Chapter 11 Theodore #2
“Honestly, Uncle Alex is… different. He’s my mum’s brother, Oxford-educated doctor.
One of the few who ever left Scotland—most pack members are born, live, and die within a hundred miles of the estate.
He was always the progressive voice in family arguments.
Actually listened when I talked about wanting medication.
Couldn’t override my parents, but he tried.
His dead wife, Moira, she was actually the same.
Bit of a rebel by pack standards. She and Alex were the reasonable ones.
When I came out, Alex was the only one who didn’t look at me like I’d grown a second head.
Mum and Dad went mental—not about the gay thing specifically, but about how it would ‘complicate pack dynamics.’ Alex told them that the pack needed to modernize with the rest of the world. ”
He kicked at a stone, sending it skittering ahead of us.
“Gatherings were the worst. Every time I let my impulses win, or I said something inappropriate, my parents would get this look—like I was deliberately trying to embarrass them. But Alex would always step in, make some joke to defuse the tension. He’d defend me when no one else would.”
“So Isla’s mum is dead?”
Rory scoffed. “Pack says she died in an accident about seven years ago, but there were always whispers that my father had something to do with it. She and my dad clashed constantly. She’d openly challenge him in front of everyone.
It was horrible. When she died, we were told a young wolf from another pack had wandered onto our territory during a wolf moon, and they’d fought, and she’d lost. But then the rumours started.
I’m not sure what Alex thinks. Maybe he was happier pretending.
Being packless is the worst fate imaginable for most wolves.
You lose your anchor, your support system.
Without a pack, you feel… adrift. Purposeless. ”
“That’s not how you feel though, right?” I asked him, eyeing him carefully.
He bit into his lip. “I have Kit. That’s enough. Anyway, Isla was only thirteen when her mother died. She’s studying at medical school now, in Edinburgh, I think. I wonder how much she even comes back here.”
“How many wolves are in this pack?” I asked, suddenly apprehensive of how many teeth might snap at me tonight.
“Around thirty.”
“Thirty?!” I couldn’t stop the pounding of my heart. Perhaps I should have brought the silver bullets Kit had packed…
“Yeah, it’s one of the biggest around here for sure.
Everyone lives pretty spread out across the land, so it’s not like you see everyone all the time.
There’s the main manor house—massive old stone thing that’s been around for generations—and then cottages and smaller houses dotted around the estate. ”
“And… what do the humans in the area think about it all?”
“That we’re—” He caught himself. “They’re some new age cult thing. We used to joke about it ourselves, sometimes. But all us kids in the pack would sometimes get teased about it at school. Until they realised we were all stronger than them, with short tempers.”
Abruptly, Rory stopped walking as a memory surfaced, so emotionally charged I saw it as if it were my own.
Rory, pinned against the brick wall of the primary school by a boy twice his size.
Others circling, calling him “cult boy” and “freak.” The panic rising in his chest, the wolf inside him desperate to break free, to fight back.
Then Kit appearing like a guardian angel, yanking the bigger boy off him with strength no teenager should possess.
…“Touch my brother again, and you’ll regret it.”…
“Rory?”
…that was before everything changed between us…before Kit left me…
“Rory?” I repeated, I touched his arm, trying to pull him back to the present. “You okay?”
He blinked, shaking his head slightly. “Yeah. Sorry. Anyway…” He shuffled forwards, kicking the ground. “Out of everyone, we can count on Uncle Alex. Trust me on this.”
“I’ll form my own opinions, if you don’t mind. You shouldn’t trust anyone here completely.”
“Oh, here we go with the detective routine.” Rory rolled his eyes, though a smile played across his lips.
“I… am literally here as a detective, investigating a missing persons case.”
Eventually, Thorne House loomed ahead, its windows already illuminated though the sun had only begun to set. The golden light spilled across the manicured lawn, creating long shadows that stretched toward us like grasping fingers.
Rory stopped abruptly, his gaze fixed on the house, shoulders drawing up tight. “It’ll be the first time I’ve seen her since I snapped all my bonds,” he said.
I almost asked who, before realising he was talking about his mother. The current alpha. The woman who’d mistreated—fuck that, abused—her son to the point he chose to leave everything he’d ever known behind to sleep rough in Glasgow.
Looking at his face—openly worried in a way I’d never seen before—a fierce protectiveness rose within me that had nothing to do with our pretense.
