"I would have been more than glad to do this, Mr. Winslow, but that call could be important." Poppy shrugged and slipped out of his grip, walking over to her bag to pick up her phone.
The glare Xavian gave her would have made anyone flinch, but not her, not Poppy Brooks. "You're not going to win this game, Poppy."
She looked at him and smiled. "I don't play games with my patients, Mr. Winslow, I simply do my job. Now, change into those before you catch a cold and come downstairs. I'll make soup for you, and then you can have your pills." She walked to the door, but before she left, she smirked at him, "Be careful, the floor is slippery."
Xavian glanced at the wet floor beneath his feet, and his jaw ticked when he heard the door slam shut.
"Little shit!"
"I heard that," Poppy yelled before her presence and her steps faded, indicating she'd left the room.
Deep breaths fled from Xavian, and he turned to stare at the mirror. He was barely able to keep himself still, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the excruciating pain he was in.
He doubted he was going to survive one more year of this if they didn't soon figure out what the heck was happening to him or causing this.
Glancing at the folded clothing, he begrudgingly changed into them and left the bathroom, making his way downstairs like she'd asked. Yea, it wasn't that he was behaving because she asked, he was just doing it for himself. He was hungry anyway, and soup didn't sound like a bad deal.
Poppy was in the kitchen when he arrived downstairs, and for more than an hour, he had to sit, silently watching her move from one place to another. She walked over to him where he sat at the counter and passed him the hot bowl of soup.
"There you go." She handed him a spoon.
The man furrowed his brows and glanced inside the soup bowl. It didn't smell bad, not at all, and so he forced himself to have a taste, arching a brow once the flavor formed in his mouth.
Poppy took a seat on the stool opposite him, asking, "Do you like it?"
"It's not bad." He shrugged.
She stared at him. "That's it? That's all?"
He shot her an irritated look. "Why? You want me to give you compliments?"
"Obviously. Do you think I spent more than an hour just to get 'It's not bad," she mimicked him.
He suddenly had an expression on his face, keeping the spoon down. "Fine, it tastes good, I like it. Happy now."
"Very much." A smile finally spawned on her face, and she hopped down from the stool. "Have more, I'll get your pills."
He watched her go, and as soon as she was out of sight, he really dug in, savoring the soup in the way he actually wanted to. He didn't expect her to be this good at it. That was chef-level, hell, she was better than his very own chef. Had it been someone else, he would have been more than willing to hire her, but she was fucking Poppy Brooks.
Poppy returned just when he was on his last spoonful and smirked at the sight of the empty bowl.
"I guess I didn't need your words after all to know I cooked that well." She approached him, taking the pills out and handing it over to him.
Xavian reached for it, but just as he was about to pop it into his mouth, his body shook, the migraine vanishing in an instant.
"The moon outside." He shook again
"Huh?" Poppy furrowed her brows in confusion. "What about the moon?"
"What is it?"
"I...I don't understand." She shook her head at him. "Mr. Winslow, are you okay—"
"Is it half or full?" Xavian grounded out, and even though she was taken aback, she peeked from the window of the kitchen at the dark sky, saying, "It's full. Why? Is something wrong? Do you—"
"Get out!"
"Huh?"
She blinked at him.
"Get out, now!"
"Oh, o-okay, I will. But, like, are you alright? You look like you're in pa—"
He stood from the stool and stormed off toward her, grabbing her bag along the way. He shoved it into her grip and grasped her arm, dragging her towards the door. He opened the door and pushed her outside.
"Goodbye, Poppy, see you tomorrow." And he slammed the door in her face.
He grunted under his breath, hunching to breathe heavily, his vision distorting a little bit as he felt himself shifting against his will. He glanced at his hands, nails, and canines forcing themselves out, and reached for his phone in his pocket.
Xavian turned the lock of the door and staggered his way further inside, however, he hadn't even made it to the stairs when he watched bits of furs, white as snow, begin to emerge on his hands.
"Xav?" Cily's voice came from the other side of the call that had been answered. "What's wrong?"
"Come home, right now."
"Huh? But I'm at a dinner meeting for you. I can't leave, you'll lose this invest—"
"That's not important, Cily. Just get home, please."
"Xavian," she breathed. "Is…is something going on with you?"
He heaved a breath and shut his eyes.
"I don't know what's happening," he said. "I can't…control myself."