4. Steffie’s ‘Surprise’

4

STEFFIE'S ‘SURPRISE'

"Looks like your ride is here," Blade said, at the same time Wren's phone buzzed.

Fang

I've pulled up out front.

Wren's heart skipped. Then it began to pound.

This was happening. Three— Four? —days of being stuck in the same place as Fang, breathing in the same air, listening to Fang's voice, hopefully without making a complete fool of himself.

"Oh, gods," Wren whispered.

Steffie grabbed his ear and pulled, grinning innocently. "Wa wa!"

Wren gazed helplessly at her. How was Fang going to remain interested in him? Wren hadn't even had Steffie for long. Gods knew he'd been making mistakes with her left and right.

Forget his kind smile. Forget the looks he gives you. He's just here to help you retrieve your stuff.

The thing was, Wren didn't have a real home anymore. His home had been back in Colorado with Quinlan, with Joey living nearby.

But Joey and Quinlan had moved in with their mates in Cartfalls, and Wren couldn't afford the rent back home on his own. He had no one else there, either. And he couldn't possibly impose on Joey and Blade for too much longer.

When he got back with his things... Where would he go?

He squashed down his depressing thoughts and strapped Steffie into her backpack, slipping out through the front door.

Fang was leaning against the passenger side door, arms folded, ankles crossed, looking so hot and put-together that Wren's underwear almost dropped. He shut his suddenly-dry mouth and tried not to ogle. "Um, hi."

"Hey." Fang's mouth twitched into a smile. "Slept well?"

Very. Because his last thoughts before slumber had been about this very man pressing him into his bed, holding him close. Wren's face burned. "Um, yes."

Fang's gaze darkened. He unfolded his arms and ankles, sweeping his gaze from Wren's head to his toes, exactly like yesterday. His voice dipped. "Good. Would you like to see the supplies I acquired?"

Before Wren could answer, Fang was already moving, opening the trunk. Packed inside were various packages of diapers, wipes, and spare clothing. There were boxes of baby food, formula, and soft-looking towels. It was so much more than Wren ever had at any moment, ever since he'd adopted Steffie. And Fang had just bought all that for a trip that wouldn't even last a week.

"Wow," Wren said, choking up. "That's a lot."

Fang straightened his shoulders, looking pleased. "I also acquired a car seat for Steffie so she doesn't have to ride with you in the front. It's not safe for her there."

Fang opened the back door and gestured at a contraption inside.

"I don't know how to use that," Wren blurted.

"Good thing I watched some instructional videos." Fang smiled again. "I'll show you how to use it. You'll have to set her down facing the back, and buckle her in."

Fang moved out of the way so Wren could ease Steffie out of her backpack. The backpack was narrow and restricted her movements, and Wren would much rather Steffie had the freedom to kick around and fling her arms out during the drive.

The moment he buckled her into the car seat, she burst into flames.

Steffie's flames didn't hurt her—they were small orange ribbons that flickered across her skin, burning everything else they touched.

Including the expensive car seat that Fang had just bought.

Wren squawked and fumbled with the seatbelt, grabbing Steffie out of the car seat. The flames licked painfully against his hands and exposed arms.

"Wren!" Fang swore and scooped Steffie out of Wren's arms. Except now his clothes were catching on fire, black-edged holes spreading across the fabric.

No, no, no!

Panicking, Wren drew the runes for a heat shield in the air. An almost-invisible disk materialized in front of him; he wrapped it around Steffie and grabbed her out of Fang's arms, wincing at Fang's burning shirt and pink skin.

Fang growled and reached out like he was going to snatch Steffie right back.

"Take off your clothes!" Wren cried.

Fang's eyebrows shot up. But he tore his burning shirt off his body, flinging it to the ground. "I'll take her back, Wren."

"I have her in a heat shield," Wren said hurriedly. "She's not burning me anymore. We're both fine. Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine." Fang stared suspiciously at Wren's chest and arms. "She's not burning you right now?"

