Prickly By Nature (13 page)

Avery’s stomach twisted. His palms were sweating, his breaths shaky, and he had the strangest urge to cry.
God, what’s wrong with me?

“Av?” Dylan said, his voice gentle, soft.

“I just….” Avery tangled his hands together and stared down at them, trying to will away the sting in his eyes and the aching throb in his chest. “I’ve been working so much. I’ve been trying so hard to find her. I’ve been… I….”

Dylan gathered him close, and Avery melted into the embrace with a sniffle. He buried his face against Dylan’s scruffy throat and sucked in a deep breath, losing himself in the comfort of his mate’s spicy, familiar scent.

Dylan cupped the back of his neck, holding him near. “You’ve been trying really hard, babe, and I get it. I do. But the point of this trip is to help you de-stress. You need the break.
We
need the break.” He pressed a kiss to Avery’s forehead. “So here’s what we’ll do. We’re going to put all this stuff away, you’re going to e-mail the guy to tell him when you’ll be home, and then we’re going to go out to dinner with Jaden and Luc. We’re going to have a few drinks, and we’re going to make it a good night, and if Joel seriously wants to talk to you, he’ll wait for you to get back. Okay?”

Avery nodded, his breath gusting out in a tremulous sigh. “Okay.”

Dylan stroked his hair. “I know sometimes it doesn’t seem like I’m supportive of what you’re doing, especially with what I said that one night. But you have to know I’m proud of you. I want Lacey home as much as you do. She’s pack, and you’re my mate. I want you to be happy.”

Avery pulled away to look into Dylan’s face. Dylan stared back at him without any anger, despite the fact that Avery had apparently just suffered a temporary fit of insanity. “I am happy with you. I’ve been so caught up in all this I’ve been neglecting you and our mating, putting other things first. But I love you. You’re the best thing in my life. You know that, don’t you?” Avery thought the words would’ve been harder to say, but in the end, they were as easy as blinking. As easy as the act of loving Dylan. Because he was wholly and entirely smitten with his mate. There was no denying it, and it was way past time he said so.

Dylan’s eyes widened, then grew soft. He rubbed a calloused thumb over Avery’s cheek, his smile tender. “I do know, and I love you. You must’ve already known that too.”

Avery smiled back. It felt shaky and his nose burned as tears threatened once again, for a completely different reason. “Yeah. But it’s nice to hear it aloud.”

Dylan kissed him, a slow, lingering kiss that went on and on. Just gentle sweetness that didn’t devolve into their normal frenzied lust. The significance of the moment overwhelmed him, and if his eyelashes were wet when it finally ended, Dylan didn’t laugh or mock him for it.

“Come on, brat,” Dylan said. By now the term was an endearment. “We don’t want to leave them waiting.”

Avery nodded. Together, they put the room back to rights. He replied to Joel, showered, got dressed, and they went out to dinner. And when he was at Bayona enjoying his smoked quail and pear salad—a concession to his body’s sudden craving for meat—with his mate at his side and their best friends across the table, Avery felt only gratitude toward Dylan for talking him off the ledge. He wasn’t looking forward to the wedding or dealing with his family, but tonight he’d show them all a good time in his old stomping grounds. He’d take the first step in making amends to his mate for neglecting him the past couple of months. He’d let himself relax.

After dinner, they walked to Café Lafitte. It was a two-story gay bar with a nice balcony that overlooked Bourbon Street. In all honesty, the place was a bit of a tourist trap, but Avery felt like it was a necessary stop on their unofficial tour.

As the drinks went down, the heat between him and Dylan built, and it had nothing to do with the crush of bodies or the warm, sultry night. They were caught up in each other, constantly touching, kissing, laughing, as if that moment earlier had given their relationship new life.

At some point Luc and Jaden disappeared. Avery wasn’t worried. Perhaps they’d decided it was time to find their own fun. Avery and Dylan left for the B and B after another drink. The walk took longer than usual with all the groping and the half-dozen times Dylan pinned him to the nearest flat surface to grind and ravish his mouth like he was starving in the wilderness and Avery was manna from the heavens.

In Mandeville, such displays might get them fined or arrested. In New Orleans, people either ignored them or cheered and called out lewd suggestions.

