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Chapter 8
“I saw you that day,” Bellamy murmured as Ashwood swiped the cool material against his neck. “With Kipling.”
Ashwood’s expression turned pained as he lifted the cloth away from his skin. “What did you see exactly? I’ve always been curious.”
“You were telling him your plan to deceive me was well on its way.” He squeezed his eyes closed as the painful memory lanced through him again. “That you needed more time to convince me.”
He winced. “I wish you hadn’t heard that.”
Bellamy clenched his jaw. “On the contrary, I’m glad I did.”
“Had it worked as I’d planned, we’d be long gone from here,” Ashwood said, his sullenness evident on his face. “I could’ve shown you how to be a wolf, or perhaps we could’ve learned together.”
“And you expected that I would not be angry with you? People don’t like to be deceived.” Though Bellamy couldn’t deny he’d wondered the same more than once—what it would’ve been like to go through that change together.
Ashwood dipped his head, his cheeks dotted red. “You’re right, of course.”
And he would do well to remember it. But soon enough that anger ebbed again, and Bellamy was filled with a strange melancholy.
“I saw Kipling shift, and the others.” He clenched his fist. “You as well.”
His widened gaze met Bellamy’s. “Then you saw my first time. I had this itch in my bones, but I was quite frightened. To think I could’ve shared it with you and asked if you were feeling the same haunts me.”
“I began feeling strange when I came of age, but I didn’t understand why. And my senses seemed…heightened. Like I could smell and hear things around me more distinctly. Is that part of it?”
“Yes,” he said glumly, conceivably due to regret, and Bellamy felt a weird satisfaction from it.
The truth was, Ashwood’s wolf, the little he’d seen of it, was striking. It was the first time Bellamy had felt that way about the creatures, but he would never say such a thing aloud and definitely not to him. Naturally, the more curious and pleasant thoughts had been immediately eradicated every time he thought of Kipling’s gray coat and beady eyes.
“What did you do next? After you saw us.”
“I almost vomited…” He gave Ashwood a pointed look, the acid still churning in his stomach. “I ran to Gladstone, told him he had a traitor in his midst, and then I fled, eventually ending up at Moon Flower.”
Ashwood nodded as if considering what Bellamy had shared. “I will always regret that we couldn’t share that first experience together. To see you as your wolf self…” He shivered. “I can only imagine how magnificent you’d be.”
“Don’t say such a thing!” Bellamy’s chest seized. The idea of him being a wolf still seemed implausible. “I could never—”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.”
Bellamy sighed because he couldn’t deny it. It was part of him, after all, no matter how much he tried to refute the possibility. “I’ve dreamed about it, actually. About shifting and then…”
An eyebrow quirked up. “Running in the forest?”
“Yes, how did you…?” Bellamy trailed off because their connection was becoming increasingly obvious. Either the fated-mates current running between them was causing it or something else instinctual. What else could explain how he felt slightly better each time Ashwood was in his presence? Physically, of course, not emotionally. No, the latter was certainly out of tune and ran the spectrum from sad to angry to something he didn’t want to name. Something that still felt a great deal like adoration, which was obviously misplaced, yet it persisted no matter how much time they spent apart.
The truth was, Bellamy had so much more he wanted to ask, to understand, so he needed to temporarily set aside any ill will or he’d never get anywhere. Besides, all the warring emotions were exhausting him further, and he needed any strength he could muster to get back to Moon Flower and the people he loved.
“Shifting is one of the most glorious things, and I’m a bit sorry you won’t get to experience it,” Ashwood said with a lightness in his expression that Bellamy hadn’t seen since their Gladstone days.
Bellamy had to admit he was a bit jealous, which didn’t make much sense, not after fighting his true self for so long.
“There’s this underlying raw power, like you’re part of the very fabric of nature. Some use this…gift in a horrible way, unfortunately, but others respect it.”
“Gift? Really? And what would you know about respect?” he asked, the cynicism rearing its ugly head. “Seems every wolf I’ve encountered has abused that raw power you speak of.”
Ashwood nodded solemnly. “I’ve come across a pack of all female wolves more than once, and they seem to respect… I felt a peaceful energy from them. They’ve never become territorial with me. Not like…others.”
