Chapter 5
Wren was standing in the small bathroom outside of his bedroom, cursing as Marvin threw water at him.
"Stop it, Marvin," he snapped at the playful monkey, who was now making faces at him. "You know I hate it whenever water gets in my eyes."
He couldn't stand to be blinded. None of his species could, which was strange when one considered the fact that they did like to play in water.
They just hated any and all weaknesses. A weak tiger was a dead one.
His father was dead proof of that.
The door, which Wren had left slightly ajar, opened to show him Aimee in the hallway. "What are you two doing?"
Wren pulled the comb from his hair. He looked about for someplace to retreat to, but the only way out was through the bearswan. He hated that she had caught him. He didn't want anyone to know what he was doing.
Aimee entered the room and closed the door behind her. Cocking her head to one side, she studied him with a gimlet stare that made him extremely uneasy.
Marvin jumped up and down on the sink, chattering.
"You're trying to unmat your hair, aren't you?"
Wren didn't say anything as he set the comb down beside Marvin. It was none of her business.
"It's because of that human female, isn't it?"
He tried to move past Aimee, only to have her block his way.
"It's okay, Wren," Aimee said gently. "I won't tell anyone about her. Believe me, I understand all about impossible relationships."
Yeah, he'd caught her with the wolf Fang a week ago. The two of them had been about to kiss. If anyone other than Wren had discovered her with Fang, Fang would have been killed or at the very least seriously mangled. But luckily for them, Wren couldn't care less who Aimee took to her bed. It was none of his business anyway.
She picked up the comb from the counter. "You want me to help?"
Part of him wanted to growl at her and send her scurrying away, but the other realized that help would be kind of nice. "You can try," he muttered. "But I think it's hopeless."
He'd been trying for over an hour to comb through the mess of his hair, and so far he'd only met with failure and pain.
And all because he wanted...
He wanted the impossible. For one moment in time, he wanted to feel a woman's hands in his hair, and it wasn't Aimee he ached to feel there.
He wanted Maggie.
Aimee's face softened as she tried to get the comb through a small matted lock. After a few minutes of trying that only resulted in her breaking the comb in half, she let out a frustrated sigh.
"All right, Wren, what we need is a specialist. Let me call Margie in here to help. She's the best at getting matted hair untangled. If anyone can do this, she can."
As Aimee started out the door, Wren stopped her. "Why are you being so nice to me?" None of the other bears had ever been really nice to him. Most of them barely tolerated him.
But Aimee had always been kind.
She offered him a smile. "I like you, cub. I always have. I know you're not dangerous... I mean, I know that you could kill us, that you are dangerous, but that you don't pose an unfounded danger to anyone other than yourself."
"But you still fear me."
Her eyes softened as she looked at him. "No. I fear for you, Wren. There's a big difference."
He frowned in confusion at her words.
She let out a tired breath. "You don't like anyone around you, cub. I know you do inappropriate things just to make people leave you alone, and I fear what you will do one day that could cause the others here to turn on you permanently."
She glanced to Marvin, who was watching her as if he understood and agreed. "I know the ferocity of your people. I know Bill sent you here to keep your father's clan from killing you before you could defend yourself. Believe it or not, I don't want to see you hurt. Everyone deserves some happiness in their life. Even tigards."
Those words touched him deeply. No wonder the wolf was so attracted to her. For a bear, she had a good heart. "Thanks, Aimee."
She nodded, then left. Marvin started chattering at Wren as he tried to detangle his hair again. The monkey didn't understand why Wren was trying to change himself. It didn't make sense to Marvin.
"I know," Wren said to the monkey. "But I want her to be able to touch me without it grossing her out. One day you'll find a Marvina of your own and you'll understand."
"Oh my God, Margeaux! You have got to see what's outside in the hallway!"
Marguerite looked up from where she was packing her books into her backpack to frown at Whitney, whose next class was three doors down. "What?"
"He is the cutest guy on the planet. I swear, I've never seen anyone hotter. He must be gay. No straight man ever looks this yummy."
"Oh, doesn't that just piss you off?" Tammy asked from the next seat. "You should try being an art major. All I ever saw as an undergraduate was men looking for other men. It's why I'm in law school now. I need a profession where I might actually run across a dude wanting a female."
Whitney gave Tammy a droll stare for the mere fact that she had spoken without invitation. Marguerite, on the other hand, adored the Goth student, who always had the most interesting stories on Monday morning.
Marguerite smiled at her. "Okay, Tammy, since you're the resident expert on men, go scope him out and tell me what you think. Whose team does he bat for?"
By the time Marguerite had the backpack on her shoulders, Tammy returned with a thoughtful scowl on her face. "I don't know. It's too close to call. Psycho Prep is right, he's stunning. Offhand, I'd say straight, 'cause he has this 'do me' factor all over him that makes you want to take a bite out of his succulent flesh. That being said, he's dressed in a black silk shirt that's open at the neck, sleeves rolled back on his arms, and it's left untucked. Of course he does have a really cool tat on his left arm. But..."
Tammy wrinkled her nose. "He has on black slacks and really, really expensive black Italian loafers. Ferragamos, I think. Gotta say that sets off my gaydar big-time. Straight men don't normally dress that good. Not to mention he has one of those expensive haircuts, but at the same time it's kind of shabby. He's not really watching anyone, male or female, who walks by. It's weird. So I'd say our team has a fifty-fifty shot he bats for us. Or maybe he's a switch-hitter."