Chapter 23 Rory
Rory
Dinner was a disturbing affair: tinned haggis that Maxwell had discovered lurking in the cottage pantry.
The cold grey mass sat in our camping bowls, looking distinctly unappetising in the torchlight. I prodded it with my plastic spoon, watching it jiggle ominously.
“Well,” I said, forcing cheerfulness into my voice. “At least it’s authentic Highland fare.”
Maxwell raised an eyebrow. “I’m fairly certain Burns never intended haggis to come from a tin.”
I managed a decent-sized spoonful. The texture was unfortunate—mushy and oddly metallic, with an aftertaste suggesting it had been in that tin since the last century. But I’d eaten worse during my rough-sleeping days in Glasgow.
“Not too bad, actually,” I said, swallowing heroically.
Then I caught sight of Maxwell’s face.
His expression was somewhere between disgust and genuine horror, nose wrinkled, mouth twisted into the most spectacular grimace I’d ever witnessed. He made a small, wounded sound.
The laugh burst out of me, sending partially chewed haggis spraying across our makeshift camp. I doubled over, coughing and spluttering, bits of grey mush decorating the Highland heather.
“Oh god,” I wheezed. “Your face!”
Maxwell watched my haggis explosion with the weary resignation of a man who’d clearly made poor life choices. “Beautiful.”
The food situation improved at dessert—shortbread biscuits. I made sad faces at Maxwell until he gave me two extra from his pile.
We’d camped two hundred metres down the lakeside, tucked behind ancient Scots pines that provided concealment whilst maintaining clear sightlines to the castle ruins. Too cold really, especially without a fire, and I already had my thick winter coat on.
“We should check in on Isla and Dev. Check they got to the BnB okay.” I pulled out the satellite transceiver. The display showed nothing.
“Bollocks,” I said, shaking the device.
“Equipment’s probably temperamental out here.” Maxwell shrugged. “We’ll try later.”
“I expected you to spiral into panic mode if we couldn’t confirm Dev was still chained to a radiator.”
Maxwell scoffed. “I’m really hoping you’re right, and Dev is back to himself now. Else we’re fucked.”
“If he does demon out, Isla can probably take him. She looks small, but like me, looks can be deceiving.”
“It looked to me that demon Dev was handing you your ass yesterday.”
I laughed. “He feels very, very sorry about that now. He grovelled for thirty minutes earlier.”
A sudden tension—a tightness that ran through our bond like a plucked wire—made me flinch.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
Maxwell sighed, his shoulders sagging. For a long moment, he said nothing, just stared out at the lake. The water lapped gently against the shore, creating soft ripples that caught the moonlight.
“About Dev…” he began, then stopped, running a hand through his hair.
“Look, the way he was talking with me earlier, when you were upstairs, makes me think he might want to get back with you at some point. And I just wanted to say, if that happens, I’ll understand, and it doesn’t need to be a big deal.
The wolf bond thing might sort itself out. ”
“What?”
The word came out with a harsh snap, but the bottom had just dropped out of my stomach. I stared at Maxwell’s profile in the torchlight, trying to process what he’d just said.
He was… giving me permission? To go back to Dev?
The last bite of shortbread turned to ash in my mouth. Of course. Of course this was what Maxwell wanted. He’d been looking for an escape route from the moment he’d realised what the bond meant, hadn’t he? And now Dev had conveniently appeared to provide him with the perfect excuse.
“You want me to get back with Dev,” I said, voice flat.
Maxwell’s head snapped towards me. “What? No, that’s not—”
“Right, and you’re just being noble about it.” A bitter laugh escaped me. “Making sure I know you won’t stand in the way of true love, is that it?”
“Rory—”
“No, I get it.” I scrambled to my feet, needing to move, needing space. The bond between us was a live wire now, crackling with hurt and confusion. “This whole mate bond thing is terrifying and impractical, like you said. Dev showing up is perfect timing, really. Gets you off the hook.”
Maxwell was staring at me like I’d lost my mind. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Isn’t it?”
“I thought you’d want to get back with Dev! You dropped your entire life to rush up here to save him!”
“I’m just a decent human being! Sometimes!” The words exploded out of me, hands flailing in the air.
“Plus, all I’ve heard about this whole time is how much you adore him.
A week ago you were sitting in front of me at Undertone sobbing into your drink about how much you missed him!
