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“No, but some have alliances, where they agree to share their lives. Finding your mate is actually rare, especially now that our numbers have dwindled.”
Bellamy scoffed, feeling like he was in some sort of fairy tale again. “If it’s so rare, then how likely would it really be for the both of us to end up under Gladstone’s watch?”
“It does seem unbelievable. The truth is, I’d been drawn to you from the moment I laid eyes on you. I never would’ve imagined the reason. I never would’ve imagined…this.”
“Enough. I cannot bear one more word.” He tried to lift his hand to wave him off but couldn’t make the effort. His pulse was throbbing, his chest aching from the very idea of the two of them finding each other in such a way. “I will not be tricked by you again.”
“I’m only being honest.” Ashwood’s tone was resigned, sad. “I’ll leave you to rest.”
How could Bellamy possibly be fated to someone he loathed? And how could it be that underneath that loathing, he still felt something akin to affection? It had to be a trick of the mind. Or the universe. And the way the man smelled. Of the earth and grass and something else that was sure to drive Bellamy mad if he had to endure being in the same room with him any longer. And yet…
“Wait.” It was as if his mouth had not consulted his brain. But being left alone to think about his state of affairs again did not sit well with him. And perhaps if the soup or Ashwood himself were really providing him added strength, he could leave on his own volition and make it back to Moon Flower. Or demand that Ashwood take him. Why he hadn’t yet, baffled him. Maybe deep down, there was something he needed to accomplish in these final moments with Ashwood that he hadn’t been able to before.
Perhaps a closure of sorts. He pushed aside the utter sadness that crowded his chest.
“I see that Oscar has been cast under your spell too,” Bellamy said. “What an unlikely pair you’ve made.”
“Pair? Whatever are you trying to insinuate?”
“The two of you in cahoots about…all this.”
“Oscar was worried about you.”
“Apparently not worried enough to leave me again with someone like you.”
Ashwood’s expression turned wounded, and it made Bellamy feel horribly conflicted. Damn him and the sentimentality he evoked from him. Would it ever pass?
“To his credit, Oscar subjected me to much scrutiny upon my return,” he said, and Bellamy felt a strange sort of satisfaction at the confession since he hadn’t been sure Oscar had taken his concerns seriously. “And he certainly had good intentions.”
“And you? What is your excuse? Stealing me away in the middle of the night, against my will?” Before he could reply, Bellamy cut him off. “My friend Galen can read people’s auras and see their intentions. What would he think of yours?”
“I’ve undoubtedly done things I’m not proud of,” Ashwood replied, his shoulders slumping.
“Such as deceiving me?” The words stuck in his throat, the misery of them taking hold.
“That’s not… Perhaps that was the original idea—to persuade you, not deceive—but soon enough, it became something else.”
“Such as what?”
“Can’t you feel it? No, I suppose you cannot.” He appeared glum again. “I keep forgetting that your wolf is nearly gone—or perhaps absent altogether. We shall see.”
Bellamy gritted his teeth, feeling a renewed sense of outrage at the man. “We won’t be seeing anything. You can leave me to die here, by myself, or take me back to Moon Flower. If I can’t be with my friends, then at least allow me the dignity of perishing alone, away from your presence.”
Ashwood seemed affronted by his outburst. “I…I didn’t think you’d be this stubborn about your own life. But I imagine I deserve it after what I’ve done.”
“So you admit it.”
“It’s hard not to if you won’t allow me the opportunity to explain anything.”
They stared at each other before Ashwood screwed his eyes shut for a moment, and then he moved toward the door. That was when Bellamy noticed a slight limp in his gait as if he carried the world on his shoulders. Or perhaps he was exhausted—or wounded—from hunting? No, that didn’t make any sense. He must’ve imagined it.
“I cannot bear to see you suffer. And I cannot let you die alone, no matter how much you hate me,” Ashwood said before his dramatic exit.
Chapter 6
When Bellamy next awoke, he was in a chair near the window. There were pillows behind his back, and his feet were propped on a cushioned footstool. He vaguely recalled Ashwood suggesting it and then the lush feel of being enveloped in his embrace and transferred from the bed. If Ashwood thought his plan for a sunnier view would work, he was mistaken. Bellamy’s skin felt clammy, his stomach hollow, and he was so very tired of being sick. While Ashwood had been in the room, it’d felt like a brief reprieve from some of his symptoms, but now he felt as if his fever had returned with a vengeance, and the rash on his torso pulsed and seemed swollen. He knew he was nearing the point of no return and wanted to cry into his pillow and have it be over with already. His chest felt hollow with the desolation of leaving this world and his friends, and Ashwood too, which was sheer agony to consider since he’d already suffered without him for so long. He knew he was surely losing his mind to even entertain such thoughts because they didn’t make a bit of sense.
