Moon Spell

“I can see you’re rattled, and I was too my first time,” Ashwood said, approaching him with tentative steps. “Your coat will be quite striking if or when you—”

He growled in frustration, cutting him off. “I just need…”

“I understand. Follow me.” Without waiting for a response, Ashwood began walking at a quicker pace, and Bellamy followed for a short distance until Ashwood paused near an oak tree. “This is a good spot.”

“For what, pray tell?” Bellamy could not contain his frustration. It was as if his body had left itself unfinished, and it made him rather testy.

“To shed our clothing so they don’t get ruined—for obvious reasons.”

And before he could respond, Ashwood began undressing, and Bellamy watched him in abject wonder because this moment felt altogether different between them. Not sexual, merely…primal. The itch under his skin intensified at Ashwood’s bare shape, which was quite beautiful. But he longed to see him in wolf form again.

His wish was granted straightaway as Ashwood’s nose grew into a muzzle, his fangs and ears pointy and long, and his muscles transformed into limbs, his thick hindquarters covered in fur. It took Bellamy’s breath away, and even more so than the night Ashwood had shifted during the healing process because now this acute, piercing need arose in him. A raw hunger to join him. To finally experience being a wolf in all its glory.

Nothing else would soothe him, he was sure of it.

The wolf before him snuffled, nudged at his hand while digging his large paws into the ground, and Bellamy’s breath hitched in his throat. An urge arose to not only stroke the thick white fur at his neck, but nuzzle it, perhaps bite it too. He curled his hands into fists, afraid he might be too rough with the creature, too full of need.

The craving was so intense that he began discarding his clothes, tossing them to the forest floor, his fingers twitching, his heart galloping. And then all at once his muscles were stretching and he was crying out in pain. He could feel his teeth shifting into fangs, and a fear took hold of him as well as a deep, overwhelming longing. He closed his eyes as his eyesight blurred, and then the human world around him became muted in a strange and wondrous way. He could clearly hear the most inconspicuous sounds, like the wind tunneling through the trees and the shallow breaths of the creature near him.

When he opened his eyes, everything in the forest appeared crystal clear in his vision, even the smallest details on the nearest leaves. He angled his head, and there stood his mate. Bellamy whined at him, then bowed his head in deference. It wasn’t something he’d thought about; it felt instinctual.

The human part of him felt blunted, the cares of the world falling into nothingness. He only itched to do one thing. Run.

As if Ashwood’s wolf understood his desires, his ears pricked up, possibly listening for danger, and then he led Bellamy’s wolf to a clearing. That gave Bellamy’s wolf time to become adjusted to his heavy limbs and longer torso, though not without some stumbles.

Ashwood took off across the flat embankment, and Bellamy’s wolf followed, except not nearly as fast. He lumbered behind him, his gait clumsy, but still, it was the most free he’d ever felt.

As they traversed the forest, he fixed his gaze on their path. But then a flicker of movement near the trail caught his eye, and when he spotted a luminous pair of irises behind a looming pine, he nearly tripped over a small clot of weeds. He chased after the small woodland animal, needing to hunt it down. But he was sloppy, his padded feet feeling too large for his body, and the animal got away. Still, giving in to that primal urge was the most glorious feeling.

Soon enough, though, he noticed his mistake. Too distracted by his own urges, he’d lost track of Ashwood’s wolf, and suddenly he was alone as he came upon another clearing.

He slowed down and eventually came to a stop as he focused on the timbre of the forest, attempting to hear his mate. He was startled by the snap of a twig, and just as he was about to turn to investigate, he was tackled from behind by Ashwood’s wolf, who pinned his haunches to the ground, his muscles twitching, his nose nuzzling his neck.

Bellamy’s wolf struggled playfully against him, but when Ashwood’s nipped his neck with a low snarl, Bellamy realized Ashwood was not in play mode.

He grew still, and that was when he heard it. A keening howl piercing the air, followed by a menacing growl. It was quite a distance away, but instinctually, he knew it was another wolf.

His pulse beat frantically as he absorbed Ashwood’s guarded energy. When he finally let him up, Bellamy knew that their exploration of the forest was over. They trekked carefully toward the oak tree where they’d discarded their clothing.