Chapter Twenty-Four
VANESSA
I LIE BACK in bed and stare at my new phone, unable to stop reading this morning’s articles about Chev and me. I’m always so weak when it comes to them, but I’m pleased with the turn they’ve taken this past week.
Slowly, painfully slowly, public opinion on our relationship seems to be improving.
Chev begs me not to look, but I most definitely read everything being said about us. It’s impossible not to, especially after Chev’s interview. I can deal with people saying bad things about me. It hurts, but what they’re saying is ultimately true. I’m a weak breed, and I’m a damaged, purchased female who struggles with physical intimacy.
It crushes me when people say bad things about Chev. He’s a good man who continually goes out of his way to make me comfortable, but the articles paint him as a horrible mate. They’re lying.
There are rumors that Chev goes around threatening people who speak poorly of me, but he denies it every time I ask. It’s not a good look, and Mammon is starting to publicly accuse him of manipulating the media. Nothing’s going right for him.
A cheesy smile spreads over my lips as I look over the most recent photo of us. Chev’s always watching me with that corny grin of his, and the more I see it, the more obsessed I grow. He’s not what I expected, and I find myself even further tied to him with every interaction. At this point, I don’t think I could ever be without him. I want him. I actively crave him.
“Vanessa?”
I drop my phone onto my chest, my heart pounding as I turn in the direction the voice came from. Why is Chev inside my house? He’s peering through the crack of my bedroom door, his eye barely visible as he peeks in on me. He stares momentarily before pushing the door open, revealing his wide smile.
“Why are you still in bed?” he asks, stepping inside. “You’re going to be late for work.”
His eyes dart around, the shifter not at all subtle as he looks at my things. He’s been joining me for dinner every evening since I made him spaghetti earlier this week, but he’s only been in my bedroom once.
He peers at my dresser, and I resist the urge to laugh when he picks up one of the ceramic birds Charlie put in here for decoration. It’s not my style, but I must admit it’s a cute blue jay.
Chev glares at it like it’s the ugliest thing he’s ever seen. He may be unwilling to admit it, but I’m starting to think he genuinely fears birds. It’s a common joke that shifters don’t like flying animals, but give how he glares at my decoration, I’m beginning to believe it.
Who knew such a large, deadly bear could be so afraid of a tiny bird?
I sit up, and Chev roughly places the bird back on my dresser. He turns to me with a slight frown, but it disappears as my sheets slide to my waist, exposing the top I wore to bed. It’s thin and light, and I can tell it’s taking all of Chev’s strength to keep his eyes above my shoulders.
“It’s the weekend,” I say. “I don’t work today.”
Chev knows this, and I eye his thick hair for any signs of injury. Did he hit his head again? The small bald spots from his injury are impossible to see if you’re not actively looking, but I can usually find one or two when I get close. They healed nicely, which is good, but I still worry.
“Oh, no…” Chev says, clearing his throat. “I must have forgotten.”
He avoids eye contact, but when he finally does make it, I can see his acting clear as day. If there’s anything I’ve learned from my time with Chev, it’s that he’s a terrible liar.
“Did you miss me that much?” I tease. I was admittedly dreading having to spend an entire day without him.
Chev beams. “Yes, of course I did.” He pauses and paces the length of my room. “But I came here for a reason. I have a question. It’s been bothering me all week.”
I wouldn’t say I like the sound of that, and I lean against my headboard while waiting for him to explain. Chev continues to pace, his nervous actions only worsening my worry. Have I upset him? I’ve tried to be as upfront as possible regarding our relationship and what I can offer, but maybe I misconstrued something.
“Chev?” I urge.
The suspense is killing me.
He scuffs his foot along the ground before sucking in a slow breath and finally meeting my gaze. “Why haven’t you asked to see my bear?”
I blink. “What?”
Chev huffs. “I cleaned him for you days ago, but you haven’t asked once to see him.”
I blink again, and I struggle not to smile when he crosses his arms over his chest. His innocent look turns into a glare when he notices my reaction, but I can’t help it. Is he pouting?
I’ve seen him get frustrated with others several times, but never have I seen what it looks like when that emotion is directed toward me. His expression is a lot softer, and there’s an insecurity behind it he’s never had with anybody else, at least as far as I’m aware.
Do I make him nervous? Insecure?
The realization is baffling.
“I didn’t know I should have asked,” I admit. “I’d love to see your bear.”
Chev doesn’t move, and I crawl to the edge of the bed. He steps forward to meet me halfway, and I ignore the voice in the back of my head telling me to be scared as I rise to my knees and cup his cheeks. He shaved this morning, but his face is already stubbly. The hair tickles my palms, and I give his cheeks a light scratch in the way I know he likes.
