Page 160 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
Rage builds. Hot-red-sharp. How dare she.Pack-cousin-bloodtakinghim.
Spring from bushes. Land hard in buggy’s path. Snarl rips from throat. Lips curl back. Show teeth. All of them.
Buggy jerks to stop.
Isla-cousinstares. No surprise-scent. Only resignation.
She knew. She heard me coming.
Heat floods limbs. Bones crack-pop-stretch. Skin burns as it changes. Pain shoots through skull as face reshapes. Always hurts more when angry.
Human thoughts rush back like dam bursting.
“Isla, what the fuck?!”
I was naked, standing in front of the buggy with fury that made my hands shake. She sat there, walkie-talkie held to her mouth. “Code red confirmed. Begin evacuation protocol, over.”
She dropped it into her lap.
“Where are you taking him?” I tried to sound demanding, but my voice came out hoarse.
She glanced back at the blankets where Dev’s barely breathing form lay hidden. When she looked at me again, her green eyes held something that might have been regret.
“Somewhere safe.”
“Safe?” I laughed, the sound bitter as burnt coffee. “Safe for who? What happened at the cottage? All that blood?”
“That wasnae supposed to happen.”
Cold air bit at my exposed skin as I stood there naked, goosebumps prickling up my arms. “Get out of the buggy!”
She shook her head, red hair catching sunlight filtering through the canopy.
“Get out, or I’ll bloody drag you out,” I threatened, taking a step closer.
She looked conflicted for a moment, jaw working as she weighed her options. Then she turned off the engine and climbed out, movements careful and deliberate.
“They’re coming to meet me,” she said.
I stared at her. “You mean Callum is?”
She nodded slowly. “And three other men.”
“Why are you working with Callum?” The words tasted bitter on my tongue. “Is he forcing you to do this? Threatening you?”
She laughed, but it was hollow, bitter as burnt heather. “You’ve got it the wrong way around, cousin. I brought Callum into this mess.”
I just stared at her, mouth slightly open. The forest sounds—wind through leaves, distant bird calls—seemed muffled, like my ears were stuffed with cotton wool.
She sighed, shoulders sagging under some invisible weight. “You know I grew up believing my mother was murdered by our own pack.”
I shrugged. “That was never confirmed. Just rumours floating about.” Pack gossip claimed my father might have been involved, as she and Dad had clashed constantly before her death.
“Well, a couple of years ago, she got back in contact.”
“Got back in… contact?” My voice pitched higher. “Your mum is still alive?! Moira never died?”
Isla glanced behind her towards Dev’s motionless form, then into the distance. “I won’t go into the specifics, but she faked her own death. I spent years grieving her loss… it completely fucked me up.” Anger sharpened her accent, made the words snap like breaking twigs. “I was only thirteen… I mean, you remember. You were still here then. Anyway, she just merrily popped back up like nothing had happened.”
