Chapter 7 Rory #2
I flashed him a smile that felt like baring my teeth.
“Turns out ADHD makes pack bonds feel different too. Everything’s always too much or not enough.
The elders called it ‘bond sensitivity’—just another way I was defective.
When I left…” I swallowed hard. “Let’s just say there’s a reason lots of lone wolves don’t stay that way for long…
one way or another. Your brain’s not wired to exist without those connections. ”
I looked out the window, suddenly fascinated by the passing tower blocks.
“Kit helped, once I made it to London. Having one bond still intact, even a… partial one, probably kept me from going completely mental. Those few months in Glasgow…” I trailed off, the name of the city sticking in my throat like a fishbone.
Glasgow. The concrete underpass that reeked of piss. The cardboard that never quite kept the damp out. The hollow ache in my stomach that became so familiar I stopped noticing it. The looks from passers-by—pity from some, disgust from most.
I’d arrived with just enough money for a week in a hostel.
After that ran out, I’d tried other packs.
Three of them. As soon as I’d dropped the Thorne surname, their expressions had changed.
Turns out my family were known as righteous, posh snobs who thought they were better than the rest, especially city wolves.
Then there were the two blokes with knives who’d cornered me behind a supermarket, demanding my backpack.
I’d had nothing worth taking except my ID and a photo of my mum from before everything went wrong.
The wolf inside me had howled to be released, claws itching beneath my skin.
But I’d swallowed it down, handed over my backpack with shaking hands, and walked away with nothing but the clothes I wore.
The weight of Maxwell’s stare prickled across my skin. He’d definitely listened in. I couldn’t bring myself to care.
“Why didn’t you just come to London straight away, if Kit was there?” Maxwell asked softly.
“We weren’t actually talking at that point.
” I squirmed in my seat. “It’s a long story.
But eventually a wolf from another Highland pack spotted me, managed to get Kit’s number, and told him what was going on.
” I remembered the black eye I’d been sporting, courtesy of a much larger homeless man who wanted my sleeping spot.
“The next day, he just appeared on the street, right in the underpass where I was camping.”
The emotions tied to the memory came flooding back. Shock, horror, relief.
“I told him to fuck off, then I burst into tears like a baby.”
“And he took you back to London?”
“Yeah. Three days later, I was Killigrew Street’s newest employee.” I attempted a laugh that came out more like a strangled cough. “Biggest regret of Seb’s five-hundred-year life, I’m sure, hiring me.”
A sharp squeak pierced the air, followed by frantic scratching against my coat. Shit. I’d been so caught up in our conversation that I’d completely forgotten about Freddy.
“What was that?” Maxwell frowned, glancing over at me.
“Nothing! Just my stomach—”
Before I could finish, Freddy erupted from my pocket like a furry grey missile, launching himself onto the dashboard. His matted fur stood on end, yellow eyes glowing with hunger as he bared his yellowed teeth at Maxwell.
Maxwell screamed—not a manly shout or dignified yelp—but a full-on, spectacular high-pitched banshee wail that probably shattered several nearby windows. The car veered sharply left, tyres screeching as we hurtled toward a lamppost.
My body moved before my brain caught up. I lunged across the center console, one hand grabbing the wheel, the other shoving Maxwell’s frozen arm. The car straightened with inches to spare, tyres bumping against the kerb before settling back onto the road.
Maxwell’s chest heaved with rapid breaths, eyes wide behind his glasses as he stared at Freddy, who was now innocently sniffing the air vents.
“What. The. ACTUAL. FUCK.” Each word exploded from Maxwell with increasing volume. “You’ve brought that… thing on our trip? Without telling me?” His voice dropped dangerously quiet to add, “Are you completely mad?”
“He’s not a thing, he’s a ferret,” I corrected, reaching for Freddy who skittered away, clearly enjoying his newfound freedom.
“Rory! Why have you brought a dead animal into my car?!”
I winced. “Technically, he’s undead.”
Maxwell’s face went through an impressive range of expressions—shock, disgust, horror, finally settling on pure, unadulterated rage.
“I couldn’t leave him behind!” I protested, finally managing to scoop Freddy up. “And look, he’s perfectly harmless.”
As if to prove me wrong, Freddy chose that exact moment to launch himself into the air, landing on the steering wheel and snapping his sharp teeth at Maxwell’s fingers.
“He’s going to get us killed!”
I scrambled to open my coat pocket, fumbling for the crackers. Freddy’s little nose twitched frantically.
“Come on, you monster,” I coaxed.
Freddy’s yellow eyes locked onto the treat. He abandoned his assault on Maxwell’s hand and scurried across. I stroked his fur as he gnawed on the cracker.
“See, I have him perfectly under control,” I said, giving Maxwell my most winning smile.
“You still haven’t explained why he’s coming with us. And to be frank, I don’t get your obsession with that rat.”
“I was never allowed pets as a kid,” I said, scratching behind Freddy’s partially exposed skull. “Animals get nervous around wolves, apparently. So when I moved to London, getting Freddy was one of the first things I did for myself. Straight away, I loved him so much.”