Chev continues to pout as he tilts his head, causing my nails to graze the spot on the underside of his chin. I scratch the area before pulling him closer, silently asking for a kiss.
He’s happy to oblige.
“Please show me your bear,” I whisper against his lips.
When I pull away, all semblance of his frustration is gone.
Chev gestures for me to follow him, and I don’t hesitate to do precisely that. I never realized how important it was to see his bear, and while I’ve thought about it a few times, I feared it would be impolite to ask.
It seems that assumption was wrong.
Chev bounces down the stairs and out my back door, moving around my home like it’s his own. I don’t mind it. He knows my boundaries, and he’s never tried to push them. He’s patient and receptive, and he’s more attuned to my emotions than even I am at times.
I think he’s always paying attention, even when it doesn’t look so.
We step outside, and I wrap my arms around my torso. Wrath is unbearably hot, but the air has a surprising chill this morning. It’s crisp.
Chev begins removing his leathers, his nimble fingers untying his skirt and tossing it aside in record time. He’s facing away from me, and I scan his bare form before snapping my head back up when he turns around.
“You might want to spin around,” he warns. “People find this part gross.”
I can handle gross. I want to see everything, even the things he doesn’t think I’ll like. I’ve seen videos of shifters transforming between their animal and skin forms before, so I have an idea of what to expect. Chev’s bones will break and reform into the shape he’s taking, and either fur or skin will sprout and cover his body.
“I want to watch,” I say.
Chev looks wary, but after a moment, he shrugs and begins.
Oh.
Seeing it online is one thing, but I quickly realize it’s entirely different when it’s happening before you. Chev’s shoulders pop out first, the bones dislocating before his hips shift and he drops to all fours. He releases a quiet groan, but he doesn’t seem to be in much pain.
Mild discomfort, yes, but not nearly anything close to the agony I imagine I’d feel if my body were to break like this.
The transformation is quick, his bones rearranging in mere seconds before fur begins to grow. It was practically instantaneous in the videos, and I’m glad Chev is going slow so I can truly see how his body is changing.
It’s gross, as he said it would be, but also strangely fascinating. I try not to look too shocked when he’s finished and I’m face to face with a giant, brown bear. He’s fucking huge, and he walks toward me with heavy footsteps.
I instinctively back away, which makes him whine. Chev plops down on his butt, his legs spread and paws resting on his ankles. He’s as tall as I am in this position, but it’s better than him towering over me like before.
He doesn’t move, my mate as still as a statue as I shove aside my nerves and approach. His eyes follow my every movement, and the noises quietly seeping from his chest burst to life as I reach for him.
I can’t help but laugh, finding it endearing.
The noises are much louder in this form, and I can tell he’s annoyed by them. It’s comforting to see. His body may be different, but the man inside is still Chev. He paws at his chest as I run my hand through the fur on his head.
It’s soft, and I let myself feel his pointed ears before trailing down his back. I’m petting him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. I’ve read that shifters don’t appreciate being treated like household pets, but it’s hard not to make comparisons when he’s so docile and limp under my touch.
“You’re big,” I say.
His head bobs.
“And cute,” I continue, my words no louder than a whisper.
Chev huffs and wiggles out from underneath my hand. It seems I’ve taken the complimenting too far, and I chuckle as I cup his snout. Our mate bond pulsates between us, preventing me from feeling fear as I manhandle the giant shifter who could easily kill me with one swipe of his paw.
“You can stand now,” I say, stepping back.
Chev rises, straightening his spine and displaying his maximum height. The noises emerging from his chest deepen, and I’m confused by them until I realize he’s trying to show me how big he is.
I comb my fingers through the fur on his stomach, continually shocked by how soft he is. I expected his fur to be knotty like that of most wild animals, but it isn’t. It’s coarse but still easy to sift through.
What a surprise.
“Would you like to catch us lunch?” I ask.
I’ve been reading about shifters, bears specifically, and that seems to be a big thing for them. They pride themselves on catching their food, and they especially enjoy doing it for their loved ones. It’s a way to provide.
Chev releases what sounds almost like a bark before spinning and darting into the woods. His body exudes power as he runs, and I watch until he’s entirely disappeared from my line of sight.
I press a hand to my forehead.
What has my life turned into? I spent most of my life at the hands of violent, abusive ogres, and today I’m in Wrath with a bear alpha as a mate.
A bear alpha who’s currently in the middle of killing an animal for me to eat.
I cup my cheeks and shake my head, still in disbelief, before heading back inside. I’m willing to bet Chev will be hungry when he returns, and I want to have food ready for him. He eats an alarming amount, and I love his excitement whenever I make him meals. I’m providing for him.