Page 50 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
Theodore
The journey was taking ages. What should have been a straightforward drive had devolved into a nightmare of congestion and road closures. I’d spent most of the afternoon gripping the steering wheel, inching forward at a snail’s pace.
Though the endless crawl of traffic became almost bearable as surprisingly pleasant conversation flowed between us. At one point, Rory launched into a passionate defence of Priya’s tea leaf readings, leaning forward in his seat with those expressive hands of his punctuating every point.
“She predicted Kit would break his arm last winter, three weeks before it happened,” he insisted.
“Coincidence,” I countered, though I found myself fighting a smile at his indignation.
“You’re just like Kit,” Rory groaned, slumping back. “I heard you comparing your ridiculous morning runs the other day. Who actually enjoys getting up at dawn on weekends?”
“People who appreciate quiet,” I said, which earned me an eye roll.
As miles of tarmac disappeared beneath us, I discovered Rory had an encyclopedic knowledge of pastries served in London cafés, a surprising passion for true crime podcasts, and absolutely no filter between his brain and mouth. Somehow, I minded less than I should have.
Eventually, we circled back around to Dev.
“Do you think he’s alive?”
The intense way Rory asked the question—as if I truly knew the answer—startled me. I almost found myself promising that Dev would be fine before catching myself.Promises were dangerous things. I’d certainly learned that after a decade on the job.
“The fact that his phone came back on is a good sign,” I offered instead, keeping my eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Most missing persons cases where technology reactivates—”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Rory cut in, shaking his head. “Remember that episode ofVanished Without a TraceI was telling you about? The killer kept his victim’s phone charged for weeks, posting on their social media, texting family members. What if someone’s just using his phone as bait? Or what if they’ve got him locked up somewhere near the signal tower? Or maybe they’ve got his finger to use for the fingerprint ID and—”
“Rory,” I interrupted, “we don’t know anything yet. That’s why we’re going.”
He nodded, fiddling with his sleeve. “It’s just… mad, isn’t it? That it’s somehow linked back to my old pack land? Of all the places…”
“You said Dev’s alpha has no idea what he’d be doing up here?”
“Yeah. Christina says she’d send up shifters herself to look for him, but doesn’t want them torn to pieces. She’s super grateful that we’re doing this.”
I glanced at him, noting the tightness around his eyes. The loyalty this man showed toward the ex who broke his heart was remarkable—Dev was a lucky bastard to have someone like Rory still in his corner, even after walking away from such unwavering devotion.
“Dev must be quite something,” I said carefully, “to inspire this kind of dedication.”
“He is,” Rory said, then fell silent. “You think it’s strange, don’t you?”
“Just a little,” I admitted.
Rory sighed. “Dev was… he was one of the first people who chose me, you know? After I left Scotland. I mean, I could have tried joining one of the London packs, but…” He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “When you’ve been rejected once, it’s hard to believe it could work out the next time. Plus, most wolves, they hear about someone cutting themselves off from their birth pack and they assume there’s a good reason for it. That you’re defective somehow.”
He shook his head as if clearing it. “Anyway, I dated loads of people after moving down. One-night stands, casual things that lasted a short while. But with Dev, it was different. It was the first time I thought, ‘Oh, this could actually be something.’ You know? Like maybe I could have what other people had—someone who’d stick around, who’d want to build something proper with me.”
Oh, Rory.My throat felt oddly tight.
“Don’t get me wrong, Dev was a dick to me. But you don’t just… abandon someone who was there when you had nothing, you know? Even if they broke your heart. Even if they’re now fucking someone who looks like a better version of you.”
The bitterness in that last sentence was sharp enough to cut, but underneath everything he said, I heard something else entirely—a fierce, protective loyalty that had little to do with romantic love and everything to do with refusing to let go of the people who’d chosen him when he’d been convinced no one would.
We stopped for food at a roadside service station, where we lost an extra twenty minutes for Rory’s second burger to arrive after the first one apparently hadn’t filled him up. Another “wolf thing.” Then Priya sent five messages in a row demanding to see Rory’s tea leaves. Rory rolled his eyes, but dutifully photographed his mug from multiple angles.
Finally settling back in the car, I glanced at the clock and suppressed a groan. It had hit rush hour, and we still hadn’t reached the Scottish border, let alone begun the long drive to the Highlands.
A dull throb started behind my left eye. I touched my temple, feeling the migraine threatening to take hold. Reaching into my jacket pocket, I fished out a small bottle and tapped two tablets into my palm.
“Are you okay?”
