Moon Spell

Ashwood ignored his obvious perusal, assisting Bellamy with lifting his nightshirt, and he was grateful that conversation was not encouraged or required. Bellamy had wounds of his own from the sickness and nearly shielded himself from the man, which was ridiculous. But he felt rather ghastly, not only because he was ill, but because the rash had left his chest quite ravaged.

If Ashwood was repulsed, he didn’t show it, and Bellamy was again grateful that Ashwood was keeping everything perfunctory, not even allowing his gaze to travel downward to where Bellamy’s lower body was still covered by a blanket.

Ashwood hung their clothing over the door of the wardrobe, then turned back to look at him. He didn’t flinch or make Bellamy seem undesirable, and Bellamy felt that same affection course through him. He’d always thought himself quite plain, except for his freckles and firebrand hair perhaps. Ashwood was the more stunning of the two of them, and even more so now with his scars. Bellamy could see the abject vulnerability in them, which only strengthened his resolve to move forward with his plan.

“We’ll need to get you back in bed. I’ve refreshed the linens for us.”

A shudder racked his body at the very idea of lying down with Ashwood. They had never been able to share a bed, and certainly not like this.

But without allowing Bellamy to think it through, which was perhaps the best decision, Ashwood scooped him up in his arms along with the blanket and carried him toward the bed. Being held by him so carefully and closely felt good. Too good.

“I’m afraid I don’t smell very pleasing after being ill for so long,” he said against Ashwood’s shoulder, feeling a strong urge to cover his head in embarrassment.

“On the contrary. As my mate, your smell is my aphrodisiac,” he replied, and Bellamy held in a gasp. “It’s hard not to bury my nose in your neck, which is why I needed…”

“To…how did you put it…center yourself?” Bellamy asked as Ashwood’s footsteps faltered.

He nodded as their eyes connected, both panting softly. Bellamy didn’t think his sudden windedness was from the illness, but from pure anticipation. Ashwood’s scent was just as powerful this close, and Bellamy found himself drawn to it, also wanting to breathe the man in. He supposed soon enough he would be able to.

The moment passed as Ashwood laid him down on the bed gingerly, and he was glad for the distraction. But the change of position must have inflamed his lungs, as a coughing spell exploded from deep within him, and Ashwood tried to calm him with a steadying hand to his shoulder that eventually quieted him.

Ashwood sat on the edge of the bed near his thighs, giving them both a moment of reprieve before reaching toward Bellamy’s hand and entangling their fingers. Bellamy panicked, but then reminded himself this was his choice. He’d asked for this. And he would see it through even if it shredded his heart all over again.

The heat from their joined palms infused him with a warmth that made his skin prickle, their connected hands evoking a powerful memory of the two of them at night in the warehouse as they drifted into sleep… Bellamy tried to force it from his brain, but it was no use. He whimpered and closed his eyes, his pulse throbbing.

“Shh…I won’t hurt you.” Ashwood’s tone was tentative as if he was making a conscious decision not to alarm Bellamy, and he appreciated the effort. “I only want to heal you.”

When Ashwood lifted Bellamy’s wrist to his nose and inhaled deeply, Bellamy’s eyes opened reflexively.

“I’m not sure anyone else’s skin will ever affect me like this,” Ashwood murmured, his eyes practically rolling to the back of his head.

Bellamy gulped. “I’m certain you can find another man pleasing enough.”

He noted the tense crease in Ashwood’s forehead. “No, my heart only belongs to you.”

Bellamy’s chest ached. He wanted desperately to believe him. He gritted his teeth. “I cannot hear such things, Ashwood. You promised. Please, just do what is required.”

“Forgive me, I momentarily lost my head.” He shuddered, then straightened his shoulders. “I won’t speak of such things again.”

Guilt seeped beneath Bellamy’s skin. “I’m sorry this is difficult for you. Thank you for helping me.”

In the end, he would be grateful for this. He hoped.

He decided closing his eyes was the best course of action, if only to avoid being affected by Ashwood’s expression. But that only heightened his other senses. He could hear Ashwood’s ragged breathing and smell his potency again, even stronger now than when he was being carried by the man.

Ashwood lifted Bellamy’s arm toward him. He felt his lips as they grazed his wrist, soft and gentle, before the small nip of his teeth made Bellamy’s mouth open in a silent gasp. The act felt more sensual, more intimate, than all their shared moments combined. His prick instantly filled with blood, and he fought the moan that sprang from his throat.