"My clothes are fireproof," Wren admitted. "I had to spell them all after I got her."

"What is she?"

Wren glanced around. Even though Blade's mansion was a safe place, Steffie's identity would put them in a lot of danger if someone untrustworthy found out. He lowered his voice. "A phoenix."

Fang's eyebrows reached his hairline. Then he glanced at his car, frowning again. "I don't think I've prepared adequately for this."

"It's fine! I'll fireproof everything close to her," Wren hurried to say. "Sorry about your clothes. And your burns."

The furrow on Fang's forehead eased slightly. "It's fine. I brought spares."

Wren squirmed guiltily when Fang reached into the trunk for a new shirt. He should've told Fang; Steffie came with a risk of property damage, and it had just... slipped his mind. Because he'd been so excited about Fang helping him.

Fang pulled out a first aid kit, crooking a finger at Wren to beckon him closer. "Let me treat your burns."

"Treat your own first," Wren said. "You have more!"

The look Fang gave him was all command. "Put Steffie down, and take your shirt off."

Wren blushed hotly. He hurried back to the open back door, scribbling the runes for fireproofing. He'd written so many of them by this point that he could draw them in his sleep.

At least the car seat wasn't charred. He'd feel so bad if it was.

When he'd fireproofed the car seat, the leather seats, the door, and the roof, Wren turned, tired from using so much of his magic. Fang was watching him.

"Do you regret this?" Wren asked glumly.

"No," Fang murmured.

Wren frowned. "Why not?"

"Because you need protection, Wren. Because I gave you my word. It was on me to find out what accommodations I needed to make, and I failed." Fang sighed. "If you or Steffie run into trouble with anything, I'll help you figure it out."

Wren gulped and ducked his head, suddenly shy.

"Now, I don't want to waste more time. Sit. Shirt off." With his hand on Wren's back, Fang guided him to the trunk of the SUV.

Fang watched as Wren fumbled his shirt off, his gaze sweeping over Wren's bare chest. Then, his arms. He took Wren's elbow in his large, warm hand, and carefully smeared burn relief gel over his arms.

His fingertips were light and gentle, the heat of his body sinking into Wren's skin. Wren barely breathed as Fang slowly, methodically treated every single burn, his touch leaving tingles in its wake.

"Um. Can I do the same for you?" Wren blurted.

Those grey-green eyes studied him. "Sure."

Wren got to his feet and pointed at the trunk. "Sit."

He blushed immediately after, when he realized that he'd told Fang— a big boss at the Center —to sit. And—oh, gods—in his panic earlier, he'd told Fang to take off his clothes.

Fang's mouth curved into a roguish smile. To Wren's shock, Fang sat, pulling off his shirt. Lush muscles rippled and flexed, as though Fang had just walked straight out of an underwear ad.

Wren felt so thin and naked in front of him.

He held his breath as he squeezed out burn relief gel from its tube. He wasn't sure why he thought Fang's body would feel hard; instead, Fang's skin was lightly furred, soft and warm. When Wren smeared the gel over his chest in a thin layer, Fang's hair rasped against his fingertips, almost too intimately.

"I'm sorry about the burns," Wren blurted.

"I don't blame you, but I'll accept the apology if it makes you feel better."

"It does."

"Good."

It felt like he was living in an alternate reality, stroking his gel-covered fingers over Fang's chest. Fang's pecs rose and fell as he breathed, his nipples flat, dusky discs. Hell, Wren couldn't stop staring at them, and he couldn't stop blushing.

Fang probably let people touch his chest all the time. Just not someone like Wren.

Fang kept watching him, cataloguing his every reaction.

When Wren finally covered the last pink spot with gel, he nervously closed the tube.

It fell out of his hands. Of course.

When he bent down hurriedly to pick it up, Fang's gaze dropped straight to his ass.

"You're doing good," Fang murmured.

