When he looked back toward the forest, the creatures were gone. And when his embrace felt empty, devoid of the warmth of his mother’s arms, he stiffened. He blinked away the dust in his eyes, realization hitting that she’d turned to ash, floating on the night’s breeze. His face crumpled in horror as a scream caught in his throat.
He roused again, briefly, or perhaps it was all part of this flow of dreams he could not seem to wake from.
Extremely parched, he managed to lift his torso, breaking out in a sweat from the effort. Still, he was able to reach the teacup on the tray Ashwood had set near the end of his bed. He drew it to his lips and sucked deeply at the cooled liquid before the porcelain tumbled from his fingers and shattered on the ground. He fell back on the bed, feeling delirious and fevered as he again toppled into sleep.
He was sitting in a field of wildflowers, and beside him was a white wolf with brilliant golden eyes. Bellamy was older now and no longer afraid, his mother’s warnings only a distant whisper. The animal snuffled, his snout lowering to nudge at him. The act felt intimate, profoundly so, and Bellamy felt this strangeness in his gut, a gentle tug of sorts.
The creature backed into the woods as if urging him to follow.
And then Bellamy was there, somehow shifting in the darkness to join him, running, running, running, the wind at their backs, and for the first time, he felt uninhibited and free.
The room was dark when he startled awake, with only the moon shining through the windowpane. The tray was no longer at the end of the bed near his feet, and when his gaze swung to the floor, the cup he’d shattered, who knew how many hours earlier, had been cleaned up. It made him shiver, wondering how often Ashwood had been in the room with him. He wished he had enough strength to stand on his own and leave, but he didn’t know if he’d even make it to the door.
Besides, he was a bit frightened that danger awaited him on the other side. His wishes floated between wanting to get strong enough to escape and wanting to drift away and finally be at peace. He’d never known so much conflict mixed with so much pain—other than the day of the betrayal. And the dreams only seemed to make the feelings more intense. Sometimes he didn’t know fiction from reality, but none of it was helping him make a decision about his own fate, even though he’d asked Ashwood for that opportunity and the man had complied.
He’d had similar dreams after his mother’s death when he first came under Gladstone’s care and again after he arrived at Moon Flower. Sometimes they were pleasant dreams of his mother or kinder wolves before they would shift into nightmares, into the scenes in his life that haunted him.
He dreaded the dreams and wished he would not succumb to sleep so easily. The last one had been a special kind of torture, showing him what the wolf inside him could do if unleashed. How freeing it could be.
But he didn’t want to dream of being a wolf. He would never join them. He wanted to hurt them, and perhaps that should be his plan after all—to grow strong enough to kill them for harming his family. And maybe one day he would. If he didn’t die first. Perhaps that was just the sort of incentive he needed.
Chapter 3
When Bellamy awakened, reality startled him again. He was not at Moon Flower; he was somewhere with Ashwood, the man, the wolf, he’d once loved—still loved if he was honest with himself—but could never trust again, and he’d do well to keep reminding himself of that.
He was also, according to Ashwood, dying. Except, since being here, he’d felt a tad more alive—possibly due to the adrenaline running through his body from being around Ashwood again. He wasn’t sure how the man thought he could help him or if he wanted him to try, especially if it meant Ashwood would have to be nearer and for an extended period of time.
He looked at the night sky through the window. It was now a brilliantly full moon, and this time, he felt a stirring in his core, like a tug, but no itch beneath his skin like he had so many times in the past. Melancholy washed over him unexpectedly, but he wasn’t sure if it was because his health was failing or because he was no longer in touch with his wolf.
What an absolutely insane thought to have. To actually grieve for his wolf.
The door to the bedroom opened, and someone walked in, carrying a tray. It wasn’t Ashwood, whom he’d recognize anywhere. This person was shorter in stature and hidden in the shadows of the darkened room. Bellamy didn’t know if he should be frightened because they obviously weren’t alone in this…place. Wherever they were.