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“You told us you wanted to do it your way,” another sneered.
“The task is nearly complete,” Ashwood said, and Bellamy held in his gasp. “I just need a bit more time.”
What was he talking about? And who were these men? Ashwood had never told Bellamy he was involved in anything. Perhaps Gladstone had put him up to this.
“More time?” the first man said. “If you can’t produce the boy on your own, I will take him myself and make him into who he’s meant to be.”
All the hairs on Bellamy’s neck stood on end. What did he mean when he threatened to take some boy?
“I…I…promise.” Ashwood’s voice was tight and clipped, a mix of anger and fear. “I’ll deliver Bellamy to you when the time is right. Besides, we still don’t know if he…”
The rest of the sentence was drowned out by the pounding of his pulse in his ears. He placed his hand against his mouth to keep from reacting. Tears sprang to his eyes, and it felt like the very ground he stood on had shifted.
This was not the Ashwood he’d gotten to know over all these months. His Ashwood. This Ashwood was cold and submissive to this man. And he also sounded like a fraud. It couldn’t be true. Bellamy didn’t want to believe it, but how could he not—he’d heard it with his own ears.
“You better,” the imposing man said. “There’s little time left before you officially turn.”
The words didn’t make sense, but Bellamy was feeling so alarmed, he wanted to shout out. Except even a whimper could alert them, so he tempered his breathing. Unless he was mistaken, he was being deceived by Ashwood. Everything they’d shared…it was all some great scheme to get him to join…whoever this was. Now some of their conversations began fitting together, especially Ashwood making him promise to hear him out once they left Gladstone.
And speaking of Gladstone, did he know what was going on right under his nose? Not that he cared about the man, but Bellamy’s world had been suddenly turned upside down, and he was trying to make any bit of sense of it he could.
“Let’s head to the forest, Kipling,” one of the men said. “It’s almost time.”
Bellamy stiffened. Kipling? Ashwood’s old keeper? Was he trying to get Ashwood to join them again? Was that what this was about?
“We’ll go when I say it’s time,” Kipling growled, the noise so menacing, a chill crawled up Bellamy’s spine.
“I’m itching to feed,” the man who’d challenged him now said in an acquiescent tone.
Feed. Bellamy’s stomach panged, though he had no idea what that meant, besides it being sinister.
Kipling turned to Ashwood. “Have you tried yet? To shift?”
“I have the itch, but I cannot be gone long. Gladstone will be looking for me.”
“You mean the kid will. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re enamored with him.”
“No, of course not,” he scoffed, but his panic was plain as day to Bellamy. “I know exactly how to perform the task I was given. He’ll want to join us, you’ll see.”
Bellamy’s stomach churned.
“Then you best leave,” Kipling said. “If you’re out here any longer under the full moon, you won’t be able to stop yourself.”
“I…I already cannot prevent the urge,” Ashwood cried out, his back bowing in a bizarre manner as if he were hurt. There was a shift in the air, of energy and shapes, Bellamy’s eyesight blurring at the outlandish reconfiguration transpiring before his very eyes.
He heard a sort of creaking he wouldn’t soon forget, as if bones were breaking. He held his breath as one by one their extremities seemed to bend and twist. The men with Ashwood were suddenly down on four limbs that had grown fur, their legs turning into hindquarters, their mouths stretching to become snouts until four wolves stood before him.
Bellamy could not look away even if he tried.
Was this what his mother had warned him about—the moon casting a spell if you stared too long? Did she know there were such creatures in their world, and she’d thought him too young to understand?
His entire body trembled as he watched the wolves. Ashwood was shaking like a leaf as well. At first, Bellamy thought it from fear, but soon enough, it became clear this was from something more visceral—and ominous.
Tufts of silky-looking white fur lined his arms and neck, his ears had stretched to points, his nose had grown into the shape of a snout, but that was nothing compared to the menacing air the others exuded as they circled him as if waiting for the right moment to attack. It was as if Ashwood couldn’t control what his body was doing, and Bellamy almost yelled out, from sheer horror but also to save Ashwood, which didn’t make sense, given how he’d been deceived by him.