But I could pretend it did.
For the second time that day, I grabbed his hand, firmly interlacing our fingers, squeezing until Rory’s forehead smoothed back out.
“I hope you’re ready for this, Maxwell,” Rory muttered as we approached the manor’s entrance, his hand tightening around mine.
“Don’t call me Maxwell,” I found myself saying. “I’m not using my real last name. Plus, that would be a weird thing to do… call your boyfriend by his surname.”
Why did I care quite so much? Everyone at the station called me Maxwell—even George, who I’d known since academy days, still called me Maxwell when we met for pints or hikes outside of work. The formality had become so normal I barely noticed it anymore.
The only person who ever called me Theo was my mother.
Rory blinked at me, his eyebrows rising slightly. “Okay, Teddy.”
I groaned. “I was thinking more along the lines of Theo. You know, my name?”
“Teddy is such a cute pet name, though, don’t you think?” He grinned at me, horizon-wide, and for a moment, I forgot to tell him no.
Because he was already dragging me through the large oak double doors, through to a marble-floored lobby within a grand entrance hall, its vaulted ceiling adorned with elaborate plasterwork.
From somewhere to our right, the buzz of conversation flowed—multiple voices overlapping in animated discussion, punctuated by occasional laughter.
An older man with silver hair and impeccable posture appeared from a side door. His eyes widened fractionally as they landed on Rory.
“Master Rory,” he said. “It’s been quite some time.”
“Bernard.” Rory grinned at him. “This is my boyfriend, Theodore.”
Bernard’s gaze shifted to me, assessing. “Yes, we were told that you were bringing a… boyfriend.” He blinked at me as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. “Welcome to Thorne Manor, sir. May I take your coats?”
The moment Bernard turned away with them, Rory’s hand shot out to grab mine again, the movement so swift and desperate I nearly laughed. His palm was clammy against mine, his fingers trembling slightly.
As we approached the source of the noise, waves of anxiety radiated from Rory. Surface thoughts leaked through my mental barriers despite my best efforts.
…they’ll all be staring…
…should never have come…
…what if she…
Yet Rory marched determinedly, practically dragging me along.
I stopped abruptly, yanking on his arm. “Hold on a second.” I caught his other hand, drawing him close. His wide eyes searched my face, panic swimming just beneath the surface. “Hey,” I murmured. “Breathe.”
Rory’s gaze darted towards the noise, then back to me. “I am breathing!”
I squeezed his hands, where he wasn’t quite able to hide his trembling. “You don’t have to prove anything to them. You’re here because you chose to be, not because you owe them anything.”
His jaw tightened, but he nodded, some of that old stubborn fire flickering back into his expression. “Right. Fuck them if they don’t like it.”
“That’s my Terrier,” I said quietly, and was rewarded with the ghost of his usual grin.
We stepped into a spacious parlour dominated by antique furniture—leather armchairs, mahogany tables, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
Around a dozen people were scattered throughout the space, dressed smartly in brown overcheck woollen waistcoats or pantsuits.
The moment we entered, a hush fell over the room.
Every face turned in our direction, the pin-drop silence absolute.
I held very still, waiting for Rory’s reaction, waiting for him to make some sort of sarcastic comment about the dramatic welcome, or break the tension with his usual easy laughter.
But nothing came, and the moment stretched painfully, Rory’s hand gripping mine so tightly my fingers began to tingle.
Eventually, Alex cleared his throat. “Rory! Good to see you,” he called out too loudly, moving towards us. His voice seemed to break the spell, and conversations gradually resumed around the room.
Rory’s face was the very picture of misery, his usual animation completely gone.
Alex took a few steps towards us, but froze as another man materialised, nodding curtly at Rory before turning to me with an extended hand.
Yanking my own hand free from Rory’s death grip was quite a feat.
“Tariq Fraser,” he introduced, handshake firm and measured. “Second to Alpha Thorne.”
Tariq was as tall as me, his salt-and-pepper beard meticulously trimmed against brown skin. I attempted to read his surface thoughts, but encountered nothing—a smooth, blank wall where the usual static of consciousness should have been.
“Theodore,” I returned eventually, as Tariq pierced me with his gaze.
“What a pleasure,” he replied with a snarlish smile that spoke volumes. “We so rarely have humans join us. Aside from our staff, of course.”
I swallowed down a bubble of laughter that threatened to burst out of me. What a twat.