Chapter Thirteen
Three days later, Devon’s bear needed out in the worst way. Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem, living in the alley. He could walk out onto his porch, strip off his clothes, and bam…his bear could come out, wander around the alley, and into the trees.
Trees. I need to shove my nose in a tree, because there was a subtle but definitely noticeable change that was also impacting Devon in a major way. Wren’s scent was getting stronger.
Nobody in the alley could work out what he was smelling of, despite the scent increasing.
It was logical to assume that because Wren was in a safer environment - and Wren definitely gave the impression he was feeling a lot safer than he had been at Michael’s - whatever spirit he was sharing his body with was also gaining confidence.
Which was a good and bad thing in Devon’s eyes.
With Wren’s scent getting stronger, all Devon could think about was claiming his mate. He couldn’t avoid the intriguing smell – it was all through his house and filled his nostrils with every breath he took.
His need to claim was instinctive, and while Devon’s human side had a long list of reasons why it wouldn’t be fair to claim Wren so soon after what he’d been through, Devon couldn’t deny the sheer need he had to make Wren his own.
His need made even the thought of talking to Wren about the claiming process difficult.
As it was, he was keeping his physical distance from Wren as much as he could without making Wren feel bad about himself.
Not an easy thing to do when both he and Wren enjoyed cuddling each other.
Keeping his eternally eager dick out of the equation in that situation often required a lot of subtle chair wiggling on his part.
None of Devon’s thinking was logical. Devon admitted to Cyrus that he still held onto that initial fear, brought on by seeing Wren on that ledge. For some reason, in his mind, that equated to a situation where Wren would suddenly disappear – meaning he had to keep his mate close.
And that closeness? Yep. He was thinking about sex again.
Devon couldn’t avoid those feelings either.
Wren’s strong scent was like a “come and get me” to Devon and his bear - a temptation almost impossible to resist. Sex was how shifters claimed each other.
Devon wasn’t sure if Wren understood what sex was, and he didn’t feel he could just ask.
It didn’t help that Devon was getting the impression he was being judged by people he considered his closest friends.
Cyrus wanted to know if Devon had spoken to Wren about the shifting process and what it would entail.
The first time for anyone can be very disorientating and in some cases scary.
Devon had argued there was no point because they had no idea what Wren would shift into.
In the meantime, Flint was also pulling him aside and talking to him in whispers, asking why he was keeping the claiming process a secret from his mate. “Wren’s getting worried because you won’t talk about it,” Flint had whispered urgently just the night before.
“I’m a bit bloody old to be giving a sex-ed lesson,” he’d snapped, immediately feeling guilty for lashing out when Flint was clearly concerned.
Flint, to his credit, just stroked his arm and said, “Things will work out. The Fates didn’t bring him to you to have him taken away again.” But Devon wasn’t sure he could trust that, even though it had been the adage he’d been taught since he was a cub.
If that conflict wasn’t bad enough, Cyrus told him at least once a day that the agency wanted to talk to Wren about Michael, his business dealings, any possible friends Wren could remember, and details like that.
They also wanted to learn more about Wren, because if he was a shifter and yet had somehow managed to put off his shift for the best part of ten years, then that made him research worthy.
Think about something basic, he reminded himself, as Wren came into the kitchen.
He’d been in the bathroom a rather long time, but Devon reminded himself he probably thought that because he was anxious when Wren was out of his sight.
Which was also why he hadn’t shifted and just gone off into the woods for an hour or so.
He couldn’t trust his bear not to just bite Wren anyway – which would be a gross violation of Wren’s trust, and Devon’s promise that Wren could have autonomy.
“We haven’t talked about buying you some clothes,” he said, giving Wren a smile.
Devon grabbed his laptop and opened it. He left it out when Wren asked about having a computer of his own – he was prepared to work for it, which Devon quickly told him wasn’t necessary.
The computer was on order, and Devon had said he could use his in the meantime.
But Wren didn’t seem comfortable using his.
