Heart's Price (MxM)

Chapter 52

With disarming obedience, Ambrose does as I say.

He eats his soup and drinks the cup of tea I make him, and then follows me upstairs to the large master bathroom for a shower.

At his insistence, I join him, but only because I'm worried he might fall in his weakened state, and because I'm in need of a shower myself.

Afterward, I sit behind him on the wide bed in his room, running an old wooden comb through his long, tangled curls.

As I gently pick through the snarls in his hair, I tell him about the impressions Julian got from Brutus' ring, and about what happened with Thom. I leave out the part about visiting his house as a Wolf, and seeing the wolfsbane, and about getting sick. When I finish, though, he twists to look at me, and his face is marked with pain and regret.

"I heard you," he says quietly. "I heard your wolfsong, that night, and I barely stopped myself from going to you, then. The pain in that sound... It hurt, more than I can say."

I look back at him, at the lines between his brows and at the unhappy turn at the corners of his mouth, and wonder what I might have done if the tables had been turned: if I could have pushed him away for his own good, even knowing how much harm it might have caused us both.

I don't think I could.

"It was the song of a wolf calling for his mate and knowing there would be no answer," I say. "It was supposed to hurt."

"Noah..."

He reaches for me, traces the side of my face with his fingertips, and then reluctantly withdraws his hand and turns his attention back to the pile of photos in his lap.

He's been restraining himself, although it's clear that what he wants more than food or drink, or rest, is to touch me. In the shower, though, he'd kept his eyes and hands to himself (mostly) for which I'm grateful. He's leaving it up to me to decide what to give him, and how much, and when—my forgiveness, my love, my permission—and it's doing a lot to thaw the last of my anger and resentment, though he's still yet to explain himself.

As he studies the picture of the figure standing over Brutus, arm raised, I move closer so I can look at it over his shoulder, and I feel him shudder with suppressed longing as I lean lightly against his back.

"So?" I ask, tapping the photo where the telltale glint of gold shows on the figure's hand. "Does it mean anything? Or did I get shot and make you ruin your fancy car for nothing?"

"It means something," he says, and sighs, "though it only confirms what I already feared.

He turns, interlacing my fingers with his and lifting our joined hands to his lips.

"For my own sake, Noah, I am overjoyed to have you here. To see, and touch, and love you, and to have you at my side, is heaven; but for your own sake, I wish you'd stayed away. I wish you'd let Thom keep his nasty pictures and said to hell with me. For your sake, I wish I'd never laid eyes on you."

"Ambrose..."

He leans closer and rests his forehead against mine a moment, eyes closed. Then he kisses my brow and gets to his feet, pulling me with him with a resigned sigh.

"Come on," he says. "There's something you ought to see."

~ ☾ ~

Grabbing a flashlight from the drawer of his nightstand, he leads me out into the dimly lit hall, stopping at the top of the grand staircase, where the wall is covered in portraits of his Oakfield ancestors.

The beam of light washes over the darkly colored paintings, most bearing the grim, antiquarian aspect of a bygone era, and lands on the one I'd noticed on the day I'd moved in.