If only there was also a way to heal a broken heart. Madam Langley could sell the potions in droves and make enough coin to open several Moon Flowers. But alas, it was one of those elusive things.
When he awakened in the early dawn hours, he felt warm, too warm, and he gasped as he opened his eyes because he didn’t feel Ashwood directly behind him. Instead, Ashwood had repositioned himself to lie near the crook of his knees. He was hot and…furry. He could feel the soft, silky coat tickling his skin, and didn’t even have to look behind him to know he had taken his wolf form.
His heart thumped in his ears, sweat broke out on his brow, but after another minute, he calmed down enough to consider it rationally. He knew in the very center of his being that Ashwood was not going to harm him, not even in his wolf form. Still, he was a dangerous animal, and Bellamy dared not move, lest he cause the wolf to strike.
His curiosity won out, however, and after another few minutes, he pushed aside his anxiety and allowed instinct to take hold. He was too intrigued about the wolf, so he shifted carefully to his other side to get a closer look at his sleeping form. He seemed so docile like this. And striking. He studied his muzzle and pretty fur.
His hand naturally reached out to touch him. At first it was just his fingertips stroking his coat, but then he curled his hand into a fistful of fur, feeling its heavy weight in his grip. The wolf snuffled and tilted its head to nuzzle his hand. The action filled him with a strange, tingling sensation, knowing the wolf version of Ashwood was connecting with him as well.
When the wolf opened its eyes, the irises were as brilliant as spun gold, and Bellamy didn’t know if he was even breathing in that moment. He didn’t dare speak because he didn’t want to break the silence, and besides, he didn’t think the wolf would be able to understand him. But as they stared at one another, something visceral inside Bellamy clicked into place, something he would be hard-pressed to explain. It was as if his wolf, which was locked deep inside him, was communicating with his mate in his own way.
The wolf snuffled again before lifting his head to howl in a soft keening way that resonated in his bones. A cry of sadness, of mourning, and it was the most hauntingly beautiful thing he’d ever heard. Tears sprang to his eyes as he buried his fingers in his fur, trying to soothe him on a deeper level.
After a time, the wolf resettled on the bed beside him and shut his eyes.
But Bellamy lay awake long after, panting softly, completely rattled from the experience. He still clasped the wolf’s fur in his fingers, as if needing to be near him in any way possible. Eventually, he shut his eyes as well and fell into a restful sleep, dreaming of his wolf self running in the woods, the other wolf by his side.
Chapter 12
When Bellamy awoke, he was alone in the room, and he felt nearly bereft without the warmth of the wolf and his soft fur. And now he questioned whether he’d dreamed it all. Except, there was an immediate change in the air around him. It was lighter, he could inhale more deeply, which meant his lungs were clearer, and the sores on his torso seemed less itchy.
He felt better than he had in weeks. Did that mean he’d been healed? He shifted position, which also felt less achy, and then attempted to sit up, immediately realizing his mistake. He was not out of danger of relapse yet. His head spun, nausea overcame him, and he was forced to lie back down. Still, the symptoms were not as severe as before, and that was certainly enough to fill him with hope.
He thought back to the previous evening when Ashwood had used his saliva, as well as his mouth and lips and tongue, expertly—too expertly—in an attempt to heal him. He closed his eyes and reveled in his head being clear enough to recall the sensation of it. The surrealness too.
Soon enough, he heard Ashwood enter the room, carrying a tray with the scent of breakfast, making his mouth water. He watched as the man set the tea and what looked like a plate of biscuits on the edge of his bed. Ashwood was no longer in his wolf form, but Bellamy nonetheless appreciated the beauty of him, the humanness.
“How are you feeling?” he asked tentatively, looking Bellamy over.
“I’m afraid I might curse myself to utter it aloud, but I am better. Though I tried to sit up and was overcome by dizziness.”