Devon wasn’t sure why, but then remembered that Michael had destroyed the laptop Wren had been using to contact Bear for all those months. So perhaps there was some trauma there.
I need to think about getting him a therapist, Devon considered as Wren came over and sat in the chair beside him.
He had discussed that with Cyrus as well.
But the issue was, with Wren’s scent increasing, there was a chance that he could shift at a moment’s notice.
That could be devastating if it happened in town or anywhere outside of the alley.
Cyrus didn’t know of any paranormal therapists, although the agency was looking into it.
They had suggested that someone on their team could “talk” to Wren, but Devon didn’t feel comfortable with that idea either.
In his opinion the agency only made the offer because they wanted to grill Wren on information about Michael.
Information Devon was sure Wren didn’t have.
“I don’t really need any more clothes, although thank you for thinking of me,” Wren said, sitting down and smiling.
“Flint gave me three changes of outfits that are very comfortable. I’m even starting to fit them a bit better,” he added, showing Devon a glimpse of his belly as he stuck his thumb in his belt.
“See? I’ve had to loosen two notches from the first day, and I don’t mind doing the laundry. ”
“It would be handy to get some clothes for different occasions,” Devon said. “Is there anything in particular you’d like to wear?”
“I like these things.” Wren rubbed his hands up and down his sleeves. “I’m really good at looking after things. I even wash the sneakers every night, to make sure they don’t get grubby. Honestly, they’ll last if I’m careful.”
Devon resisted sighing – just. “I’d like to buy you some clothes,” he said firmly. He knew he couldn’t explain to Wren how he felt, seeing Wren wearing another man’s clothes, even if Wren liked them. Demanding Wren wear “his” clothes had a definite stalker vibe, no matter how he phrased it.
“What about some sensible shoes?” he suggested. “We could get you a pair of boots that would make walking through the forest a bit easier, and then maybe a pair of dress shoes for when we go into town. I’d really like to be able to take you out places. Don’t you think that would be fun?”
Wren looked down at the table and then up at Devon. He seemed edgy for some reason, and Devon couldn’t think why. “I really like these sneakers. Can’t I just wear them if we go out?”
“They are very pretty,” Devon agreed. “But wouldn’t you like something a bit sturdier?
A decent pair of boots, so you don’t have to worry about getting them muddy?
They’d keep your feet drier on wet days than the sneakers would.
Same with your clothes. That pink sweatshirt looks very good on you, and the light blue one you wear as well.
But wouldn’t you like something more...” Devon caught himself just in time, trying to think of a word he could use that wouldn’t upset his mate. “Grown up,” he said at last.
Wren frowned. “Flint’s a grown-up, and he wears clothes like this. Pax wears clothes in bright colors and soft fabrics, too… Why can’t I have clothes like…this?” He hesitated over the last words, and Devon wondered what it was he was actually going to say.
My gods, we need this claim, he thought, at least then I could see what was going on in your mind.
“Let’s have a look at some options, shall we?
” Devon typed in the web address of one of his favorite clothing stores, searching for their online catalog.
They promised quality goods that were well-made.
Devon wasn’t about to buy Wren mass-produced stuff.
His mate deserved the very best of everything.
He pointed to a sturdy cardigan on the screen.
It had a soft leather collar and leather patches on the elbows, very similar to his favorite cardigan.
The deep sage color would go well with Wren’s coloring.
“Something like this, for example, would help keep you warm if you were walking through the forest in the early mornings or evenings, stopping you from getting chilly.”
Wren leaned over, peering at the screen. “Do they have it in any other color?”
“Not a fan of green? Of course,” Devon moved the cursor to show the options in the drop-down menu.
“They have this style in navy blue, gray, brown, or black.” He smiled at his mate.
“The black might be a harsh look for you – I am not sure if you want to walk around looking like a goth, but the gray or the brown would work well.”
“Do they have any…brighter clothes?” Wren asked. There was that hesitancy again, and Devon couldn’t work out why Wren was being like that. It was just clothes shopping.