Chapter 25 Theodore
Theodore
We made the decision that it wasn’t practical to march all the way through the night in rough terrain. I wasn’t particularly convinced the torch battery would hold up.
In order to sleep easy, we told ourselves that it was very possible the pair of them were both asleep, phones on silent. Though Isla had specifically said hers wouldn’t be.
The temperature continued to plummet throughout the night.
We zipped together two sleeping bags, then huddled together, Rory’s body heat the only thing keeping hypothermia at bay.
His teeth chattered against my shoulder, tiny percussion beats that eventually settled into rhythm with my own shivers.
I almost asked him to shift—surely a wolf would generate more warmth—but wasn’t entirely confident cuddling a fanged, clawed creature was safe.
Particularly when nightmares might strike.
Instead, I wrapped my arms tighter around him, pulling him against my chest until there wasn’t a millimetre of space between us.
My alarm shrieked at five in the morning, cutting through the grey light of dawn.
“Rory.” I shook his shoulder. “Time to go.”
He was awake instantly, no grogginess, just sharp focus as he took in my expression. We were up and packed within minutes—Rory’s tent skills were even faster than mine.
“Shall we check the BnB first?” I said, somehow already knowing his response.
“The cottage,” he said grimly. It was sensible—we had no evidence they ever left.
Tension radiated from him as we rushed back, both of us moving at a near-jog despite the constant inclines. I rang Isla’s number every few minutes. Nothing. Rory tried Dev, then Alex. It was a challenge to convince Rory not to shift to run ahead of me.
Hours later, we were at Primrose Cottage, sweaty and panting.
As we twisted the door handle, I found myself pausing. How was it possible that I just knew something was waiting for us on the other side of that door? Some terrible certainty settling in my bones like winter frost.
The door swung open.
Rory inhaled sharply—catching what I couldn’t yet see. Horror shot through our bond, visceral and immediate, before my eyes could process the scene.
Blood everywhere.
Splattered across the cream walls in arterial sprays. Pooled on the hardwood floor in dark, congealing puddles. Smeared across the staircase where someone had been dragged.
No sign of Isla or Dev.
My first instinct was to throw my arm up, barring Rory from the doorway. “Don’t step in the blood. You’ll contaminate—”
He pushed my arm aside, walking straight into the cottage, spinning in dizzy circles as he took in the carnage.
The metallic tang coated the back of my throat, sweet and nauseating. “Rory—” I started, but my next words didn’t come. Anxiety and fear assaulted my system—my own terror amplified tenfold by what Rory was feeling through our bond.
“Oh my god… Isla…” Rory said, both hands clutching his head. “What have I done?”
…stupid, stupid, stupid!…
I stared at the amount of blood coating every surface. That girl was surely dead. I thought of her bright smile, those freckles scattered across pale skin. Her father would be devastated.
Rory suddenly froze, nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air. “Wait… it’s… it’s not Isla’s blood. None of it. Well, maybe some. But most of it… It’s Dev’s!”
“Are you sure?”
His breathing became rapid and shallow, chest rising and falling like he couldn’t get enough air.
“I’m sure,” he said. “I’m sure, I’m sure.
” His hands started trembling, then his whole body followed suit.
The colour drained from his face until he looked ghostly pale.
I stepped towards him, but he backed away, shaking his head violently.
“Don’t—I can’t—”
“Rory, listen to me—”
“I did this.” His voice cracked. “I came to save him and now I’ve killed him.
This is my fault. I brought him here, I should have listened to you, I should have taken him back to London but I didn’t.
I shouldn’t have gotten Isla involved, but I did.
And now he’s dead and Isla’s possibly dead too and it’s all my fault, all of it—”
The words tumbled out faster and faster, his breathing becoming more erratic with each syllable.
I could feel it building through our bond—the panic rising like a tide, threatening to drown him. His pulse hammered against my consciousness, erratic and desperate.
“Let’s sit down,” I suggested, reaching for him.
He dodged away from my touch, eyes wild. “Sit down?!” He stared at me like I’d suggested we throw a party. “Sit down? How is that going to help?”
His breathing came in sharp, shallow gasps now. He spun away from me, stumbling towards the wall, his palm slapping against the cream paint—directly into a spray of blood. When he pulled his hand back, crimson streaked across his fingers.
