Chapter 11 Theodore #5
“The nicest little independent coffee shop,” I said, letting my eyes linger on Rory’s face. Something in me decided to throw caution to the wind—perhaps it was the absurdity of our situation, or maybe I just wanted to see Rory squirm.
“This little place with black and white striped cups,” I continued, watching recognition dawn in Rory’s eyes. “I used to go almost an hour out of my way each day just for the chance to bump into him.”
Beside me, Rory completely stilled. Even his thoughts, normally a constant barrage against my mind, had fallen silent.
“I saw him there every day for months before I worked up the courage to talk to him,” I continued, warming to my fabrication. “He’d always order these ridiculous concoctions—caramel this, extra whip that—while I stuck to plain black coffee.”
Rory’s mouth twitched as he clearly had to fight his instinct to correct me— in Killigrew Street meetings he always took his coffee black, like me, and mocked Felix for his cavity-inducing drink orders.
Alexander and Isla watched us with undisguised interest, clearly enjoying these romantic revelations.
“And even then, when I finally spoke to him, I pretended my phone had died and I needed to borrow his charger, rather than ask him out directly.” I shook my head, letting out a self-deprecating laugh.
“Can you believe that? Me, a detective who interrogates hardened criminals for a living, completely tongue-tied by Rory.”
“I made him wait three more visits before I gave him my number,” Rory interjected. “He looked so sad, I eventually took pity on him, and asked him if he enjoyed activities other than staring at me in coffee shops.”
I reached for Rory’s hand, which lay motionless on the table. “I couldn’t bring myself to ask. I thought for sure he’d say no. That someone like him—funny, vibrant, full of life—wouldn’t look twice at someone like me.”
Rory remained frozen, his eyes fixed on me with an odd expression. For once in our acquaintance, I’d managed to render him completely speechless. No quip, no deflection, no rapid-fire commentary.
Isla made an “awww” noise, clasping her hands together. “That’s adorable.”
Rory’s gaze burned into the side of my face. The room seemed to shrink around us, the other dinner guests fading into background noise.
“What do you mean?” Rory finally asked.
I turned to meet his eyes, finding myself suddenly trapped in their unfathomable blue-green depths. The lie had started as a performance, but something in his expression made the words feel weighted with unexpected truth.
“Exactly what I said,” I replied, silky soft. “I couldn’t process the idea of someone like you finding me attractive.”
“Right.” Rory snorted, but the sound lacked his usual confidence. His fingers twitched ever so slightly against mine, a subtle tremor that betrayed the storm beneath his carefully composed expression.
“It’s true,” I continued, squeezing his hand, lifting it off the table for effect. “I thank my lucky stars every night that I met you.”
The words hung between us, fragile and dangerous. Something shifted in Rory’s expression—a flicker of confusion, of vulnerability. His usual armor of sarcasm and bravado cracked just enough for me to glimpse what lay beneath.
And then I felt it—waves of sadness suddenly radiating from him, so potent they nearly took my breath away.
…nice fantasy…
The thought slipped through, crystal clear and achingly melancholic. It wasn’t embarrassment or discomfort at our charade—it was genuine sorrow. I couldn’t stand the desolation seeping out of him. Before I could think better of it, I found myself leaning closer, pressing a kiss to his temple.
His hair, soft against my lips, carried the clean scent of his shampoo. I lingered there a heartbeat too long, my own chest tightening with an emotion that felt eerily similar to what I was experiencing second-hand from him.
I wanted to tell him that someday, he would be loved just as fiercely as he deserved to be.
That the right person would see him—truly see him—beyond the chaos and bravado.
That someone would cherish every part of him, from his mischievous smile to his boundless energy to the vulnerability he tried so desperately to hide.
But then, the thought of another man’s lips pressed to his messy hair sent a vicious snap of jealousy through me, and I interlaced our fingers more forcefully. The possessiveness startled me—this sudden, primal urge to stake a claim on this person who drove me mad on a daily basis.
Irrational.
Ridiculous.
Yet, undeniable.
Rory drew his brows together, bewilderment seeping through our connection. His confusion brushed against my consciousness like fingertips against skin, only heightening my own disorientation at whatever was happening between us. His eyes searched mine, seeking answers I didn’t possess.
You and me both.
“That’s so lovely,” Isla said, breaking the moment with genuine warmth. “I’m so glad you’re happy in London, Rory.”
Her sincere comment earned her several sidelong glances from the other wolves, including her father, followed by some low rumblings.
A sharp, ringing sound cut through the dining room. Every head turned toward the head of the table, where Edina Thorne sat like a queen on her throne, Callum and Tariq on either side of her.
Edina rose slowly, her movement deliberate and graceful. The room fell into immediate silence.
“This evening is special,” she began, her voice carrying effortlessly across the table. “Tonight marks the beginning of our run-up to the spring equinox, when our pack will welcome many others from across Scotland to our ancestral lands.”
Her gaze swept the table before landing, with pointed deliberation, on Rory.
“And what a pleasure it is to have old friends join us for the occasion, eh?”
The word “friends” hung in the air. My hand squeezed Rory’s thigh beneath the table, anticipating an outburst that never came. Instead, he remained perfectly still, his face a careful mask.
