Chapter 13 Wren
Wren
The moment they stepped into the club, Wren wanted to run.
The thump of the bass made him want to crawl into a hole and never come out again.
He didn’t mind the darkness—in fact, it was the only thing about the club he thought he could tolerate—but it was sliced by strobing lights in every color imaginable and Wren felt a headache building instantly.
The air smelled of humidity and a mixture of every perfume known to humanity. It was suffocating. But the worst of all were the undulating bodies on the dance floor and at the three long bars spread around the room.
There were so many people. So much touching and pushing and shoving he wanted to scream. And the only safe space, the only comfort wasn’t his to take anymore.
Teddy was standing next to Wren, leaning against the sticky bar with a glass in his hand. But his eyes were glued to the gallery of the club.
A set of spiraling staircases led up to it, roped off and protected by several bouncers. Trace, having pulled some strings, was acting as one for the night.
There were only a handful of tables up there, and a separate bar so it was easy to tell who Teddy was looking at.
Saint was leaning against the railing at the top of the staircase, shirt open over his pale chest and pearls glimmering in the flashes of lights.
He looked aloof, just like Eerie had instructed.
But where Eerie looked like an otherworldly creature set to destroy humanity, Saint looked entirely too approachable.
There was an easy smile on his face, and despite his insistent grumbling about his clothes on the way to the club, he looked completely relaxed and at ease.
Wren wished he didn’t get it. But he did.
Watching Saint charm the room without even doing anything made it crystal clear why he would be who Teddy chose.
Getting it didn’t make the sour taste in his mouth disappear though. He had been there first. He’d loved Teddy first. He’d known him first. That should have counted for something. It should have made a difference.
But he watched Teddy stare at Saint and swallowed against the pain. He wished Blu was there. He wished he could feel his little claws in his shoulder and hear his twittering in his ear. He wished something could ground him so he wouldn’t fly apart at the seams.
He looked down at his own glass and forced himself to take a sip of whatever Teddy had ordered for him.
Wren had zero experience with clubs or drinks or anything like that. If only he could have kept it that way.
Teddy shifted next to him and Wren followed his gaze to find Saint talking with a tall, slim man in a nice suit. His hair was slicked back in that really dumb, posh way Wren thought looked ridiculous, and he was offering Saint a drink despite Saint already holding one in his hand.
“Is that…” he asked loudly, and Teddy nodded, body tense and eyes unblinking.
Saint accepted the glass, but in a maneuver even the best magicians would envy he leaned in to whisper something into the man’s ear, leaving the new glass behind a weird ornament and switching his old one into the other hand to make it look like he was holding the one the man had given him.
“Smooth,” Wren said as he watched Saint follow the man into a small booth, laughing at something he had said and letting his hand brush against his chest. The man followed his hand with a heated gaze. Wren hated to be impressed by Saint but he was.
“He can be,” Teddy agreed.
Wren nodded, biting his lip to stop himself from screaming. The crowd upstairs shifted and blocked their view of Saint, so Wren turned around to find something, anything to make him feel more settled.
He found couples dancing, kissing, and groping each other on the dance floor. Like a mating ritual. It looked animalistic the way they postured and flaunted their attributes to each other. Attracting each other. Fighting off competition. Winning a war they didn’t even know they were in.
It would have been fascinating if his mind had been in the right place. But it wasn’t. The only things he was completely aware of were the line of Teddy’s body against his side. The smell of his cologne and the gentle sway of his hips as he tried to resist the rhythm blaring from the speakers.
He felt a nudge to his rib cage and he turned around to find Teddy holding his phone out to him, a message flashing on screen under a plethora of notifications for unread texts he seemed to have.
Trace: You two look exactly like undercover assholes. Get it together.
Wren frowned in his direction, but Trace was doing his job like it was real. He broke up a scuffle before it could even begin and never once moved from his spot.
He turned back around to Teddy, finding him typing something on his phone.
Damir: We’re having drinks.
Trace: And glaring at the world.
Damir: What do you suggest, oh club expert?
Trace: Dance.
“No,” Wren said.
Trace: and if he says no drag him.