“Fuck!” He began pacing frantically, leaving bloody handprints on his jeans as he wiped his palms. “I’m such an idiot. Always such a fucking idiot! But I’ve really fucked it this time.” He held up his stained fingers. “Literally with blood on my hands.”
Panic burst through our connection, so intense I had to grip the doorframe to steady myself. This wasn’t just fear—this was pure self-destruction, every insecurity he’d ever harboured breaking free at once.
Alarm bells rang in my head, my mind begging me to do something, but it was hard to focus with Rory’s emotions flooding my system, dragging me under.
“I was mad to think we could ever be together,” he said suddenly, the words tumbling out like he couldn’t stop them. “You and me. I was stupid to ever believe that.”
Something vital shifted inside me, like a gear slipping out of place. No. I wanted to scream at him to take back the words, that he didn’t mean them.
“And please don’t worry, I’ll fix it—the mate bond—because you deserve someone amazing like you and I’m too useless, too stupid, too incompetent. And I’m going to quit Killigrew Street when I get back because—”
“Rory, what—”
“You were right, Maxwell. What you said about Seb. He did hit his head the day he hired me. I know it was a favour to Kit. I bet Kit had to beg him, and then beg him not to kick me out so many times.” His voice climbed higher with each word, hands shaking violently.
“And now I’ve gotten people killed because I’m so fucking useless at everything. ”
Irritation flared through me—not at him, but at myself. I’d known leaving Dev here was dangerous. I’d voiced my concerns, but then let Dev’s snide comments about not trusting Rory get under my skin. Now we had what appeared to be a homicide scene and Rory was spiralling into a complete breakdown.
I moved towards him, holding out my hands as if he were a scared animal. But he moved backwards, scrambling away from me.
A tiny voice in my head noted that I should really be more concerned with the probable murder than with Rory saying we couldn’t be together, but that voice was promptly drowned out by the overwhelming need to stop his panic.
“And you told me! You said we shouldn’t do it,” Rory shouted at me, eyes wild. “You were right! Aren’t you going to say, ‘I told you so?’”
“Of course not!” The words burst out of me like I’d been sucker-punched. “This isn’t your fault. We both—”
“Stay here,” he said suddenly, already moving towards the door, that manic energy propelling him forward. “Please.”
My saliva turned sharp and metallic, like I’d been sucking on batteries. “What? Where are you going?”
Don’t leave me.
I lunged forward, fingers grasping for his arm, but they closed around thin air. He was too quick, already at the threshold.
“Rory, wait—”
He had the door open now, already shrugging off his hoodie with jerky, desperate movements. Christ, he was going to shift. Shift, and leave me.
“Stay here,” he repeated, and there was something almost pleading in his voice that carved itself directly into my skin, hollowing me from the inside out. “And I’m sorry, Maxwell. So sorry. This is all entirely on me, not you.”
Stop him! Follow him! my brain screamed, but my legs wouldn’t move.
The overwhelming tide of Rory’s emotions through our bond was crushing—panic and guilt and self-loathing so intense it felt like drowning.
My chest constricted, my own breath coming in short gasps as his terror and confusion flooded my system.
The door slammed shut with a bang that echoed through the blood-splattered cottage.
I staggered backwards, one hand pressed against my temple where a sudden, vicious headache had bloomed. The emotional onslaught was too much, too raw, like someone had torn open every nerve ending in my body and poured acid over them.
Through the window, I caught a glimpse of golden fur disappearing into the treeline.
Though as the distance between us increased, it wasn’t just his emotions that faded—it felt like someone was slowly dimming the lights in a room I’d only just learned to see in.
Panic receded just enough for me to draw a proper breath, though my hands were still shaking. I stared at the closed door, at Rory’s abandoned hoodie crumpled on the blood-stained floor, and felt utterly helpless.
Utterly alone.
We’d been joined at the hip for days on end, and now his absence was like a missing tooth.
My hands shook as I pulled out my phone, caught between relief that I could finally call for help and absolute dread at having to explain what had happened. How would I find the words to tell Kit?
The phone vibrated in my fingers before I could dial. Kit’s name flashed on the screen.
My breath caught. Did he already know? Could he sense Rory’s distress through their bond, even from hundreds of miles away?
“Hello?” My voice came out shaky, barely recognisable.
“Teddy? You alright? Terrier didn’t pick up.”
I’ve lost him, Kit. I’ve lost your brother.
One deep breath. “I was just about to call you. Something… something’s happened.”