Chapter 12 Rory
Rory
Ileaned against the ancient rowan tree, its gnarled bark rough against my skin.
The “Kissing Tree,” we’d called it as teenagers—not for any romantic reason, but because its twisted trunk had split and rejoined, creating what looked like two trunks embracing.
It stood a good fifteen-minute walk from the manor, our unofficial meeting spot for night runs.
The dinner still clung to me like smoke—every sideways glance, every pointed comment, every moment where I’d felt like a specimen under glass. But worse than all of that was the memory of Maxwell’s voice, soft and certain, spinning that beautiful lie about falling for me in a coffee shop.
For one ridiculous moment, I’d let myself believe his words. I’d sat there, frozen, as he painted this picture of someone—him—going an hour out of their way just for the chance to see me. Someone tongue-tied and nervous, grateful for my attention rather than exasperated by my existence.
Nice fantasy.
That’s what I’d thought, and fuck, the sadness that had washed over me in that moment had been mortifying.
Here was Maxwell, playing his part perfectly, and I’d nearly let myself get swept away by the pretence.
Nearly let myself imagine what it would feel like to be loved like that—completely, desperately, without reservation.
But it wasn’t real. None of it was real. After this, we’d go back to London, back to him thinking I was an idiot, back to the careful distance we maintained between us.
The decision to join the run had crystallised in that moment of bitter clarity.
If I was going to be here, if I was going to face all this pain, then I needed to do something useful.
Something that justified putting myself—and Maxwell—through this torture.
We needed to do everything possible to find information about Dev.
The thought of returning to the cottage later had icy dread shooting through me. That cold hatred would return to Maxwell’s eyes after days of… whatever this was between us.
But maybe, if I could learn something tonight—anything that might help us find Dev—then the cost would be worth it.
The moon called to me, its pull irresistible despite being three nights away from full.
I quickly removed most of the piercings from my ears, stuffing them into my jeans pocket, then stripped off my remaining clothes.
I left it all in a haphazard pile near the trunk, burying my dead phone within the nest.
Finally time.
A mix of relief and excitement coursed through me. My wolf form felt right in ways my human form never did. No more constant buzz of thoughts, no more feeling too loud, too much, too inadequate.
The night air prickled against my naked skin as I closed my eyes and let the change take me.
First came the burning—fire racing through my veins like I’d downed six espresso shots at once.
My bones cracked and reshaped with excruciating precision, each snap a familiar agony that still made me want to scream.
My jaw elongated, teeth sharpening to points as my spine curved and shortened.
I fell forward onto hands that were no longer hands but paws, claws digging into soft earth.
The world fractured into kaleidoscopic colours as my senses heightened—too bright, too loud—the way my mind felt on my worst days, but purposeful now, directed.
Then, as the last of my muscles shifted into place, my scattered human thoughts shattered.
Pain fades. Power floods.
Scents assault first—damp earth, rotting leaves, rabbit trail three hours old. Mouse heart patters beneath fallen log. Moon pulls. Not thought. Command.
Muscles bunch. Claws dig. Earth gives way.
Run, run, run.
Howl builds in chest. Old instinct. Pack call.
No answer comes. Lone wolf now.
Scent hits first. Male-wolf-threat. Familiar-rival. Approaching from downwind.
Eyes catch movement. Human shape emerges between trees. Scar on face. Callum. Male-wolf-rival.
Hackles rise. Teeth itch to bare.
Stand ground. Don’t retreat. Don’t challenge. Watch.
Male-wolf-rival smirks. “We don’t meet over by that tree anymore.”
Circle once. Keep distance. Show not afraid, not submissive. Not challenging either.
“Everyone else is over on the other side of the stream. Miles away.”
Pack location. Invitation? Trap? Hard to know. Trust not easy. Wolf mind wants simple answers. Human thoughts try to surface.
Male-wolf-rival approaches. Too close. Circles me. Assessing. Judging.
“You know, I forgot how wee you are, even as your wolf.” Laughing. “As if you could ever have been an alpha anyway. It’s funny, really, thinking about it now.”
Words sting worse than teeth. Size-shame. Pack-position-shame.
Instinct surges. Lunge? Bite?
No. Bad choice. Outnumbered. His territory. His pack now.
“Why did you come back here, Rory? Nobody wants you here. Not even Edina. Not really.”
Pack-bonds memory stings in chest. Broken things.
Circling closer now. Showing dominance. Testing boundaries. Testing patience.
“And your ‘detective inspector boyfriend’ is fooling nobody. How much did you pay that idiot to come up here with you? Or does he accept payment in the form of blow jobs?”
Rage-fire explodes through blood. Not-pack insults mine. Unforgivable.
