Chapter 11 Theodore #3
Beside me, Rory had gone rigid. His breathing had shifted—shallow, controlled, like someone trying very hard not to bolt.
“Rory,” Tariq said, his tone carrying the weight of authority and disapproval. “You look… well.”
“Fraser,” Rory replied, his voice tight in a way I’d never heard before. His hands clenched at his sides.
A flash of memory burst through my telepathy, from Rory’s panicked thoughts.
Suddenly there was cold stone pressing against my back as I looked up at a younger Tariq towering above me, his voice booming: “Discipline, boy. Your father expects better.” The sharp sting across my cheek, the burn of tears I refused to let fall.
The memory vanished as quickly as it had come, but judging by the way Rory seemed to shrink slightly under Tariq’s gaze, those old wounds had left their mark.
It was already no wonder Rory had hightailed it out of this place and never looked back.
“Where is she?” Rory asked.
“She’s coming. She’d have heard you arrive.”
As if summoned by magic, the room once again quietened as a woman entered. I’d have recognised her as Edina Thorne by her nose and chin, so similar to Rory’s, but I didn’t need to make the connection myself—the entire room reacted to her presence.
One by one, the pack members sank to their knees, faces bowed to the floor.
Only Rory and I remained standing. I looked around in bafflement, feeling indeed like I’d stumbled into a cult, like Rory had said earlier.
My gaze shot to him—he remained stoic, though he didn’t seem surprised by this bizarre display of subservience.
“Rise,” Edina commanded, her voice carrying effortlessly across the room without being raised.
The pack members stood in unison, the synchronicity of their movement unsettling.
I couldn’t help but be surprised by the diversity of the pack.
People of various ethnicities mingled throughout the space—not the homogeneous group of white Highlanders I’d perhaps subconsciously expected.
Hopefully, that meant I wouldn’t face racism on top of displeasure that Rory had brought home a human male as his boyfriend.
Dressed all in black, Edina moved towards us with predatory grace.
I stared into her eyes, momentarily afraid I’d see Rory’s mercurial blue-green gaze reflected back at me.
Relief washed through me when I found them to be a pale, icy blue instead—beautiful but cold, lacking the warmth and mischief that animated her son’s.
“Detective Inspector Theodore Maxwell,” she said, extending her hand.
My blood froze. Beside me, Rory inhaled sharply. How did she know my full name and title? When Rory had emailed Alex to confirm our attendance, he’d only mentioned bringing his new boyfriend.
I accepted her handshake, her skin cool and dry against mine. As our palms connected, I reached out with my telepathy, trying to catch even a whisper of her surface thoughts.
Nothing. Only a blank wall where consciousness should have been.
My mind reeled, a sudden wave of dizziness washing over me. How the hell did she know who I was? Acid churned in my stomach as possibilities raced through my mind. Five minutes into the mission, and my identity was already completely compromised. Was Killigrew Street exposed? Was Rory in danger?
I forced my expression to remain neutral, tamping down the rising panic with practiced control.
“You must be Edina. Thank you for having me here.”
Her smile was all teeth. “My pleasure. I do hope you’ll find our little gathering… educational,” Edina continued, scrutinising my face. “It’s so rare we have someone of your… professional standing join us.”
All of a sudden, my lungs constricted as the room pressed in around me. The collective gaze of the pack members felt heavier with each passing second.
I needed a moment to think, to process what the hell was happening and how badly compromised we were.
I just needed a minute. Just one bloody minute to get my head together.
Across the room, I spotted a crystal decanter and glasses on a side table. An escape route.
“Let me grab us some water,” I said, squeezing Rory’s hand once before releasing it.
I didn’t wait for his response, moving deliberately through the crowd, fighting the urge to run. My hands trembled slightly as I reached for the decanter, pouring water into two crystal tumblers.
Cold sweat prickled across my forehead. Did Edina already know we were here looking for Dev? Had she warned her entire pack about my telepathy?
I reached out tentatively with my mind, probing the thoughts of nearby wolves. Just like with Edina and Tariq, I encountered nothing but blank nothingness.
Taking a steadying breath, I turned back toward the room, glasses in hand.
This time, I deliberately made eye contact with each pack member I passed.