Wren's face scorched as he scuttled to the back seat, checking that Steffie was okay. He grabbed her favorite giraffe stuffie and handed it to her, laughing softly when she beamed.

"After starting all this chaos, all you do is smile," he told her. "The best and worst kind of troublemaker."

"Indeed." Fang handed Wren's shirt back to him. Then he glanced at Steffie, and his gaze softened. "How old is she?"

"Seven months. I got her when she was five months old. She, uh." Wren's throat tightened. "She was my sister's."

Marie had been so excited to welcome Steffie into the world. Wren had thought—Well, he'd thought Marie would get so much more time with her daughter.

"Damn it. I'm sorry to hear that." Fang stepped closer, wrapping Wren in a hug that threatened to swallow him completely.

It felt good. So good. Fang's arms were thick and strong, and so was the solid wall of his body. He pulled Wren against himself and just held him, and for a moment, all Wren could smell was Fang's earthy, foresty scent. All he could feel was the wildness beneath Fang's skin.

He felt so safe. Wren couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this way. He clung to Fang and held on tight, the knot in his chest too messy to unravel.

Fang brushed his fingers through Wren's hair. He cupped Wren's nape, sliding his palm down Wren's spine. He repeated that touch over and over, until Wren could breathe a little easier.

He wasn't going to cry. Not right now, and not in Fang's arms. He'd already given Fang enough trouble for one day.

It wasn't until they'd been breathing against each other for a while, that Wren realized he was pressed against Fang's bare chest, the scent of him filling Wren's lungs. His heart tripped.

"Thank you," Wren mumbled, pulling away awkwardly. That really was a lot of skin.

And he wasn't even in the right headspace to enjoy any of it.

"Ready to set off?" Fang cupped Wren's cheek and tipped his head back, their gazes locking. His calloused hand felt so perfect; his thumb swept lightly over Wren's cheek, back and forth.

Wren nodded wordlessly.

"Tell me if you need anything at all, okay?"

Wren nodded again.

Fang made sure that Wren and Steffie were both settled into the car. He touched Wren's shoulder again. Then he finally began to drive, gesturing at the center console. "Pick a station."

"But you're the one driving. You should choose."

Fang huffed. "You're my guest. It's going to be a long ride. I want you to be comfortable."

Wren didn't know many radio stations at all. Growing up, he and his sister Marie had entertained themselves with their magic. Mom had a charmed gramophone that played vinyl records all day long, filling their tiny house with music, and she and Dad danced to it every night.

He turned the knob and flipped from one station to another, finally deciding on a catchy pop song.

"Huh. I grew up listening to these," Fang said. "This song was all the rage twenty years ago."

"How old are you?" Wren blurted.

"Thirty-five. What about you?"

"Twenty-one."

"That's—" Fang bit off his words, shaking his head like he was discarding them. "You're young."

Wren's heart sank. "Is that a problem?"

"Not to me. Then again, your friends are mated to men who are hundreds of years old."

Put that way, a gap of fourteen years wasn't much at all.

"That must feel strange," Wren admitted.

"I wouldn't know. I've never been that old, or been with someone that old."

"Would you?"

Fang slanted a look at him. "Perhaps. I prefer not to talk about maybes."

They drove in comfortable silence for a while, with music in the background and Steffie filling in with her own babbling. She flung her giraffe across the backseat; Wren had to hand her another toy so she wouldn't grow bored.

He blinked when Fang pulled into the drive-thru lane of a coffee shop.

"Drinks and snacks for the road," Fang said. "Want something?"

Wren stared at the vast menu. There were so many options. Too many. As the car rolled ever closer to the ordering station, he grew nervous. "Um. There's a lot of choices."

Fang winced. "Should I pull out and give you some time to consider?"

Wren peeked behind them. They were already stuck in the single lane with more cars behind them, and no way out. He shook his head. "Um, it's fine. I'll just—"

"Do you like sweet drinks?" Fang asked. Wren nodded. "Any allergies or preferences?" Wren shook his head. "Coffee or tea?"

