Page 90 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
I washed my body, then splashed cold water on my face, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My hair looked like I’d been dragged through a bush backwards, but that was no different. It was the deranged, terrified look in my eyes that made me seem like a stranger.
The first times the zap had happened, I’d brushed it off. A weird static electricity thing. Maybe Maxwell’s telepathy interacting strangely with my quirky brain. But there was no denying it anymore, not after that.
I’d never felt anything like it with anyone else. Not with Dev, not with any of my previous relationships or hookups.
It wasn’t something that was heavily discussed in my pack. Or if it was, it wasn’t something that teenage me paid attention to—too busy hating my life and being hormonal to learn about mate bonds.
But I was fairly sure that this was what it was. It felt different from the bonds I’d had with my pack. Pack bonds were comfortable, familiar, likea well-worn jumper that fit perfectly. They felt like belonging, like home. Even the weird not-quite-pack-bond thing I had with Kit—that tenuous thread that somehow survived despite everything—was nothing like this. This thing with Maxwell was demanding, almost painful in its intensity. It pulled at something deep inside me, something I couldn’t control or ignore.
I had asked Kit about it once. In a very rare moment of candour, he’d told me extremely briefly that he’d fallen in love with one of his comrades during his time in the covert military unit. I’d asked him if he’d felt that magical mate bond thing I’d heard a bit about. Turns out no, he hadn’t. I’d asked him if he’d ever felt it. And then he looked so sad, I stopped asking him about it.
I wish I’d asked him more questions, like, “If it happens to me, how do I make it stop?” Because I needed it to. Immediately. Before Maxwell found out and thought I was an even bigger freak than he already did.
In some sort of bizarre twist of fate, Maxwell wasn’t actually straight after all, and even more bizarrely, he wanted to fuck me.
Wanted tofuckme.
Not be my bloody mate, tethered to me for all of eternity, in all of our soulmate reincarnations, if our species’s stories were to be trusted.
This was so typical of me. My stupid brain must be glitching out. Muddling up my attraction to a hot man, who I’d had mind-blowing sex with and wassometimesa bit nice to me, with something more. No cosmic connection, no mate bond, no destiny. Just sex.
I’d done this before. With Jamie, I’d planned our future wedding after three dates. With Dev, I’d pushed him away when I asked him to move in with me. I always came on too strong, too fast, too much. It was why everyone left me in the end—tired of my intensity, my neediness, my everything-all-at-once approach to relationships.
“It’s just sexual attraction,” I muttered to myself. “Nothing else. Maxwell will never want you like that.”
I needed to sort out my priorities. We were here to find Dev, solve a case, andmaybehave some more casual sex along the way. Nothingmore.
With a deep breath, I straightened my shoulders. There would be no more zaps. The next time I felt it, I’d fight against it with all my might. And I wouldn’t now look for extra meaning in every glance or touch. I would be cool, casual Rory. The kind of bloke who could have sex with someone without planning a future together.
Even if every cell in my body was screaming otherwise.
A knock at the door, then it creaked open slowly. Maxwell’s head poked through. His glasses were back on his face but sitting slightly askew, giving him an endearingly dishevelled look.
“So, I’ve had a good look for Freddy, but there’s no sign of him.”
My heart did this pathetic little somersault that I absolutely refused to acknowledge. Because only I could turn “bloke remembers conversation about missing zombie ferret” into “clearly destined to be together forever.” Still, the fact he’d actually looked… I bit my lip hard, forcing down the soppy smile trying to escape.
“That’s okay. He’s probably just out feasting on the Scottish sheep. I’m sure he’ll be back tomorrow morning.”
“Riiiiight.” He suddenly looked hesitant. “So, I’m about to drop dead from exhaustion, but I wanted to check before I went to sleep that you’re okay with sharing the bed…”
“Yeah, no worries,” I said, trying to sound casual despite the way my heart skittered about. “I’ll just quickly build the pillow barrier for us.”
His face fell so dramatically that I couldn’t help but burst out laughing. A warm, tingly sensation flooded through me when his lips quirked upward, my joke finally landing.
“Bold of you to assume I’d let you near me after you snored directly into my ear last night,” he shot back, adjusting his glasses with mock indignation.
“I do not snore!” I clutched my chest in mock offence.
“You sound like a chainsaw attempting to cut through concrete.”
“Slander and lies!”
As we moved toward the bedroom, a creeping anxiety wormed its way into me. What if Maxwell woke up tomorrow morning filled withregret? What if the harsh light of day made him realise he’d made a terrible mistake letting another man suck him off? It was a tale as old as time—blokes who were curious, experiment, then panic afterward and disappear.
But Maxwell was stuck with me. Not just up here, but while we still both worked for Killigrew Street.
Fuck, if he quits because of this, Seb will kill me.