Avery was floating by the time they got into their room, drunk on love and lust and more than a little alcohol. He grabbed Dylan’s shirt and practically ripped the buttons off in his rush to get to his mate’s hot, sweaty skin. He didn’t care what the owners might think. Luc and Jaden were their neighbors on either side, and they were gone. If Avery had his way—and he would—things were about to get plenty loud.

As the Cajun wolves would say,
laissez les bons temps rouler!

Let the good times roll.

DYLAN HAD
never been intimidated by a house, and he wasn’t going to start now, but damn. The oak-lined drive from the road to the plantation home was well over a mile and quite possibly the most beautiful stretch of land Dylan had seen since they’d landed in Louisiana. Spanish moss draped like wispy streamers over the lush green foliage of ancient oak trees. Acres and acres of Babineaux property was manicured to within an inch of its life and probably feared getting out of place one millimeter upon threat of annihilation.

But the house… the house was spectacular. So white Dylan thought he might need to avert his gaze or risk burning his retinas. Ten pillars lined the front of the centuries-old home, framing it in elegance and sophistication. Black shutters touched each of the eight windows and the door and cut up the sterile white of the Southern mansion. But it was the pièce de résistance—two grand staircases guided by intricately woven iron lace balustrades—that held Dylan’s attention. Each curved from ground level, near the crystal clear fountain, and led to the second-level, lacework-adorned wraparound veranda. Dylan wanted nothing more than to roll one of his bikes up to the door and break up the stuffy perfection. It made him itch.

“We don’t have to do this, you know.”

This was why Dylan had driven. Undoubtedly, if Avery had been behind the wheel, they would have turned around by now, and Dylan would have been forced to persuade him back by any means necessary.

“Yes, we do,” Dylan replied. “Besides, we’re here. Might as well stick around.”

“It’s not going to be like the city was. There are no smiles or loud music or happy times or fun to be had on the other side of those doors. They don’t understand fun. They don’t… like it.”

Dylan sighed. They’d had this discussion, or versions of it, since leaving the B and B. He’d come to the conclusion that soothing Avery’s nerves was an impossible task while he was driving, so instead, Dylan had kept him talking. Being in the place that harbored so much stress and so many bad memories for Avery was obviously difficult for him. Dylan was ready to be a shoulder to lean on, but he wouldn’t back down. They were staying.

“So they don’t like it,” Dylan remarked. “That doesn’t change you. It doesn’t change me. It certainly doesn’t change us.” After pulling to a stop, Dylan turned off the ignition, then turned to his mate and scooped up his trembling hands. “We’ll go in there and hear whatever your dickhead of a father has to say and—”

“But what if he hurts you?”

Dylan chuckled, the sound humorless as he met his mate’s sparkling, worried eyes. “As if he could. He’ll probably try because that’s what egomaniacs do. But, babe, he means less than nothing to me. My only worry is he’ll deliberately try to hurt you.”

“He will,” Avery mumbled, his gaze falling to the console between them where their hands rested. Dylan brushed his thumb over Avery’s knuckles. “It’s what he does.”

“Because he wants to control you,” Dylan insisted. “Look at me.” Avery didn’t immediately lift his head, but when he finally did, his eyes were wide and glazed. He was scared, and Dylan hated it. He wanted to take Avery away from this place, never look back, but if he did that, Avery would never have the chance to face his father and show Leon Babineaux the man he’d become, what he’d made of himself in such a short period of time. “I am not leaving you.” Avery opened his mouth to say something, and Dylan covered it with his hand. “I’m not. I will be right beside you no matter what. All you have to do is remember that. He won’t hurt you, because he can’t. He can’t hurt us.” Dylan let his fingers drift from Avery’s lips, over his jaw, and down his neck to rest at his mating mark.

Avery shivered visibly, taking in a stuttered breath.

“This says you’re mine,” Dylan whispered, and Avery nodded. “I’m not letting you go, not letting anyone take you from me. Ever. And I won’t let anyone hurt you. Your father has held money and power and status over you long enough. You are more than any of those things. Most of all, you are my mate and he has no say in that.”

A slow smile crept across Avery’s face. He slipped a hand from Dylan’s grip and brought it up to cup his jaw. “Mine,” he breathed, leaning in.

