Chapter 19 Theodore
Theodore
Devraj Bassi was alive.
Devraj Bassi was alive, and in our cottage.
More specifically, on our sofa. Asleep, on our sofa.
He’d collapsed the moment we crossed the cottage threshold. His legs simply gave out, seemingly now exhausted. We’d half carried, half dragged him to the sofa, his handcuffed wrists making the manoeuvre awkward.
Rory had tucked a tartan blanket around Dev’s shoulders. His breathing had already deepened into sleep before Rory even stepped back.
“We should take shifts watching him,” I suggested, though every muscle in my body ached for the warm press of sheets and Rory’s skin against mine.
“You sleep first.”
“No, you go. I’m not tired yet.”
Rory gave me a long, lingering look, and I caught an intense flash of his disappointment—sharp and immediate.
The feeling echoed my own sense of being cheated out of having the night to ourselves, to once again tangle our limbs together while we slept.
Alongside that came something entirely new: a strange, almost magnetic pull that made the idea of being separated from him—even by a single floor—feel fundamentally wrong.
When Rory dragged his feet up the stairs like a petulant child, I had to actively resist the urge to follow him.
Hours passed. Dev snored softly, occasionally muttering incomprehensible words. My eyelids grew heavy despite the uncomfortable wooden chair I’d positioned myself in.
Every few minutes, I found myself unconsciously reaching out through our connection, checking on Rory upstairs.
The first time it happened, I jerked back in surprise—I hadn’t meant to do it, the action as automatic as breathing.
But there he was: a warm, sleepy contentment threading through my consciousness, his dreams apparently peaceful for once.
I was both fascinated and terrified by the strength of this wolf bond—I still couldn’t quite bring myself to call it a mate bond.
Christ, what would it be like when we returned to London?
Surely I wouldn’t feel this constant awareness of him from across the city?
Or, would the distance create some kind of persistent ache, like a phantom limb I couldn’t ignore?
And what about Rory? Would he come to resent this? He’d seemed relieved by my reaction earlier, but that was in the heat of the moment. Once we were back in familiar territory, once the novelty wore off and the reality of being permanently tethered to me set in…
When I could no longer trust myself to stay alert, I slipped upstairs and gently roused Rory.
“Your turn,” I whispered against his temple.
I set my phone alarm for five hours—not allowing myself any more than that. Yes, because I was desperate to hear what Dev had to say about his disappearance firsthand. But also because the thought of Dev and Rory alone together downstairs while I slept…
When the alarm blared, I wasted no time getting dressed, then padded downstairs in bare feet. I found Rory, dressed in an oversized T-shirt with bare legs, sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor beside the sofa.
He stared intently at Dev’s face and when I touched his shoulder, he jumped as though I’d electrocuted him.
“You okay?”
Rory’s face broke into a small, sleepy smile that quickly fell. “Look. I think he’s waking up.”
Dev stirred with a soft moan, his eyelids fluttering open. “Can I please have these handcuffs removed now? Why am I a prisoner? I’m a bloody victim!”
Rory’s gaze flicked to mine.
“We’ll let you have one hand free,” I said. “The other stays cuffed to the banister.”
Dev moaned dramatically. “And how about some water? You know, a basic human right?”
Rory practically leapt to his feet, disappearing into the kitchen while I repositioned Dev at the base of the stairs. The metal clicked against the wooden banister as I secured his left wrist. I caught sight of the angry bite mark on his forearm—a perfect crescent of teeth marks.
“So,” Rory said the moment he returned, glass in hand, practically vibrating with excitement. “Tell us what happened. Where have you been? But start from the beginning. And tell us everything.”
Relief flooded through me—not my own, but Rory’s. Pure, overwhelming relief that Dev was alive and coherent, mixed with bright joy.
Dev took a ridiculously long drink of water, his eyes fixed on Rory over the rim of the glass. Specifically on Rory’s neck, where the faintest necklace of purple bruises marred his lovely skin.
Fury flared within me, not easily tamped down when the man who put those marks on Rory sat within reach of me.
“Did I really try to strangle you?” Dev whispered. “And you… bit me?”
Rory nodded. “You did. And I did.”
Dev’s eyes suddenly slid to me. “Maxwell, right? I’m surprised to see you here. I thought you hated Rory. You’re a telepath? Are you… reading my thoughts?”
“Not currently, but I certainly will be,” I said pleasantly, dripping steel into my voice. “So don’t hold anything back from us.”
