

"I am a
responsible
party boy," New York said, with great dignity.

"I'd love to argue," Leander said, "but, like. You've been through this whole crisis with me every step of the way."

"And yet," New York said, "you don't want to be blood brothers with me."

"We're already blood brothers," Leander said. "It's the renewal of our vows that's being questioned."

New York laughed.

"I'm just fucking with you," he said. "I had to go in for my annual anyway."

"Wait, so," Leander frowned.

"Yeah?" New York asked.

"You
don't
want to renew?" Leander asked, and sure, maybe his feelings were a little hurt. A little.

"Yeah, no big deal," New York said, easily, breezily.

"I see," Leander said.

They didn't make it to a full minute of silence.

"See," New York burst out. "You
want
to renew. Admit it."

"Fuck you," Leander said, sounding more stung than he'd intended. "I thought we were going to start just
asking
each other for shit."

"I never agreed to that," New York said. "So, your knife or mine?"

"We used both last time," Leander said. "Yours on my hand; mine on yours."

"You
do
remember," New York said, with obvious satisfaction.

"If I ever get married, please let's never mention this to anyone," Leander said. "I'm not sure how I would justify having pledged my life to you first."

"Deal," New York said. "Do I get to be your best man at your hypothetical gay wedding?"

"Jesus christ, stop bargaining for like two fucking seconds," Leander said, but then, "Yes."

"Awesome," New York said, and then he drew his knife.

No one had thought to make sure they had gauze on hand.

"I'm just saying, we used smaller knives last time."

"Stop your bitching. We have work to do."

The changes in season happened quickly, or perhaps just all at once--or maybe Axton was just waiting for it with the fervor of a convert trembling for baptism. It was easier to pace around as a wolf, though he made sure, suddenly, to spend time wandering around in plain sight as a man.
Now
he became frantically concerned with appearances, whereas before Axton had let himself be an ungrounded wire, surging up whenever he was upset. For the first time he asked himself what a normal wolf in his position should be doing--whatever that meant. What position? What was normal? How was he going to keep from exploding before the due date?

What if the entire thing was a fluke? What if it was some other random watch and Axton was bursting with baseless hope? What if he went there at noon and what he got was a great big box of nothing? How would he deal with the crushing disappointment?

Fling himself off a cliff, Axton decided. It wouldn't kill him--he had some very specific experience on the matter--but it would give him a few agonizing hours of distracting physical pain. Then maybe go slobbering mad and set up a den right by Helen, so they could be crazy ferals together until Dana dragged him out into the open and probably shot him again.

It would pass the time, Axton thought.

Though time didn't need the fucking help. Whenever Axton tried to get back on track with his plan--some days the plan was coup d'état again, but mostly it was slow social change--it became painfully clear that time was sprinting past him. They weren't nearly ready to prove any goddamn murder. The pack as a whole wasn't ready to consider him anything less than a pariah, so wasn't like he could have presented proof anyway. Axton had made progress with Helen, running with her, talking to her softly, being there for her like he was sure no one else had--but healing wasn't something you could rush.

What if he didn't show up at the appointed hour?

Axton resolved to deliberately miss the rendezvous. He would not let Leander endanger himself so recklessly. He would--

The resolve lasted for maybe a week. Axton had literal nightmares about the crushing despair Leander might feel, if he somehow
knew
Axton was out there and just refusing to come to him.

And hadn't Axton promised him, really not so long ago, that he would always come when Leander called?

The different contexts they'd used those words in combined to give him the most anxious boners. Which was ridiculous, and yet--

On particularly bad days, Axton was dreamily running reunion scenarios through his head, trying to go to sleep, and instead ending up with his hand around his dick. It was weird how all the roiling, confused feelings--hope and fear and gratitude and annoyance and despair and resolve and weakness and love, love, love--eventually transmuted into hitches in his breath and swallowed back moans and orgasms that curled his toes and hurt his hamstrings. Axton was pretty sure he hadn't jerked himself off with such vigor since his teens. True love actually kind of was an aphrodisiac. Who knew?

Anyway, it was either that or chew himself to pieces, Axton figured.

Seriously, though.

He'd taken a literal avalanche to the face for Leander.

He'd taken a proverbial avalanche to the face for Leander, too, when he'd ripped his heart out and left it at Leander's broken feet, willing to do anything, even what hurt the most, even leave forever, to keep his lover safe.

And here Leander was, willfully throwing that sacrifice away, probably about to get himself
killed
.

Oh, god. Presumably he hadn't actually spent the whole time banging Sarah, then. Or maybe he had? Whatever. As long as they had ended it before Axton was back in the picture, whatever. Axton could get over it, assuming him and Leander made it out alive and together. Axton was willing to get over it, given the opportunity.

The first snow of the year came and left, lightly dusting the ground and lingering for a couple of days before disappearing.

And Axton waited.

Maybe he
should
miss the rendezvous

But seriously, fuck this place.

Someone trashed his books again, and it was a measure of how strung out on hope Axton was that he could barely spare the emotional energy to feel violated and annoyed.

The second snow of the year fell, stayed a few days more, and left damp leaves and the pleasant smell of burning that meant winter rot.

And Axton waited.

But if he missed the appointed day and hour, what would Leander do then? Would he press forward, assuming Axton had been imprisoned or hurt? Leander was not a man who gave up easily. Apparently Axton had underestimated him once. If he did that again, the results could be disastrous. What if instead of reacting with despair, Leander reacted with action? What if he attacked the pack directly, if escape didn't work? Then he would almost certainly be killed.

Dana and Dru had a minor power tussle again, Dana limping away on three paws with a broken leg.

And Axton waited.

Third snow.

anticipation

Two days left.

anguish

One day.

agony

Release.