Moon Spell

“Of course he is.” Bellamy narrowed his gaze on the vile man, who snickered.

“I see it so clearly now,” Kipling said, sniffing the air as if someone had placed a dram of spirits in front of him. “You’re fated mates.”

Fear gripped Bellamy as his gaze swung to Ashwood, and he noted the slight shake of his head, warning him not to respond.

“We won’t be for long. He’s severing our bond,” Ashwood said to Bellamy’s utter surprise. “He’s already taken the final suppressant made for him by a powerful witch. He won’t be of use to you any longer.”

Bellamy’s heart clogged his throat as he tried to stay silent. He knew what Ashwood was trying to do—protect him yet again.

“Is this true?” Kipling asked Madam Fairborn.

She shrugged, neither confirming nor denying it. “He doesn’t want to be a wolf any more than you want to live in proper society. People should be free to make their own choices.”

He scoffed. “Some need more convincing than others to see their true potential.”

A storm cloud of bitter emotions twisted inside Bellamy and spilled outward. “Were you trying to convince my mother of her true potential,” he spit out, “before brutally murdering her?”

Kipling appeared taken aback, then narrowed his beady black eyes. Bellamy held in a shiver.

“I saw you kill her with my own eyes.” Bellamy’s fingernails dug into his palms. He wanted to strangle the man with his bare hands. Even if he were no match. “What did she ever do to deserve your wrath?”

Madam Langley leaned forward to either calm or reassure him, but he didn’t pay her any attention, staring Kipling down. Perhaps she thought he might leap on the man, but for now, Bellamy only wanted answers.

“She thought she was better than us.” Kipling lifted his chin. “Same as you. Why else would you suppress your wolf?”

“She had a child to raise and was doing the best she could after my father passed.” His voice shook as he defended his mother. “You obviously saw her as vulnerable. But she wasn’t. She was strong and proud and you had no right! You certainly didn’t make it easy for her. Always looking over her shoulder when all she wanted was to live a normal life.”

“Your version of normal doesn’t include wolves, I can see it in your eyes.” Kipling’s mouth had twisted into a fierce scowl. “You think wolves are savages and should be extinct. You are no better than the rest of them.”

“That’s not true.” He wanted to say that it once was, but Ashwood had changed all that. But he didn’t want to give him more ammunition.

“Regardless,” Kipling said, placing his empty teacup down and squaring his shoulders, “if what the madam says is true, you’re of no use to me. But Ashwood is, and I will be leaving this establishment with him.”

“Why not leave him in peace?” Bellamy growled in frustration. “He has given you too much of himself already.”

Kipling chuckled. “Ah, look at how you defend your mate. I thought you wanted to sever the ties?”

“I do,” he snapped, refusing to make eye contact with Ashwood. Knowing he’d crumble if he did. “I cannot help that we have this connection, but I certainly don’t want him to die. Not for you or anyone else.”

“Oh, he won’t die,” Kipling said, rising. “He has much to make up for.”

“And what about you?” He squeezed the arms of the chair so hard, his knuckles turned white. “Don’t you need to suffer the consequences of killing my mother?”

“I already have, don’t you agree? You and your mother could’ve been a good addition to our numbers. What a waste. Now I’m left to take this disgraced wolf back into my fold.”

“You are despicable,” Bellamy said, springing from his chair. “Ashwood doesn’t have to answer to you or—”

But suddenly Ashwood was there, standing near Kipling as if he were actually considering it. Or perhaps he only wanted to ward Bellamy off.

“If I go with you, will you promise to leave Bellamy and the madams alone?” The words were tense, almost forced.

“If you allow us to leave freely,” Kipling said, not addressing anyone in the room in particular, “no harm will come to anyone’s livelihood.”

It all boiled down to this one man who would remain a threat. Ashwood would always be hunted by him, the madams would always wonder if they would be compromised, and Bellamy would have to live with the reality that his mother was gone but this man was still breathing.

“Bell, don’t do anything reckless,” Ashwood said in warning as Bellamy absently gripped the handle of the teapot, either to throw it at Kipling or at the wall in frustration.

When their eyes met, Ashwood’s softened. It was a goodbye, Bellamy knew it with profound certainty, and it felt like a caress even from across the room.