Page 29 of Bruised MC Bear
Axe blinked at her a couple of times. The muscles in his legs started to twinge and ache from exhaustion as she took one more step toward him and offered her hand. Why wasn’t she listening to him?
“Stay back,” he warned her. “What do you not understand about it not being safe for me to stay in here with you?”
“What I understand is that you had a bad dream. You don’t need to be alone right now, Axe. Sit. Please.”
“No.”
“So help me God, I’m not going to let you go out there. You went through something pretty traumatic. How could it be any more dangerous than what those panthers had in store for me earlier? So I’ve seen your little secret. And I can add it to the fact that you’re a bear shifter. I know you have nightmares, and I now understand why you wanted to sleep outside from the get go. Yes, you were about ready to rip my throat out. You didn’t. I’m over it. I’ve just got four words for you. Long-term PTSD counseling. Works like a charm. Anyhow, I’m going back to bed, but if you step out that door, I’ll just follow you out there. Or I’ll pack my things and find another way to handle those people after me—without you.”
Axe scrambled to play catch up with what had just gone down between them. There was nothing gentle in him. His demons made him dangerous. He knew that from experience. He could only bottle them up for so long before they exploded. Tonight they had made Angel the inadvertent object of their fury. And now she was getting ready to sign up for another dream-phase blitz attack?
“Is flirting with death a thing for you?” he asked without a sliver of humor.
“You’re not the only person in the world who’s seen shit. Now get on that couch and tell me what happened. I need my beauty sleep.”
He wasn’t sure why he returned to sit on the couch, and he sure as hell had no idea why his mouth started moving, relating an abridged version of the night his parents died. Angel had that effect on him. All he knew was that he followed her voice and somewhere deep down, it was easier to do that with her. Somewhere along the line, he closed his eyes. The last thing he was fully aware of was a blanket getting thrown over his legs and chest before he zoned out.
* * *
For the firsttime in his life, Axe woke up and was not terrified out of his ever-loving mind. He blinked up at the cracked, water-stained ceiling. Yes, this was still the sofa, but at the moment, his head was not on the pillow. No, he was resting his head on Angel’s lap. How did she manage to get over here while he slept? Did he even want to move? She must have had the most awkward and uncomfortable last few hours of rest to have fallen asleep sitting up with his big, heavy noggin weighing her down. And now, he was probably about to wake her up just by raising his head. That alone made it a morning of firsts.
Axe smirked at the thought. Fuck, everything was starting off backward today. He rubbed his eyes, and noticed that he wasn’t jittery or off-kilter as he usually was on mornings. Taking a chance, he carefully lifted off Angel’s lap to sit up. She didn’t stir, so he got up, stretched, and went to the bathroom feeling not too shabby. As he stepped into the shower, he had to acknowledge the obvious truth. There was only one reasonable explanation for his first good night sleep in ages, and it had everything to do with the woman on the other side of this closed bathroom door. It didn’t help that all this hot water slicking over his skin only made him ache for her to be in here with him again, with her sweet warmth wrapped around him.
Axe huffed out a breath, blowing a blast of shower water from his lips. Was this how it was going to be now? Would his body and mind live on completely independently of his own control, utterly connected to Angel, submitting to this force between them? The idea scared the hell out of him. One small part of his brain was tempted to jump into that crappy minivan, get to his bike, and ride until this place was a distant memory. Not his bear, though. His inner animal was not going anywhere without Angel. She was not just any smoking hot curvy woman—she was his.
Stepping out of the shower, he toweled himself off and brushed his teeth. They had a few hours’ drive ahead of them. While he got dressed, he ticked off reasons in his head why it wasn’t a good idea to kiss her on the forehead before he left to get them breakfast. Then he dismissed the idea altogether. Smiling, he jotted down a short note on the motel scratch pad on the night table in case Angel woke up, slid on his leather cut, and left.
Fuck, he was getting soft. Angel’s suggestion about counseling was starting to sound real smart, if only to get over this newer, weaker, more pathetic side of him, instead of addressing his childhood trauma.