Their smiles were polite, even welcoming, but their eyes told a different story—cold assessment, thinly veiled disgust. They knew. They all knew what I was.
My skin prickled uncomfortably, every instinct screaming danger. The sensation of being an unwelcome intruder intensified with each step, the weight of their collective disdain pressing against me. I’d barely told a soul in my life about my gift, and this was why.
I handed Rory his water, noting how his face fell as he glanced down at the clear liquid.
…thanks for abandoning me and leaving me alone with her…plus I need something ten times stronger than this…
The familiar irritation in his mental voice was almost comforting amidst the sea of blank minds surrounding us.
“Will ye be running with us this evening, Rory?” Edina asked, addressing him only, her voice carrying the weight of command.
I expected Rory to immediately decline. Instead, confliction crossed his face, his eyebrows drawing together. Did he think it might somehow help our investigation? Or was he simply afraid to refuse his mother directly?
Before he could answer, someone tapped Edina on the shoulder, drawing her attention away. I seized the opportunity, grabbing Rory’s elbow and steering him toward a quieter corner of the room, hoping the ambient noise of conversation would mask our words.
I felt dozens of eyes following us—the spectacle of the runaway wolf and his telepathic detective boyfriend providing the evening’s entertainment. We were the main attraction in this twisted circus, and I hated every second of it.
I leaned in close to Rory’s ear, as if we were sharing an intimate moment. His hair tickled my nose.
“Your mother somehow knows I’m a telepath,” I whispered, my lips nearly brushing his earlobe. “They all do. They’re guarding their thoughts when they’re near me, or when I look their way.”
Rory pulled back slightly, his eyes widening with interest rather than alarm. “You can do that?” he asked, sounding excited, like I’d just revealed some fascinating new superpower rather than a critical security breach.
“With a conscious, constant effort, yes,” I replied, struggling to keep the exasperation from my voice. “It requires focus and mental discipline.”
Rory’s face broke into a grin. “Nah then. Pass. Sounds hard.”
I rolled my eyes to the heavens above. “But this is a serious security breach. How the hell do they know who I am?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “She has a deep well of resources. But Kit has always suspected she’s had tabs on us this whole time. It makes sense to have had us watched even closer after she sent the invite.”
“Tabs? This is more than tabs, Rory. This makes no sense. It’s impossible for her to know.”
My thoughts raced, searching for any explanation.
Before this evening, I’d only met Alex and Isla.
Was it possible one of them possessed some kind of telepathic detection ability?
Apparently shifters could tell when a human was Gifted, but not usually anything more specific than that, as far as I was aware.
Unless…
A cold feeling settled in my stomach. What if there was a file on me somewhere?
Something that documented my telepathy. Some list, unknown even to Killigrew Street, and White?
White had found me because she knew my father.
Who knew how many others knew about him?
If he had been documented somewhere, then it was entirely possible I’d inherited more than just his telepathy.
I’d inherited his place on someone’s watchlist.
The thought that someone might have been tracking me my entire life, even before I knew what I was, chilled me to the bone.
“Ah, fuck,” Rory hissed, distracting me. “There he is.”
I shifted slightly so I could see who he meant out of the corner of my eye.
A dark-haired man in his late twenties stood by the fireplace, meticulously dressed in what looked like a bespoke suit, nursing a tumbler of amber liquid.
A pale scar bisected his left eyebrow, giving his already severe features an even more intimidating edge.
The man’s gaze found Rory’s across the room, and his lip curled into what could generously be called a smirk.
“Well, he looks like a good time,” I muttered.
“That’s Callum Reid,” Rory said through gritted teeth. “Complete tosser. We’ve hated each other since we were kids. He was an orphan the pack took in. Immediately jealous of me and Kit for being the alpha’s sons.”
Callum raised his glass in a mock toast towards us, the gesture dripping with condescension.
“Right,” Rory said, jaw set with determination. “Fuck this.”
Before I could stop him, he grabbed my hand and marched us directly towards the fireplace. I had no choice but to follow, wondering what fresh hell I was about to witness.
“Rory,” Callum said, taking a deliberate sip of his drink. “Back from the dead, are we? And with… company.” His eyes raked over me with obvious disdain. “And there I was thinking we’d never see you again, after your grand exit. After you told us so vehemently that you don’t belong here.”