Page 10 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
My work phone buzzed—a message from the station about another case. I’d normally have checked it, but I resisted. Today belonged to the Devraj Bassi investigation, though every fibre of my being protested spending it with Rory Thorne.
The previous night’s text exchange still irritated me. I’d asked for his address three times before a notification popped up, only to vanish seconds later. He’d deleted whatever insulting message he’d sent. Five minutes after that, he’d sent me his address. No other context. No thank you.
Salazar must have lost his mind, pairing us together. The vampire’s usually impeccable judgement had clearly slipped. Either that or he enjoyed watching me suffer.
Movement caught my eye. A flash of chaotic blond hair emerged from the building’s entrance. Rory’s bedhead looked like he’d stuck his finger in an electrical socket—did the man own a brush? Or was this carefully crafted disaster part of his image?
My temples throbbed as his surface thoughts leaked through like water through cracked stone:
…dickface detective actually showed up…could’ve cancelled…rather eat glass…
I sighed. Spending time with someone from Killigrew Street—the only ones who knew about my telepathy—was always interesting. Onone hand, it was a welcome change to be able to freely talk about it. On the other, I felt—all too well—how on edge they were whenever I was in the room.
Rory spotted the car, his scowl clearly visible. Then his features smoothed into careful neutrality as he approached, each step deliberate like he was walking to his execution. The passenger door opened with more force than necessary.
He dropped into the seat without a word, arms crossed. The scent of his shower gel—something citrusy—filled the confined space. The silence felt as dense as London fog, thick enough to choke on.
I waited for the inevitable smart remark, but Rory just stared straight ahead, jaw clenched. The quiet felt wrong coming from him. Usually, I couldn’t get him to shut up.
The tension crawled up my spine.
“Good morning to you too.” I winced at how sarcastic the words came out.
The paper cup in my cup holder suddenly felt like a terrible mistake. What had possessed me to stop for coffee? The gesture seemed ridiculous now. Yet I picked his up and offered it to him. “It’s cold, because you’re fifteen minutes late. You take it black, yes?”
Rory’s eyes widened, fixed on the distinctive black-and-white striped- cup with its ginger cat logo like he’d spotted a venomous snake in the car. His hands stayed firmly in his lap.
“Okay…” I pulled the cup back toward me, wondering what the fuck I’d done wrong now.
“It’s Fat Cat’s!” The words exploded from him, making me jump.
I blinked. “Yeah? You love that coffee shop. I’ve never seen you drink anything else.”
His surface thoughts leaked through:
…where the hell does he even live for Fat Cat’s to be en route…
Rory’s hand hovered over the cup for a long moment, like he was weighing up whether by accepting it he would somehow betray himself.Finally, he snatched it with more force than necessary. “Thanks,” he muttered, the word sounding like it physically hurt to say.
The truth was, I’d gone twenty minutes out of my way to get it, hoping it might ease the tension between us. A peace offering disguised as coffee, because I refused to apologise for doing my job eighteen months ago.
“No problem. Right, Seb suggested we go interview the boyfriend, correct?”
Rory’s face twisted into something dark, and an image slammed into my mind with such force I nearly dropped my own coffee. A man with perfectly styled dark hair and warm brown skin was smiling, his arm wrapped around a blond man’s chest. The hatred attached to the image burned like acid.
“Yes. Did you manage to get his address?”
“Yes,” I replied, then opened my mouth to point out how spectacularly inappropriate it would be for him to interview someone he clearly despised out of twisted jealousy. The words died on my tongue. Not my business. Not my problem if this went sideways.
Rory’s thoughts battered against my shields, a hurricane of fragments:
…why him,why him…never good enough…of course he upgraded…
Christ, the wolf’s mind was loud. My temple already throbbed. Maintaining mental barriers around Rory always drained more energy than it should. Most people’s thoughts were a gentle stream—his were a tsunami.
I rubbed at my temple, trying to shore up my defences. The motion caught Rory’s attention.
“Headache?” The false sweetness in his voice set my teeth on edge.
