Moon Spell

Ashwood’s eyes widened as awareness took hold. “This is your opportunity,” Ashwood said to the three others in his pack. “Leave, start a new life. You don’t need him. You never did.”

Bellamy watched as each of them processed that information, looking at Kipling and then between them. Only one of them decided to save themselves, retreating cautiously out of the clearing, then taking off at a run.

The two others squatted near their leader and began ministering to him, trying to save him with bites and licks, which would conceivably work soon enough.

“We must leave as well while we have the chance,” Ashwood said, gripping Bellamy’s arm and dragging him toward the brush.

But Bellamy resisted, standing his ground. “If we don’t stay and fight, it’ll never end.”

“Please, Bellamy! We must go and get someplace safe! I cannot lose you again.”

Kipling groaned, already beginning to rouse, and soon it would be too late. Perhaps if Bellamy stalled long enough, he might change Ashwood’s mind.

His gaze met Ashwood’s. They were seemingly at a standstill, but he could see the desperation in his beloved’s eyes, so he finally relented with an unenthusiastic nod. He could not change who Ashwood had become, how his experiences had altered him, even if it was heartrending and sat uneasy in his gut. He knew Ashwood was only trying to protect him, and he didn’t want him to suffer any more heartache. His tactic had been to escape all along, and Bellamy’s plan had delayed him, allowing Kipling to track him. He supposed if they left now, they would be able to gain ground, and perhaps by nightfall, they’d be far enough to never be found again.

Ashwood didn’t give Bellamy any more time to convince him to stay and fight. He shot forward at a sprint, removing his clothing as he went. Bellamy had no choice but to follow him and do the same. This time there was no need to store their apparel anywhere; they were likely never to return, so long as Kipling was alive.

But leaving did not sit right with Bellamy, and the melancholy from not saying a proper goodbye to his friends crowded his chest. It made him even more eager to shift, so those emotions would be muted and he could focus on keeping track of Ashwood, who’d begun running blindly into the brush.

Bellamy wondered vaguely if he even knew where he was headed, or if he was simply using instinct to get as far away as possible. Bellamy allowed him to take the lead, still having reservations about this plan, but for now he would acquiesce.

He would admit he felt glorious in his wolf body again. Stronger, physically and mentally, his fears and worries finally pushed from the forefront of his mind. His only focus was keeping his footing along the rough terrain and being with his mate. After all that had transpired between them, it boiled down to this. Two lonely creatures who’d found home in each other, fated or not.

They were in sync as they skirted around trees and bushes, eventually pausing near a stream to catch their breath and drink from the cool water. Ashwood’s golden irises shined like the sun as he nudged Bellamy with his snout to lie down beside him for a quick spell, which turned into nuzzling as their wolves forged their connection anew. There was a rightness in Bellamy he hadn’t felt in a long time, maybe ever.

Even if he still felt the itch beneath his skin about leaving. About at least trying to finish Kipling once and for all. He feared that from now on, they would never have a moment’s rest. And what of their friends?

He stiffened, the urge strong to shift back to his human form and plead his case. They could still alter their plan and possibly catch Kipling unawares if Bellamy could convince Ashwood it was their best chance.

But it seemed his misgivings had caught up with him instead. A twig snapped behind him, and his ears prickled with awareness, the familiar scent now wafting toward their noses. Kipling and the two other wolves had found them, no doubt following their scents. Ashwood rose slowly to his haunches. Perhaps he’d guessed this would happen all along, and he’d also thought they should rethink the plan, so maybe the detour to the stream had been purposeful.

When Bellamy whirled around and saw Kipling’s gray coat and black eyes, he knew his pack had done only the bare minimum to revive him. He didn’t look as powerful as that first time Bellamy had laid eyes on him, either due to the Dragon’s Blood or to Bellamy’s own wolf matching him pound for pound.

The two pack wolves circled them as Kipling stayed back to either watch or direct them. Teeth bared, they snarled, rearing up on their hind legs, and Bellamy’s pulse ticked up at the immediate danger. And then one of them lunged at Bellamy in a clash of claws and teeth and fur. Bellamy was unable to find good footing, tripping over the roots of trees, eventually stumbling down on his hindquarters. He heard a crunch as the wolf pounced on his back, the initial impact feeling like his bones had broken.