“I am.” Dylan nodded and closed the distance between them. He took Avery’s lips in a slow kiss. It didn’t go further than that—short, sweet, and reassuring. Avery needed Dylan to be his rock, and Dylan wanted that too. If Leon wanted to tear down his son, he’d have to go through Dylan first. And Dylan was nothing if not determined to protect what was his.

“Thank you,” Avery whispered against his lips. “For everything. I love you.”

“I love you back.” Dylan kissed him once more. He couldn’t help the smile that flitted to his lips.
I love you.
Weeks ago, the words had strangled him by simply thinking the phrase. As he watched Avery, he wondered what he’d been so afraid of. And if saying the words gave Avery assurance that Dylan would support him in all things, Dylan would tell him every day. Multiple times, if need be. Dylan pulled back and winked at Avery. “Let’s do this.”

Avery locked eyes with him and gave a wobbly smile, obviously attempting to hold off the nerves threatening to return with a vengeance. He took a deep breath, then nodded.

He looped his arm around Avery’s waist and walked him to the front door, holding him close. “D’you think anyone’s watching?” he whispered, mouth tipped to Avery’s ear in a conspiratorial manner.

Avery choked on a laugh, a watery sound. “Oh yeah,” he confirmed. “Since we entered the gates. There are cameras all down the drive and some up there.” He pointed at the upper deck of the house. “Not to mention the employees he’s likely got reporting back to him. They’re probably watching through those sheers.”

“Jesus. Paranoid much?”

Avery grunted. “You have no idea.” They stepped up to the door, and Avery knocked.
Knocked
. On the door of the house he grew up in. It was… different.

Dylan couldn’t imagine not feeling welcome in his parents’ home. Admittedly he and his father didn’t get along and never had, but Dylan had always had a place at his mother’s table. His old bedroom, though turned into Betty’s craft room, still held his old bed. “Just in case you have any use for it,” she’d always said. Dylan didn’t think he’d ever knocked on his mom and dad’s door.

It was apparent that Avery’s family functioned a far cry harsher.

The double doors opened, and a slim woman dressed in a stark black, below-the-knee pencil skirt and matching blazer stood before them, her silver hair tied up in a severe bun. She looked down her sun-scarred nose with a sharp disapproving glare at Dylan, though she was a good foot shorter than him. Then she faced Avery, her displeasure unchanging. “Mr. Avery,” she clipped, her voice as cutting as the rest of her.

“Mazie,” Avery replied, his tone flat.

Her glare deepened; then she turned and walked into the house. “Your father is waiting.”

Dylan watched her, stilettos clicking on the hardwood until she disappeared into a shadowed room down the hall, and then he looked at Avery, eyebrow raised. Avery just shrugged. “My father’s staff. What can I say?”

Rubbing the small of Avery’s back, Dylan shook his head and got them moving. “Come on.” He let Avery lead him into his father’s study, where Leon waited. Avery bore a striking resemblance to his father, and Dylan could appreciate the beauty his mate would be in their future—only happier, with laugh lines to replace the harsh beginnings of wrinkles around Leon’s seemingly permanent frown. Beside him stood a younger man, older than Avery, in a tweed vest and slacks set off with a purple oxford button-up. He favored Avery so closely—except where Avery’s face was soft edges and smiles, this man’s face was cut at sharp, unforgiving angles—yet he didn’t look angry, only sad. He could only be Wynfield. Beside him, nearer the window, sat an elegantly stunning woman with sandy golden hair woven with strands of gray that fell to her shoulder. Dylan assumed she was Avery’s mother, Cynthia.

“You couldn’t have come home when bade? Do you know what the rehearsal dinner was like? Having to fend off questions about your absence?” Leon gave Avery a hard stare, the lines of his face unforgiving. “Your brother was mortified. And all for what? So you can be independent?”

Avery swallowed, then opened his mouth to talk, only to be cut off.

“It’s just like you. Rebelling against authority every chance you get.” Leon glowered at Avery, and Dylan felt Avery retreat into himself. “Not this weekend, boy. You will
not
embarrass this family. This weekend is not about you. I have worked too hard to secure this union between your brother and Lizette. I will not have you screwing it up.”

Dylan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. No
“Hello, son, how was your trip? Everything okay?”
Not one
“Tell me about what’s going on with you. How’s your job? Your life?”
Not even a
“Would you like something to drink?”
None of it. The man was a piece of work.