“I just told you, I’m a victim,” Dev snapped, wrenching his arm away from the banister. I suspected if he wished to, he could snap the wood and free himself. Especially after the strength he demonstrated yesterday.
“We found your phone,” said Rory. “In the middle of nowhere. Not close to where you were yesterday.”
“I dropped it when they grabbed me.”
“Who? Who grabbed you?”
Dev sighed, his free hand rubbing his temple. “My memories… they’re like sifting through mud. Everything feels like a dream. Especially being here with you now.”
“So you came up here, to the Highlands, of your own free will?” I asked. “We weren’t sure if Meridian snatched you in London, and brought you, or what. We’ve been through the messages on your phone. We know you were talking to a shifter called Carrie MacGregor, from Glasgow.”
The name made Dev inhale sharply. “Carrie! They… they have her too. I think. I… remember her face, shaking me awake at one point. And then…” He pressed against his head. “At least, I think I saw her…”
“When we rang her alpha, he said she disappeared around the same time as you,” Rory said quietly.
“I wasn’t with Carrie when I got snatched. But a couple of hours before, she’d rung me from Glasgow, saying that she thought she was being watched. She sounded spooked. I was looking up buses on my phone, to head back there to be with her.”
“So ‘they’ grabbed you while you were out in the Highlands?” I pressed.
“Carrie managed to obtain information about where they might be keeping the missing shifters. There was this map of an old building complex. Listed online as the Highland Heritage Foundation. So I set out to go look at it in person, for us.”
Rory frowned. “We saw that map. Your phone was found nowhere near that.”
Dev snapped, “Well I didn’t get very far, did I? I got a bus up here from Glasgow. I decided to drop into Glenmoriston to poke around a bit, see if I happened to bump into any shifters.”
Rory’s eyes blazed with anger. “So you couldn’t be bothered to text me to update Killigrew Street with all this new information you kept to yourself, but thought snooping around my old pack was a good idea?”
Dev hung his head. “I fucked up, Ror. I’m so sorry.
I promise I was so close to ringing Killigrew Street.
I just wanted proper, concrete evidence, you know?
They all know me as the guy you got arrested with.
I wanted to bring you something solid. Plus, I only have your number.
I wasn’t sure you’d pick up. Wasn’t sure how you’d feel about Carrie being determined your family is involved somehow. Even though you hate them.”
I eyed Rory, thinking this half-arsed list of excuses wouldn’t be enough to cool him.
But… I was wrong.
The forgiveness washing through Rory was instant and complete, tinged with an old, familiar warmth. “It’s okay,” he said softly.
I wanted to snap at Rory that it wasn’t really “okay”—that this woman Carrie was still kidnapped, along with god knew how many others, all because Dev decided he could do it all alone.
Dev looked up and caught Rory’s gaze, holding it with a fierce intensity that had my teeth grinding together, irritation flaring hot and immediate.
That kilowatt smile spread across Dev’s face—the kind that suggested the rest of the world had ceased to exist. I could see exactly what had made Rory fall for him: the way Dev made it seem like Rory was the only person worth looking at in any room.
I felt Rory’s heart skip—a flutter of old affection, muscle memory responding to a smile he’d once woken up to every morning.
Two hearts remembering their old song,
while I sit watching from the shadows,
learning the bitter taste of wanting
what was never mine to claim.
“I really am sorry. So sorry,” Dev said, never breaking eye contact.
“Anyway,” I ground out, before they decided to hug or something. “Back to your story. Talk us through the moment ‘they grabbed you.’” From my rucksack by the door, I retrieved a notepad, then dragged a chair from the table to sit on.
“So, I was walking along, trying to get a signal on my phone to look at getting a bus back to Glasgow because of Carrie being spooked, when I heard something—someone, I guess—behind me. I considered shifting, but decided to keep moving, quickly.”
I let my mental barriers drop slightly, brushing against the surface of Dev’s thoughts. Images flashed through his mind—a narrow dirt path winding through dense pine trees, the metallic taste of fear on his tongue, the weight of his mobile in his hand as he frantically searched for signal bars.
No deception there. Just the raw memory of panic.
“Go on,” I encouraged, scribbling notes.
“I got properly lost. My phone died, and though I brought a portable charger, the wire wasn’t working.
Night started falling, whoever was following me was getting closer.
I could hear them—boots on gravel, twigs snapping.
I should have shifted. But I was scared they’d pop out any second, attack me mid-shift. ”