He cursed Ashwood for taking too long when he next awoke and saw it was dusk. His gaze shifted instinctively to the dark night and the spherical moon. From his position in the room he could see the forest, and he thought that must’ve been purposeful of Ashwood.
Something caught his eye along the perimeter of the pine trees. He gripped the arm of the chair and shifted forward. He could’ve sworn a pair of glowing eyes was looking in his direction, and he blinked repeatedly, conceivably only imagining it.
He held his breath and watched as the shadowy form of a creature flashed under the glow of the moon, and somehow he knew it was Ashwood. And not only because the snowy-white glow of his coat gave him away as he zigzagged in and out of the trees, always returning to the edge as if watching for danger.
Bellamy supposed that made him feel a bit safer, even if it was confusing. Why was Ashwood out there and not in here, helping to heal him? He felt momentarily frightened again, wondering if he’d gotten it all wrong and Ashwood was indeed bringing reinforcements. But the longer he stared, the surer he felt Ashwood was alone.
He watched him for as long as he could before his eyes shut again, only to be startled awake by a noise in the room. Ashwood was back in his human form, and when their eyes met, his looked bleak.
“What is it?” Bellamy asked without hesitation.
“It’s time. You’re getting worse,” he said in a hoarse timbre. “I promise I will take great care and—afterward—I will let you go as you asked.”
A warmth spread through his stomach. He so wanted to believe Ashwood.
“Unless you request something of me, of course.”
“Such as how to find Kipling?”
“If that’s what you desire,” he replied, though his expression was wary.
This time Bellamy knew he wouldn’t waffle on his decision. He would allow Ashwood to get close and heal him, and then he would formulate a plan. He didn’t know yet what it might entail or whom it might involve. Certainly Ashwood, who knew Kipling’s habits best, and quite possibly Madam Langley, whom he would ask for help again to suppress his wolf. He would need to get better for that and also keep from getting the sickness again. All this would take time, and right now, time was not on his side, so they needed to hurry.
“Where did you go?” Bellamy rasped, glancing toward the window. “What did you need to take care of?”
“You’re not the only one affected by this. I don’t want to hurt you or me.” He sighed. “To feel too much.”
Bellamy could hear the pain in his pronouncement, and it made his gut churn. It wasn’t something he’d given much weight to—Ashwood needing to rein himself in. It was more obvious now that Ashwood would be just as affected by the intimacy, that it wasn’t one-sided. When they were with Gladstone, perhaps Ashwood had simply been good at pretending to feel all he did with every touch and breath and kiss, so Bellamy had no way of knowing when, or even if, he’d truly become invested in the notion of them being together. They’d still been young then, and running away together had been a child’s dream. They’d had no indication of what would happen once they came of age, how it would turn their lives upside down.
But now, this connection they shared was purely innate, and likely had little to do with true emotions or affection, which only made it worse. He told himself Ashwood had never truly felt anything for him. If he had, he would’ve never betrayed him. That logic worked to keep his baser feelings at bay. But being fated…that would torment Ashwood the rest of his life. Bellamy would be spared that anguish—he hoped—with the suppressant’s help.
“I saw you out there,” he confessed. “What were you doing?”
“I needed to center myself if you will. And being in the woods, in the wilds of nature, helped.”
It seemed like something Madam Fairborn might say. “Now who sounds like they’ve been around an apothecary?”
Ashwood offered a wobbly smile that reminded Bellamy of his younger self, and he couldn’t help returning one of his own.
“We’ll need to remove our shirts,” Ashwood said, which made sense so he could get access to Bellamy’s skin more easily, and Bellamy shivered at the idea of him using his mouth and teeth.
Ashwood was already lifting his shirt over his head, and though Bellamy had recently seen him bare when he’d shown him his scars, he now noticed muscles in places he’d never imagined. Apparently being a wolf had suited him rather well.
But now he also had a visual of the scars on his belly, which he’d hidden from him before, and he stared openly at the raised patches of ruined skin, inflicted on him by his former pack. Bellamy felt utterly speechless as a renewed spark of anger made his muscles tighten uncomfortably.