“The equinox represents balance,” Edina continued. “A time when light and dark exist in perfect harmony. Perhaps it is also time for us to find such balance—to heal old wounds and forge new paths forward together.”
A murmured ripple of assent shot through the wolves, and Edina smiled at them all, before returning to her seat.
The rest of the meal passed with excruciating slowness.
I finally managed to secure a few potatoes with the next meat course, a small victory in this carnivorous battlefield.
Beside me, Rory maintained pleasant conversation with Alex and Isla, his voice carrying none of the tension I could feel vibrating through him.
I tried to focus on the conversations happening around me, catching fragments of dialogue from the wolves seated nearby.
Interestingly, not all seemed enthusiastic about the impending pack gatherings.
Whispered concerns about “territory disputes” and “the old ways” filtered through, suggesting discord beneath the unified front.
Finally, mercifully, after a serving of coffee, the meal drew to a close, and Edina once again stood. “I will see you all in an hour for the run,” she announced, her eyes falling once again on Rory with unmistakable expectation.
The remaining wolves began to disperse as staff appeared silently to clear the table.
I exhaled slowly, tension draining from my shoulders.
Thank god. That was more than enough for one night.
I needed space, silence, a moment to process everything.
To recharge before whatever fresh hell awaited us next.
“Shall we head back to the cottage?” I murmured to Rory.
“I’ll use the bathroom, then we can say goodnight to Uncle Alex and Isla.” He jerked his head to where they stood by a bookcase, finishing their drinks.
As I watched Rory walk away, a peculiar sensation washed over me—something akin to abandonment, as ridiculous as that sounded.
For goodness sake, Theodore. He’s going to the bathroom, not emigrating.
Yet the absurd impulse to follow him persisted. What was I planning to do? Stand guard outside the door? Hold his hand while he pissed? Laughable, but the humour felt hollow against the mounting unease crawling up my spine.
Why was I suddenly pathetically dependent on Rory Thorne’s presence?
The man who’d been nothing but an irritation since the day I’d slapped handcuffs on him.
The man whose chaotic energy and blatant disregard for procedure had driven me to the brink of professional madness more times than I could count.
And yet here I stood, fighting the irrational urge to trail after him like a lost puppy, terrified of being left alone in a room full of predators wearing human skin. I clutched my tiny china cup of coffee close to my chest, taking minuscule sips so that I’d be busy in Rory’s absence.
Pull yourself together, for fuck’s sake.
“Detective Maxwell.” Tariq Fraser materialised at my elbow, his voice low and measured. “A moment of your time?”
“Of course,” I said, heart sinking.
“I understand your… protective instincts toward Rory,” Fraser said, his tone measured in that particularly Scottish way that suggested he understood nothing of the sort. “But you should know that pack business is pack business. Tonight’s run is a sacred tradition. Humans aren’t welcome.”
I bit back several retorts that would have done nothing for diplomatic relations. “That’s perfectly fine,” I said instead, keeping my voice even. “Rory won’t be attending either.”
Fraser’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Oh?” He paused, dark eyes cold and assessing. “I have to say, I’m surprised you’re here.”
“Oh?” I mimicked. “And why is that? I’m simply here at my partner’s request.”
“Right. You’re here as Rory’s… partner.”
The way he emphasised the word made my teeth grind together. How much did he know? Was it possible he knew about Killigrew Street? About the true nature of our relationship—or rather, our lack of one?
“Yes,” I said firmly. “As his partner.”
Fraser nodded, that infuriating half smile still in place. “Of course. Well, enjoy your evening, Detective. I’m sure we’ll speak again soon.”
He turned and walked away, leaving me standing alone in the dining room. I scanned the space for Rory, but there was no sign of him. Alex and Isla had disappeared as well.
The remaining wolves cast occasional glances in my direction, their expressions ranging from curiosity to open hostility. Standing here alone was like being a wounded gazelle surrounded by lions.
I pulled my phone from my pocket when it vibrated in my hand.
Rory
Hey
Going on the run. It could be helpful. Will meet you back at the cottage in two hours, max. x
PS: Could you feed Freddy for me? I’ll try and bring him back a squirrel or something, but he’ll want some crackers.
PPS: Phone about to die. Soz.
My fingers tightened around the phone, fury rising like a tide.
The utter fool was deliberately putting himself in danger, without so much as a discussion.
For a moment, I considered tearing the manor apart room by room until I found him.
But what then? Drag him out by his ear like a misbehaving child?
Create a scene that would only further complicate our already precarious position? No. He’d made his choice.
The night air bit at my face as I stepped onto the manor’s stone terrace. Stars pricked the inky darkness above, seeming unnaturally bright this far from London’s light pollution.
“I’m going to fucking kill him,” I whisper-shouted at the stars, who twinkled back at me in sympathy.
Trees loomed on the path ahead of me, darker and more menacing without Rory’s presence beside me. Just perfect—abandoned to walk through the Scottish wilderness alone, surrounded by who-knows-what supernatural threats.
When he finally returned to the cottage, we were going to have words. Many of them. None particularly pleasant.