Chapter 19 Theodore #2
Dev’s hand moved to press against his forehead. “Someone covered my face. There was this chemical smell, sharp and sweet. I tried to shift then, but couldn’t.”
His thoughts painted the scene vividly—hands gripping his arms, the suffocating press of fabric against his nose and mouth, his wolf straining against some invisible barrier. Again, no fabrication. Just terror, confusion, and the helpless rage of a predator suddenly rendered powerless.
“I think there were at least two of them? Or… maybe even like, four.” Dev’s gaze flicked from my notepad to me. “Obviously, I could have taken them otherwise.”
“Obviously,” I agreed dryly.
Dev’s fingers pressed against his temple as though trying to massage the memories loose. “I woke up in darkness. Concrete walls, I think. There was this bright, artificial light overhead—one of those harsh fluorescent things that makes everything look sickly. No windows.”
His thoughts remained murky, fragmented like pieces of a broken mirror.
“Everything felt hazy, dreamlike. I kept drifting in and out of consciousness.” Dev’s voice grew quieter. “I remember needles in my arm. Voices discussing ‘dosages’ and ‘compatibility scores.’ At one point it seemed like two people were arguing, but I couldn’t quite follow what they were saying.”
Static filled the spaces where his memories should have been—not the natural blur of trauma, but something artificial, deliberate.
“But, I do have this flash of memory,” Dev continued.
“Carrie shaking me awake, whispering my name urgently. ‘Dev, Dev, you need to wake up. Quickly, Dev.’ But then… I think she was dragged away. I heard screaming. I tried to call out, but my voice wouldn’t work.
Later, I was in a small cell, I think. Not like with metal bars, just a tiny room with a cot and sink.
Plain white walls and a security door. I don’t even remember attempting to open it. ”
Dev paused, his hand unconsciously moving to cover his eyes again.
“One time, I swear there was this man looking at me through the cell window. Only saw him once, but the memory stuck because of how unsettling it was. He had this cruel smile and a scar through his eyebrow. He just stood there, staring at me. I didn’t know what he wanted. But the way he looked at me…”
Rory gasped. “A scar? Through his left eyebrow?”
…Callum…
The name blazed through Rory’s thoughts like a flare.
“I think I know who that was,” Rory said, voice tight. “Member of my old pack. He got that scar from scrapping with a neighbouring pack as a teen.”
“So he didn’t come into the room? Just watched you?”
“Yeah. I think I woke up a couple more times after that. I remember my body being exhausted, like I’d just run a marathon. I had bruises all over my body.”
Dev rolled back the sleeve of his grey hoodie, revealing a constellation of bruises that mottled his forearm in shades of purple and yellow.
“Those aren’t your clothes, right?” Rory asked.
Dev scoffed, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “Definitely not. I was in my favourite jacket when they grabbed me.”
“Oh, the one with the shimmering graffiti phoenix on the back?”
“Yes!” Dev’s face lit up, and for a moment the two of them shared a look—the kind of intimate recognition that comes from knowing someone’s wardrobe better than your own shopping list.
I coughed pointedly, wiggling my pen between my fingers. “So what happened last night?”
“Well, I don’t remember attacking you. Honest.” Dev’s gaze flicked between Rory and me.
“My most recent clear memory is waking up outdoors, alone, completely disoriented. No idea how I got out or how much time had passed. I was wandering through the Highlands until I heard voices—you two. I could smell you, Rory, and I couldn’t believe it was you.
” Dev’s voice grew softer, tinged with something approaching wonder.
“Finding you felt like a miracle. Though I still felt weird. Like I was watching myself from outside my body.”
“I still can’t quite believe we found you,” said Rory, as he stared at Dev like he was a rare treasure. “I thought you might be…”
“What about Sakshi?” Dev asked suddenly. “My alpha—does she know what’s happened to me?”
“I’ve been keeping her informed,” Rory replied. “She’s worried sick, obviously. But your pack couldn’t venture into Thorne territory themselves—not when my family are famously hostile to outsiders.”
Relief flickered across Dev’s face. “Good. She’d have my head if I disappeared without a word and didn’t tell her where I’d gone. She’ll be so grateful for you coming up here.”
“Just in case this wasn’t obvious,” I said, “it was Rory who insisted something was wrong. The moment he realised you’d gone silent on social media, he was adamant you were missing. Then, when Felix found your phone, he demanded we needed to come up here as soon as possible.”
Dev blinked, and for a moment his eyes glistened as if he was fighting unshed tears. The expression was almost cartoonish in its earnestness—like something from a sickeningly soppy romantic film before the two characters kiss and declare their undying love to one another.
“Really, Rory?” he said, his voice basically a squeak. “I… don’t know what to say. Thank you so much.”
It was so tempting to read Rory’s thoughts, but I barely needed to—joy radiated from him in warm waves, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, rich and golden and utterly genuine.
“Of course,” Rory said softly. “I wasn’t about to let you get kidnapped. Especially not when we started all this together.”
Dev’s free hand reached toward Rory, fingers stretching as far as the handcuff would allow.
Another stupid stab of jealousy punched me in the gut.
It was the way they looked at each other—like they shared some secret language the rest of the world couldn’t understand, Dev commanding Rory’s complete attention.
“Dev, we interviewed Ezra Houston, to see if he had information on your whereabouts. Unfortunately, as you’ll see when you get your phone back, he was sent a picture of you meeting those two men—Bradley and Brody—by a friend he had following you.
