Page 156 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
Hours later, we were at Primrose Cottage, sweaty and panting.
As we twisted the door handle, I found myself pausing. How was it possible that I justknewsomething was waiting for us on the other side of that door? Some terrible certainty settling in my bones like winter frost.
The door swung open.
Rory inhaled sharply—catching what I couldn’t yet see. Horror shot through our bond, visceral and immediate, before my eyes could process the scene.
Blood everywhere.
Splattered across the cream walls in arterial sprays. Pooled on the hardwood floor in dark, congealing puddles. Smeared across the staircase where someone had been dragged.
No sign of Isla or Dev.
My first instinct was to throw my arm up, barring Rory from the doorway. “Don’t step in the blood. You’ll contaminate—”
He pushed my arm aside, walking straight into the cottage, spinning in dizzy circles as he took in the carnage.
The metallic tang coated the back of my throat, sweet and nauseating. “Rory—” I started, but my next words didn’t come. Anxiety and fear assaulted my system—my own terror amplified tenfold by what Rory was feeling through our bond.
“Oh my god… Isla…” Rory said, both hands clutching his head. “What have I done?”
…stupid, stupid, stupid!…
I stared at the amount of blood coating every surface. That girl was surely dead. I thought of her bright smile, those freckles scattered across pale skin. Her father would be devastated.
Rory suddenly froze,nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air. “Wait… it’s… it’s not Isla’s blood. None of it. Well, maybe some. But most of it… It’s Dev’s!”
“Are you sure?”
His breathing became rapid and shallow, chest rising and falling like he couldn’t get enough air. “I’m sure,” he said. “I’m sure, I’m sure.” His hands started trembling, then his whole body followed suit. The colour drained from his face until he looked ghostly pale. I stepped towards him, but he backed away, shaking his head violently.
“Don’t—I can’t—”
“Rory, listen to me—”
“I did this.” His voice cracked. “I came to save him and now I’ve killed him. This is my fault. I brought him here, I should have listened to you, I should have taken him back to London but I didn’t. I shouldn’t have gotten Isla involved, but I did. And now he’s dead and Isla’s possibly dead too and it’s all my fault, all of it—”
The words tumbled out faster and faster, his breathing becoming more erratic with each syllable.
I could feel it building through our bond—the panic rising like a tide, threatening to drown him. His pulse hammered against my consciousness, erratic and desperate.
“Let’s sit down,” I suggested, reaching for him.
He dodged away from my touch, eyes wild. “Sit down?!” He stared at me like I’d suggested we throw a party. “Sit down? How is that going to help?”
His breathing came in sharp, shallow gasps now. He spun away from me, stumbling towards the wall, his palm slapping against the cream paint—directly into a spray of blood. When he pulled his hand back, crimson streaked across his fingers.
“Fuck!” He began pacing frantically, leaving bloody handprints on his jeans as he wiped his palms. “I’m such an idiot. Always such a fuckingidiot! But I’ve really fucked it this time.” He held up his stained fingers. “Literally with blood on my hands.”
Panic burst through our connection, so intense I had to grip the doorframe to steady myself. This wasn’t just fear—this was pure self-destruction, every insecurity he’d ever harboured breaking free at once.
Alarm bells rang in my head, my mind begging me to do something, but it was hard to focus with Rory’s emotions flooding my system, dragging me under.
“I was mad to think we could ever be together,” he said suddenly, the words tumbling out like he couldn’t stop them. “You and me. I was stupid to ever believe that.”
Something vital shifted inside me, like a gear slipping out of place.No.I wanted to scream at him to take back the words, that he didn’t mean them.
“And please don’t worry, I’ll fix it—the mate bond—because you deserve someone amazing like you and I’m too useless, too stupid, too incompetent. And I’m going to quit Killigrew Street when I get back because—”
