Page 167 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
Understanding dawned across his face like sunrise. That brilliant smile appeared, making my heart skip.
“Though, it doesn’t feel right leaving Dev—”
Rory’s head snapped up, cutting me off mid-sentence. His entire body went rigid, every muscle coiled like a spring ready to release.
“Someone’s coming,” he whispered.
I strained to listen but heard nothing beyond the usual forest sounds—wind through pine branches, distant birdsong. But Rory’s senses were picking up something mine couldn’t. His nostrils flared slightly, testing the air.
“How many?” I kept my voice low, hand instinctively moving towards the gun in my coat pocket.
“Just one wolf.” His brow furrowed in concentration. “I think it’s…”
A large grey wolf burst through the treeline, powerful legs eating up the distance between us in seconds. The creature was massive—easily Kit’s size, with a thick coat that caught the morning light.
“Alex,” Rory finished, his voice carrying a mixture of relief and apprehension.
The wolf stopped short, amber eyes taking in the scene before him. First Rory and me, then the buggy with its grim cargo barely concealed beneath the tarp, then back to us again. His intelligent gaze lingered on the bloodstains decorating the forest floor.
“Can you shift back?” Rory asked.
I looked away as bones began to crack and reshape. When the shifting stopped, I glanced back to find a naked Alexander Thorne standing where the wolf had been
His short grey hair was mussed, but his blue eyes were sharp and alert as they swept over the scene before him. At first, his weathered face lit up with genuine relief at seeing Rory. But then Alexander’s expression grew stern as he took in our dishevelled appearance, the bodies we’d clearly been attempting to move.
“What on earth is going on here?” he said, his accent thickening with authority. “And why are you in my daughter’s clothing?”
28
Rory
“Ipromise you, we’ll go over everything again later. But right now, I really need you to take Dev back with you.”
Uncle Alex’s face had cycled through disbelief, horror, and grim acceptance as we’d explained everything. The surgical scars on Dev’s scalp, the blood-soaked cottage, Isla’s betrayal, Callum’s involvement—each revelation had caused visible flinches. When I’d told him about Moira being still alive, he’d turned away from us, needing several minutes to compose himself.
It turned out Isla had rung him around the same time as she’d run off from us. She’d been crying so hard she’d made no sense, then she’d either disconnected the call or lost signal.
“Should’ve known something was off when I caught Callum’s stench mixed with hers,” Alex had said, voice bitter. “That lad’s been trouble since he could walk.”
I opened my mouth to remind him that Isla was the one who brought Callum into the whole operation, then snapped it shut. It was going to take Alex a long time to process this. If he needed to focus on hating Callum rather than his dead wife coming back to life, then I’d let him.
“So, Alex, is it okay if—”
“Where are we?”
We spun around. Dev had pushed himself upright, blinking slowly at our startled faces.
“Dev!” I lurched forward, but Maxwell caught my arm. “You’re okay!”
“Bloody hell,” Dev groaned, pressing a palm to his forehead. “Feel like death warmed over. Who’s this bloke, then?”
“Isla’s father,” I said.
Dev’s eyes widened, pupils still slightly dilated from whatever they’d pumped into him. “She stabbed me with a tranquiliser!”
“She did.”
He rubbed at his neck, wincing. “Memories get proper hazy after that. Everything went sideways.”