“Don’t you dare,” he said, but Teddy just quirked a brow at him, pocketing his phone.
“He’s right. We’re sticking out like sore thumbs parked here like this. We need to not draw attention to ourselves, and the best way to do that is to disappear in the crowd.”
“I don’t dance,” Wren said.
“But I do. I’ll lead and keep you safe.”
A shiver rushed down Wren’s spine. He saw the way people danced there. Pressed together, glued to each other. Touching and breathing the same air because there was no space between them.
He wanted Teddy close. He wanted to be in his arms again and pretend that time hadn’t stolen them away.
And underneath that, he wanted to prove something to Saint.
He took a deep breath and tipped his glass against his lips, downing his drink in one large gulp.
“Fine,” he said. “Dance.”
Teddy grinned and threw his own shot back before taking Wren by the hand and leading him toward the throng of people in the middle of the dance floor.
Wren followed like he was hypnotized, equal parts terrified and blind with anticipation.
Teddy found them a small sliver of space just off the center of the floor. He turned to Wren, still holding his hand, and with a small smile he pulled him close so slowly it was like Wren was made of the most precious glass.
Their chests touched, faces stopping inches away from each other as Teddy looked down, and their joint inhale was audible even over the music. Wren could feel Teddy’s rapid heartbeat and knew his own was a hummingbird of movement, unable to slow down.
Teddy’s eyes flashed with something so painfully familiar that Wren had to close his own.
A thumb made its way under his chin as Teddy pushed his head to the side and leaned in to align his lips with Wren’s ear. “No hiding.”
Wren bit his lip to stop himself from whimpering.
It was too much to handle. This was work. They should be professional. This was to blend in. But how was he supposed to endure this brief touch under the guise of professionalism when the world told him personally that he couldn’t have it, that it was wrong?
The bass dropped.
Teddy’s hands found their way to Wren’s hips. They made him sway in place, brushing against Teddy, leaning into him until Teddy was supporting most of his weight.
“Hold on to me,” he said softly, and Wren’s arms cooperated. They rose without him even noticing, wrapping around Teddy’s neck and crossing at the wrists behind his nape. He went up on his tiptoes, turning his head to hide the remnants of the glow of his eyes.
This close, and this dark, people would notice.
Teddy spun them around, his arms tightening around Wren’s body.
He wondered what they looked like to those who saw them.
If they looked just like any other couple dancing on the floor.
If they looked like lovers just having a night of fun.
Did they look like they’d known each other for years, like they could anticipate each other’s movements and follow them without even thinking about it?
Or was it clear that there was so much distance between them neither of them knew how to cross it?
He wished it were the former. He wished people could look at them and see what he had always known in his heart. He wished it was obvious Teddy was his. Always had been. Always would be.
Wren had been there first, and that meant something. It had to mean something when Teddy still looked at him like he mattered. Like he was still his world.
This close, it was easier to block out the doubts. The thoughts of Nexus and Saint. With Teddy under his hands finally, he could feel his hind brain speak up to demand he stake his claim.
He inched his nose closer, inhaling Teddy’s cedar scent and holding it in his lungs where it belonged. His fingers twisted into the back of Teddy’s hair and he heard him groan.
His.
Teddy was his.
Someone jostled them.
He looked up to find a man approaching, smiling at them. Aiming for Teddy with his arm stretched out as if he’d come and take him.
Something ugly flared inside of Wren, and without thinking, without breaking eye contact, he pushed his head into Teddy’s neck and licked a small stripe up toward his ear.
Teddy’s hands tightened on his hips. “Fuck, Wren…”
The voice brought back memories. Of their first times.
Clumsy and awkward and so heated they should have both evaporated from it.
Of soft hands on his skin and damp lips on his cheeks.
Of nights spent away from everything and everyone, knowing each one could be their last but hoping it wouldn’t be.
Acting like they had all the time in the world.
Teddy’s arms wrapped all the way around him, holding him close, and Wren felt him hard against his stomach. He tilted his head to the side just a fraction, and Wren took it as permission. As an invitation.
He lost sight of the guy aiming for them. He didn’t matter anymore. Nothing did except Teddy holding on to him, erasing the years between them.