My throat tightened unexpectedly. “When he randomly died one day, I was devastated. Like, proper crying-for-days devastated. That’s when Issac… he brought him back. Mainly as a joke, I think.”
Maxwell snorted. “That sounds like how I remember him. Though, obviously, I didn’t know him well,” he added with a quick glance.
“Then Issac died. And now Freddy’s all I have left of him.” I scratched behind his ear. “Issac was my best friend. The first proper friend I had in London, aside from Kit. Maybe the first real friend I ever had.”
Maxwell was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“The thing is,” I continued, words tumbling out before I could stop them. “Freddy shouldn’t still be… you know, moving around. When a necromancer dies, everything they’ve reanimated is supposed to die again. Properly, this time.”
I stroked Freddy’s fur, feeling the familiar ridges of bone beneath.
“For a long time, I thought that meant Issac was still alive somewhere. But every time I brought it up, everyone at Killigrew Street would get this look, like I was some pathetic kid who couldn’t accept reality.
So I just… stopped talking about it. Easier that way, right?
Just another thing to bottle up and pretend doesn’t exist.”
The words tingled bitter on my tongue. I forced myself not to think of my brother who refused to talk about Scotland before this car conversation fully descended into impromptu therapy.
My cheeks burned as the realisation hit that I’d now burbled on about myself for the entire duration of the journey. Was this trauma dumping? Was I trauma dumping on my archnemesis?
“Sorry,” I sighed. “You probably didn’t want to hear about all that. If you put on some music, I promise I’ll do my best to shut up.”
His cheek twitched. “What music does Freddy like?”
I wound his tail around my finger. “He’s quite partial to a bit of drum and bass, now that you mention it…”
“Not a chance in hell.”
“But—”
“No,” Maxwell said firmly, though his voice had lost its edge. “Driver picks the music. Shotgun—and their undead rodent—shut their cake holes.”
I gasped dramatically. “First Star Wars, and now Supernatural? Detective Maxwell, you absolute nerd.”
He shifted in his seat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You know, I thought you’d only watch history documentaries or sit there with a notebook during University Challenge.
Wait till everyone hears about this.” I pulled out my phone, grinning wickedly.
“Did you know that Seb and Flynn spend half their time watching Buffy? You know, when they’re not gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes, or Seb’s not munching on Flynn’s neck?
But maybe the three of you can start a cinema club together. ”
“Put that phone away. Now.”
“Make me.” I waggled my eyebrows, already typing.
Maxwell took his eyes off the road just long enough to make a grab for my phone. I twisted away, pressing myself against the passenger door.
“Seriously, Thorne?” He kept one hand on the wheel but reached over with the other.
I batted his hand away. “Eyes on the road, Detective! You’re meant to uphold the law, not break it.”
“Give me the bloody phone.” He made another swipe.
I curled protectively around my mobile. “Not a chance.”
Maxwell’s fingers brushed against my side as he reached, and I flinched, letting out an embarrassing yelp.
His eyes flicked to me, a dangerous realisation dawning. “Are you… ticklish?”
“No,” I lied, clutching the phone tighter.
A wicked, rare smile spread across his face. “Interesting.”
The next time he reached over, his fingers deliberately dug into my ribs. I squirmed, an involuntary laugh bursting out as I tried to protect both my dignity and my phone.
“Stop it!” I gasped between laughs, my coordination failing as he found exactly the right spot between my ribs.
In my moment of weakness, Maxwell snatched the phone from my hand and slid it into his jacket pocket, looking infuriatingly pleased with himself.
“That’s cheating,” I wheezed, trying to catch my breath.
“That’s strategy,” he corrected, a hint of smugness playing at the corner of his mouth. “You’ll get it back when we stop for food.”
I slumped back in my seat, but couldn’t maintain my outrage for long. “Fine. But at least tell me what music the great Detective Inspector deems acceptable for this journey.”
Maxwell’s answer was to press a button on the car stereo. The car filled with soaring voices—dozens of them—singing in what sounded like Latin, backed by a full orchestra.
“Oh my god,” I groaned, sinking lower in my seat. “Is this… like, church music? You’re such an old man.”
“I’m thirty-two.”
“In your soul, you’re at least seventy.”
“It’s Mozart,” he said, as if that explained everything. “It’s classical.”
Freddy chose that moment to scamper from my lap onto the dashboard, where he began doing what could only be described as a zombie ferret conducting session, his tiny paws waving in time with the dramatic crescendos.
Maxwell’s eyes widened. “Get that thing off my—”
“Look! He loves it!” I crowed triumphantly. “Freddy’s got sophisticated taste! He thinks he’s conducting the London Symphony Orchestra!”
“Thorne, I swear to god—”
But I could see it—the smile he was violently fighting, the way his shoulders had loosened from their perpetual tension.
For a moment, with the late afternoon sun streaming through the windows, the ridiculously dramatic choral music playing, and Freddy’s bizarre little dance, it almost felt…
normal. Like we were just two blokes on a road trip, not a wolf and a telepath who hated each other, heading toward my personal nightmare.
Instead, I leaned back, closed my eyes, and let myself enjoy the moment while it lasted.