“I’m glad that big gob of yours has some use—”
Muscles bunch. Spring forward. Teeth aim for throat.
Male-rival drops. Body already twisting. Bone-crack sounds fill air. Fur erupts from skin. Challenge accepted.
Bodies collide. Teeth snap at air. Black-fur-rival larger. Heavier. Teeth find shoulder. Pain flares. Blood-scent sharp.
Roll away. Speed advantage. Circle-strike-retreat.
Bodies tumble down slope. Black-wolf slams weight down. Pins chest. Air pushed from lungs.
Twist hard. Teeth find leg. Bite down. Bone crunches. Pain-howl fills forest. Grip loosens.
Break free. Blood drips from muzzle. Mine and his.
Rival-wolf limps forward. Eyes promise pain.
Rage burns. Want to fight. Want to prove stronger-faster-worthier.
But no help coming. No Kit-brother to stand beside. Alone.
New thought cuts through fog. Raindrops-lemongrass-safety waits. Detective-mine waits.
Want him. Need safe-den.
Twist body. Launch away from rival-wolf. Paws find earth. Sprint between trees.
Behind, rival-wolf howls. Chase begins. Heavy paws thunder after. Bigger but slower. Injured leg slows pursuit.
Forest thins. Cottage lights appear through trees. Safe-den ahead.
Circle around. Find back of den. Blood loss makes head swim. Legs wobble.
Collapse beneath window. Curl tight. Lick shoulder wound. Taste copper-blood.
Door crashes open. Raindrops-lemongrass-mine rushes out.
“Rory? Oh, thank god. Fuck, are you hurt?” Worried. Heart beats fast-fast in chest. Can hear blood rushing beneath skin.
Answer with throat-sound. Whine-admit pain. Too tired to pretend strength.
Arms slide beneath body. Careful-touch around wounds. Lift up against warm chest.
“Christ, you’re so heavy.”
Carry into den. Place on soft-nest.
Want closeness. Need safety-comfort. Drag body forward. Rest head in lap. Warm-thigh beneath cheek. Breathe in raindrops-lemongrass-mine scent. Home-scent now.
Gentle fingers stroke behind ears. “You’re going to be okay.” Voice steadier now. Less fear-scent. “I can’t actually see anywhere that’s hurt. Just a lot of blood. Is it all yours? I’m going to call Kit.”
No! Kit-brother will make leave. Growl builds in chest. Warning-sound.
“Okay, okay. Got it. But you’re calling him yourself, later.”
Fingers resume stroking. Pain eases slightly under gentle touch.
“What am I supposed to do with you like this?”
Strokes bring joy. Not want strokes stop. But need to show not badly hurt. Need human-words to explain.
Must change back. Must become two-legs again. Need human-words to explain.
Concentrate. Pull at the human beneath fur. Call it back.
First shudder ripples through muscles. Body rebels. Wants to stay wolf. Safer as wolf. Easier as wolf.
Bones begin to crack. Pain sharper now. Fur receding into skin that feels raw, exposed. The world’s edges starting to blur, colours fading.
My perception shifts as human senses return. The vibrant tapestry of scents fades last—raindrops-lemongrass-Maxwell becoming just… Maxwell again.
The final twist of transformation leaves me naked and shivering on the cottage floor, human once more. Every muscle screams in protest. My shoulder throbs where Callum’s teeth tore through.
The room spun. Focus, focus!
The cold clarity of human thought slammed back into me. I’d abandoned Maxwell via text message. I’d gotten into a fight to the almost-death with Callum.
Oh shit. Maxwell was going to absolutely murder me.
The concern in his eyes would soon harden into that familiar cold fury. The little bubble we’d been building over the past few days was about to pop. Spectacularly.
And that hurt far worse than any wolf’s bite could.
Just say sorry, Rory. That will be a good start.
“Bloody hell,” I said instead, through chattering teeth. “Well, that went well, wouldn’t you say?”
“No, I would not say,” Maxwell snapped, throwing a blanket on top of me. Possibly because I was shivering, but probably so he didn’t need to see my dick. “Are you okay?”
I lay still, cataloguing the damage. Shoulder definitely bitten. Ribs ached with each breath. Various scrapes and bruises, but nothing catastrophic. The shift had already healed the worst of it, though not as completely as I’d hoped.
“I’m okay,” I croaked.
“Are you sure?” Maxwell’s voice was tight.
I ran my hands over my torso, wincing as I pressed against my left side. “Possibly a slightly fractured rib?”
Maxwell pointed toward my shoulder. “What happened there? Did you get bitten?! What the fuck happened, Rory?”
I touched the wound gingerly, the puncture marks where Callum’s teeth had sunk in. The bleeding had stopped, but it was still raw and angry. If I’d stayed shifted longer, it would have closed it better.