And you’ve been going on and on about how amazing his bloody journalism career is, and his ‘modelling on the side,’ of course, and how much Freddy loves him—”
Something flickered through our bond. Something green and bitter and entirely unexpected.
I stopped mid-pace, mouth falling open.
“Wait… are you jealous of Dev?!”
Maxwell’s scowl could have curdled milk. “No.”
“You are jealous. I can feel it.” Pure delight bubbled up within me, bright and effervescent. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re actually jealous. This is brilliant. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Maxwell turned away, jaw working furiously. He started aggressively repacking our dinner supplies, shoving the empty tin into his rucksack with unnecessary force.
“Just because I’m glad to find Dev safe and alive doesn’t mean I’d just go back to him like that, after he treated me like shit. Do you really think I have that little self-respect?”
Maxwell’s hands stilled on the rucksack straps. Something shifted in his expression. “No. But I think you’re a beautifully loyal, kind human being who would give anyone a second chance.”
I fell to my knees, nudging against his. “Look, Dev was hot and all, but my tastes have changed.”
Maxwell’s gaze met mine, searching. “Oh? How so?”
Moonlight caught the tiny amount of silver threading through his hair, and I wanted nothing more than to reach out and trace the lines of his face with my fingertips.
Before I understood what was happening, Maxwell caught my hand, pressing my palm against his cheek. His skin was warm despite the Highland chill, and I relished the light rasp of stubble beneath my fingers.
“Well, for a start, it’s nice to spend time with someone who’s not obsessed with their reflection. Or stops walking every two seconds to take a photo to post.”
Maxwell’s mouth quirked upward. “I do take the occasional selfie, you know.”
“Liar.” I shifted closer, my thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone.
“But mainly, my tastes have evolved towards men who actually read books instead of just posing with them. Who make me feel like I’m worth paying attention to, not just some accessory to make them look good. Who actually listen when I’m talking.”
Maxwell kept so still, he didn’t even blink.
“Who drink their coffee black without any stupid syrup in it, just like me. Who get genuinely excited about proper procedure. Who get this smug, satisfied little smile when they solve something particularly clever.”
“I do not have a smug smile!”
“You absolutely do. Don’t worry, it’s somehow ridiculously attractive. Along with how your glasses fall down your nose when you’re frowning too much. And the way you pretend to find my jokes annoying when I can literally feel through the bond now that you think I’m hilarious.”
Maxwell’s hand came up to cover mine, pressing it more firmly against his face. “Anything else?”
“Oh, loads more. The way you care so much about doing the right thing that it actually causes you physical pain sometimes. How you could use your telepathy for evil, but you try not to invade our minds. Oh, and the fact that you dropped everything to drive to bloody Scotland with me, because I needed you to. Even though you could barely stand me at the time.”
I paused, studying his face in the torchlight.
“Even if you are an unsociable, grumpy bastard who has refused to ever hang out with us.”
“I haven’t refused to ever hang out with Killigrew Street,” said Maxwell quietly. “You just barely invite me to anything.”
“You don’t have to be personally invited, you know,” I said, my hand still pressed against his cheek. “You’re one of us.”
Maxwell’s laugh was harsh. “No I’m not. I’m someone Killigrew Street contacts when they need something. A resource.”
I inhaled sharply. Was that really how he felt?
“Maxwell, we don’t see you that way at all!
Anyway… it doesn’t have to be that way. When we get back to London, we can all go to the pub together.
You can come to our monthly quiz night—finally we’ll have someone who can cheat properly instead of Priya sneaking off to the bathroom to google the answers. ”
Maxwell rolled his eyes. “They won’t want me there. You’re not the only one who gets bothered by my telepathy, you know. They all think about it, every time I’m in the room. I’ve heard them.”
The pain in his voice made my chest ache. I could feel the weight of it—years of isolation, of being treated like some kind of walking invasion of privacy.
“If I’m there, it’s just a worse experience for everyone.
They can’t relax, can’t be themselves. They’re constantly monitoring their thoughts, trying not to think about whatever they don’t want me to know.
” His voice cracked slightly. “Do you have any idea how exhausting it is? Pretending I haven’t heard someone’s private thoughts?
Acting like I don’t know they’re uncomfortable? ”
I could see it now, the careful distance he maintained from everyone. How he’d perfected that professional mask to keep people at arm’s length before they could reject him.