He’s sent you a rather angry message about it.
You might want to contact him sooner rather than later. ”
Dev didn’t look concerned, or upset. Instead, he rolled his eyes. “God, he does have a flair for drama. I’ll ring him.”
“Is it safe for Dev to be here?” I asked Rory. “At this cottage?”
My question had absolutely nothing to do with wanting Dev gone as soon as possible. Obviously.
Rory chewed his lower lip. “There’s a chance my family don’t know he’s here. He didn’t come to the gate first, like Priya and Felix did. Depends how closely they’re watching the cameras scattered around their land. Though there’s always a chance they might smell his scent…”
“Well, I suggest Dev returns to London, immediately,” I said. “Killigrew Street could organise medical tests to see what they can find—check if there’s any trace of drugs still in his system. Blood work, brain scans. Everything they can.”
“What? No way.” Dev rattled his handcuff against the banister for emphasis, the metal clanking against wood. “I’m not leaving yet. Plus, I feel fine now.”
“Well,” I said through gritted teeth, fighting to keep my voice level. “We should see what Sebastián has to say about all this.”
…Sebastián Salazar has no control over me, and neither do you, dude…
I sighed, dragging my hand through my hair. The conversation felt like it was spiralling in circles, and my head still throbbed from where Dev tried to kill me last night.
“Do you have any idea what they’re actually doing with the shifters?” I asked him. “Humans researching, maybe? Keeping you all drugged so you couldn’t shift and hurt them?”
Dev’s face went blank. “I honestly don’t know. That’s why the three of us need to go find that building. The one listed as Highland Heritage Foundation. There’s a good chance I was kept there. It’s our best lead.”
“Absolutely not,” I snapped. “We’re waiting for Felix to send over everything he can about the building first. Plus, the three of us can’t go charging in there without backup—they could be armed.”
Dev’s face shifted, something haunted flickering across his features. He pressed his free hand against his stomach, as though fighting nausea.
“Once,” he said quietly, “I woke up and could smell death. Proper death. Not just… not just animal blood or anything. Human death. It was everywhere.” His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “Maybe I don’t want to go back there.”
Well, why don’t you just bloody well head back to London, then?
The thought blazed through my mind before I could stop it, accompanied by a surge of frustration that had nothing to do with the case and everything to do with the way Rory kept looking at Dev like he’d hung the moon.
“Maybe we should all head back,” I said aloud, though even as the words left my mouth, I knew what Rory’s response would be. “Now we’ve located Dev—”
“No!” Rory’s voice cracked like a whip. “It’s the Spring Equinox tomorrow.” He turned to Dev. “My pack are hosting a gathering. Fuck knows what its true purpose is.”
Dev nodded vigorously, his earlier hesitation apparently forgotten. “Rory’s right. We still need to rescue Carrie, and all the others. If we leave now, who knows what will happen to them?”
The handcuff clinked as Dev leaned forward with renewed intensity. “I know I’m scared. But those people—whatever they’re doing—they can’t be allowed to continue.”
I stared at both of them, wondering how I’d managed to find myself surrounded by people who seemed constitutionally incapable of taking the sensible option.
“Right,” Dev said, stretching out. “Before we plan our next move, could I possibly have some food, if you’d be so kind as to feed your prisoner? And maybe a quick shower? I feel absolutely disgusting.”
I stared at the metal cuff securing him to the banister. The reality was starting to sink in—I couldn’t keep him chained there indefinitely. Rory wasn’t going to allow it.
“One of you could stand guard outside the bathroom,” Dev suggested with a wry grin aimed at Rory. “Maybe arm yourself with a kitchen knife in case I turn into a demon again.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I said quickly.
“God, everything aches. And it feels like there’s a clump of mud or something stuck to my scalp.” His fingers moved to the fleshy bit at the base of his skull pressing experimentally.
He winced sharply, jerking his hand away.
“What is it?” Rory was already moving, crossing the space between them in three quick strides.
I watched as Rory’s hands moved gently through Dev’s hair, parting the dark strands with careful fingers.
Would Rory mention our bond to him at any point?
The thought twisted in my stomach. Probably he was waiting until they were alone.
Or perhaps he wouldn’t. Perhaps he’d be too embarrassed—or perhaps he wouldn’t want Dev knowing if there was a chance he wanted to get back together.
They’d spent almost a year together, whereas we’d only had this very strange week. There was no comparison.
Well, if that’s what Rory wants, oh well. Probably for the best.
Who was I kidding? I wasn’t sure if it was this wolf bond thing amplifying my own organic thoughts or not, but possessive fury bubbled up inside me at the thought of them together.
Christ, what was wrong with me? I’d never been one for obsessing over other people like this. And I was in the middle of a case, for crying out loud.
“Maxwell,” Rory’s concerned voice cut through my thoughts. “Come see this.”
“The mud?”
“This isn’t mud.”
I closed the space between us, peering over Rory’s shoulder. Just above his neck, a tiny portion of Dev’s hair had been shaved away—replaced with a neat line of surgical stitches, no bigger than a five-pence piece.
“Dev, there’s stitches here,” Rory told him. “It looks like you might have had surgery.”
“It’s a small area,” I said. “It’s hard to say for sure what they would even be doing. But…” I gestured at the deliberate line of sutures. “This does suggest they opened him up.”
Rory and I looked at each other. And I knew without telepathy that we were thinking the same thought.
Someone had inserted something in Dev’s brain.