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Her eyebrows rose. “You shifted?”
“Yes. It was out of my control, at least it felt that way.” But that wasn’t exactly accurate. He’d begged Ashwood to take him to the forest. “The truth is, I had the desperate urge to do it.”
She looked at Ashwood, and he nodded. “And how did it feel?”
“Honestly?” He shivered, reliving that insistent compulsion to run free. “It was frightening, and yet…exhilarating.”
“Well, it is your true nature, and you’ve been subverting it. I imagine the need was rather strong.”
“I asked him to seek your advice,” Ashwood said. “Because if he decides to shift again, I don’t want him to have any regrets. I’m not certain how well the suppressant will work once one’s wolf is fully unleashed.”
“You’re saying you want to suppress it again?” she asked Bellamy.
“Perhaps,” he replied, his gut churning. “I’m not sure the life of a wolf is one for me. Not after everything I’ve witnessed.”
Ashwood grimaced, then looked away, and Bellamy remembered his words.
“I just wanted you to see that we’re not savages.”
He empathized now. With the call, at least.
“I understand.” She looked off into the distance as if conjuring the details of what she knew about the suppressant she’d helped develop. “It will become harder the longer you allow yourself to shift.”
“I was afraid of that,” Bellamy said, eyeing the moon flowers lining the shelves. It was still hard to believe that a mere few months ago he and the other lads would wear one of the blooms behind their ears to entertain their gentlemen guests.
Everything had been flipped on its head since then.
“I will be available to help him if he needs me again,” Ashwood said.
“No, Ashwood, you cannot be at my beck and call.” But wasn’t that exactly what he’d done? Left his pack and waited. Given up everything to make sure Bellamy was well. Even knowing Bellamy would want nothing to do with him. “You have a life to start living—”
“You are my life,” Ashwood said with fervor, but then his shoulders slumped. “Or you were.”
“Ash…” Bellamy’s heart lurched in his chest, the pull to his mate strong, and he wondered if his emotional turmoil was evident on his face.
An awkward silence grew between them, and Bellamy’s cheeks colored at the thought of having Madam Fairborn witness their exchange.
She cleared her throat. “Perhaps you need to give in to the urges once again before making an irreversible decision.”
“Yes, perhaps,” he replied, not meeting Ashwood’s eyes. “If only for the experience.” The mere possibility made his pulse tick up.
“Wait right here.” She strolled to the back room, leaving them to their own devices.
They did not speak, only looked around at all the shelves with crystals, mortar and pestles, and the various seedlings and plants they used to make potions and liniments.
Finally, she returned, holding a vial he recognized all too well.
“You can choose to take this now or after.” She pushed it into his hand, and he gripped it like a lifeline before storing it in his bag. “There’s another potion, for dire cases if you will. A woman who lives just outside the village of Destiny’s Fall produces it.”
Suddenly his vision swam with the memory of his mother bringing him to visit a friend. “Is she a witch?”
“I’m not sure she would address herself as such, but her gifts are different from ours—innate and more advanced. Why do you ask?”
“I’m from Destiny’s Fall, and my mother took me with her once to see a woman who…well, I thought she might be a witch. But when I asked my mother, she denied it.”
Madam Fairborn drew back in surprise. “Your mother?”
“This might be your chance to find out more,” Ashwood said from behind him.
He looked back, and when they made eye contact, Bellamy nodded. He was right. “Where can I find her?”
“I’ll write down the address. Her name is Lady Osborn.”
“I’ll need to secure a coach,” Bellamy said to no one in particular, his mind already made up.
“It will take you the entire afternoon to get there,” Ashwood said. “I shall accompany you.”
“You don’t have to. You’ve already—”
“I think it’s a good idea,” Madam Fairborn said. “You’ve been in hiding at Moon Flower for quite some time.”
“Yes, from Ashwood,” he said pointedly.
“And Kipling,” Ashwood countered.
It was a truth he’d kept hidden when he’d given snippets of facts to people like Oscar, who loved to embellish with titillating details about Bellamy and Ashwood. But he’d seen Ashwood that day with Kipling, and he hadn’t planned on ever encountering any of them again, not while he was safely concealed under the madam’s watchful eye. Now…now he’d give anything to meet the evil Kipling face-to-face.
But at what price? His stomach skittered with nerves.
“He’s a dangerous man,” Madam Fairborn said. “And it seems Ashwood has proven reliable?”
The question hung in the air between them. She was making certain he felt safe, and the truth was, so far, Ashwood had been true to his word. Bellamy hadn’t noted any more deception, but…he’d been tricked by him before. Bellamy liked to think he’d become more aware and intuitive since then. But his deeply rooted feelings for Ashwood might’ve been clouding his judgment again.