"Coffee, please."

"What about a peppermint mocha?"

Wren's mouth watered. "They have that here?"

Fang grinned, all sharp teeth. When he pulled up to the ordering station, he began speaking. One large black coffee. One large peppermint mocha. A chocolate muffin. A blueberry muffin. A ham and cheese croissant. A cinnamon and raisin bagel. A smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel. Two chocolate chip cookies, and one oatmeal and raisin cookie.

"That's a lot of food," Wren whispered.

Fang rolled the window back up and inched the car forward. "Was there anything you didn't like in that order?"

Wren shook his head. "It all sounds amazing."

Fang grinned again. "Good."

When they finally pulled up to the payment window, Fang handed them his credit card. The staff gave them two large paper bags; Fang passed them to Wren.

The food was warm in his lap; an amazing mix of smells. Wren moaned.

Fang's gaze darkened. "Go ahead and eat whatever you want."

"I want a bite of everything," Wren managed to joke. "So I can try them all without my stomach exploding."

"I'm not stopping you."

Wren turned to stare at him in disbelief. "Really? Me?"

"Yes. Do you see anyone else in here who wants a sandwich?"

"I'm not taking a bite of yours! That's just... rude."

Fang shrugged. "There's plenty to go around. In fact, you're allowed to take more than one bite of my sandwich. Whatever that ends up being."

"I've never done this before." Wren had always been on a budget. He'd never had the freedom to pick more than one dish at a restaurant, and usually, that meant the cheapest thing on the menu. On special occasions, he ordered a dish he knew he would like, because he couldn't afford to experiment.

But now that he had permission... Wren carefully unwrapped the sandwiches, taking a bite of the cinnamon and raisin bagel. He tried the ham and cheese croissant next, and a bite of each cookie and muffin.

"Do you eat the best thing first, or last?" Wren blurted.

Fang laughed. "I'm sure you've figured out that I enjoy saving the best for last."

He glanced at Wren, meaningfully, and Wren stopped breathing. Surely Fang wasn't talking about him.

He dropped his gaze and sank his teeth into the smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel, a moan slipping out of his throat. The sandwich was smoky and salty, the flavors blending together perfectly.

Fang licked his lips. "You like that one?"

"I saved it for last. Smoked salmon is the best thing ever," Wren said. "But it's expensive so I rarely get to eat it."

Fang seemed thoughtful. "Finish the smoked salmon bagel. I enjoy the sounds you make when you eat it."

Wren blushed. He tucked the other sandwiches back into the paper bags. Then he slowly savored the smoked salmon bagel, sounds falling out of his mouth.

When he peeked at Fang, he found the man smiling to himself.

"Are you hungry?" Wren tilted the bag toward Fang.

"Yes," Fang growled. But instead of grabbing a sandwich, he glanced at Wren and smiled again. "Not for food."

Wren hid his face behind the paper bag.

They'd been driving on the highway for a while when Steffie began making soft, whimpering sounds.

Wren winced. "I should've moved Steffie's formula and bottles up front with me. She's hungry."

"I'd much rather you don't prepare formula in the car," Fang said dryly. "But I'll stop somewhere. Give me a couple minutes."

Before he could turn onto an exit ramp, Steffie's entire body flared a blinding gold in the backseat.

Fang's windows were tinted, but... That had been bright. Bright enough for nearby cars to notice something.

His heart thumping, Wren exchanged a glance with Fang.

"D'you think... anyone bad might've seen that?" Wren whispered.

Fang's jaw tightened. "We'll see."

He hit the gas pedal and pulled them forward, weaving between other cars. Wren wrung his hands and hoped fervently that Steffie wouldn't light up again.

They changed lanes and overtook more cars, except Fang's grip tightened around the steering wheel.

"We're being followed," he said.