Chapter 27 - Theodore #2
I kept my Glock ready, scanning the treeline for any sign of movement. But the forest remained silent around us, empty of everything except the sound of Rory’s breathing and the distant call of birds.
Rory began to wriggle against my hands. A low whine escaped his throat, and I felt his determination crystallising—he was going to shift back whether I liked it or not.
“Don’t,” I warned, pressing my palms more firmly against his shoulders. “Not yet.”
But he ignored me completely, of course. His body began to change beneath my touch, and I braced myself for the agony.
This time was different. Instead of the violent, bone-snapping transformation from before, Rory moved deliberately slowly.
The shift rippled through him like waves, each change measured and controlled.
His bones lengthened gradually, joints popping with soft clicks rather than sickening cracks.
Golden fur receded in patches, revealing human skin beneath.
The pain that flooded through our bond was manageable—a deep ache rather than white-hot torture.
I found myself mesmerised, watching the impossible process unfold in exquisite detail.
Muscles reforming themselves, rippling his skin.
Muzzle shortening as his skull reshaped itself.
His injuries seemed to rapidly close in front of my eyes.
Wonder filled me, pure awe at witnessing something so fundamentally magical. Rory caught between worlds, neither fully human nor wolf but something beautiful and impossible.
“Hi,” he eventually panted, human head on my lap, blond hair tousled, blue-green eyes bright.
“Hi,” I replied, stroking his hair, fingers combing through the disheveled strands.
“You found me.”
I shrugged. “That was your doing. Don’t bond us together if you don’t want me to be able to track you down.”
A soft laugh bubbled up from Rory’s chest, the sound rippling through the air like music. Something warm and bright unfurled within me at that laugh—pure joy washing away the lingering adrenaline and horror of what I’d just done.
He shifted, pushing himself up, then climbing onto me so he was sitting sideways across my lap, one arm draped around my shoulders. This close, I could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the way his pupils were still slightly dilated from the transformation.
I leaned in, drawn by an irresistible pull, and pressed my lips to his.
The kiss began soft, tentative—barely a whisper of contact.
Rory’s lips were warm beneath mine, slightly chapped.
I felt his breath hitch, then his mouth opened slightly, inviting me deeper.
My tongue traced the seam of his lips, tasting him slowly.
His hand found the back of my neck, holding me close but not demanding more.
We moved together with deliberate slowness, each press of lips measured and precious.
Time suspended itself around us. The forest fell away, the bodies, the blood, everything except the gentle exploration of his mouth against mine.
His emotions flooded through me, to the point I could taste his exhaustion, his relief, the lingering tang of fear transmuted into something infinitely sweeter.
When we finally broke apart, I rested my forehead against his, breathing in the scent of pine needles caught in his hair.
“We’re alive,” Rory whispered, wonder threading through his voice.
…he’s okay…he’s okay…it’s okay…
“We’re alive,” I confirmed, thumb brushing across his cheekbone. “I’m okay.”
Rory caught me up on everything Isla had said. GREY. Her mother, mysteriously not dead. How he’d begged her to let him help her. After she’d been responsible for so much harm, I wasn’t sure I would have extended her the same courtesy.
Then, before I knew what was happening, Rory was scrambling to his feet, naked and bloodied but determined. He swayed slightly, one hand pressed against his ribs where Callum’s claws had raked deep furrows. Dark bruises were already blooming across his torso.
“We need to sort this out,” I said, gesturing to the surrounding carnage. “It’s broad daylight. A hiker could wander off route.”
Rory nodded grimly. “The buggy?”
Ever so carefully, we moved Dev to the front passenger seat of the buggy, then completed the grim task of loading the three corpses into the back. Isla’s bag was tucked away in there—just toiletries and spare clothes, a thin black jumper and orange corduroy trousers.
“You look ridiculous,” I told Rory as he pulled them on, though to be fair the orange quite suited him, somehow. He stole shoes from one of the corpses, though they looked far too big.
“I can hear something,” Rory said. “The faintest ringing sound, coming from over near the buildings. An alarm. I guess to evacuate—I heard Isla order it through the walkie-talkie.”
“We can head there…”
Rory shook his head. “Don’t you think they’ll have it all locked down? Besides, we said last time there was no evidence they brought the wolves in that way. It’s not accessible by vehicle anymore.”
His face crumpled. The light died from his eyes so suddenly it was like watching someone blow out a candle. My chest tightened—not physical pain, but something far worse flooding through our bond. Self-loathing crashed into me with the force of a lorry, bitter and sharp.
Rory sank to the ground beside the buggy, back sliding down the metal frame until he sat with his knees drawn up, head dropping forward.
“Fuck!” The word exploded from him. I caught fragments of his spiralling thoughts:
…useless, always messing up, failed them…should have done more…
The intensity of his self-hatred made my stomach clench.
“Rory.” I sank down beside him, damp earth soaking through my trousers. Taking his hand felt natural now, our fingers threading together automatically. “We came to Scotland to find Dev. You found him. You did it.”
“But we haven’t saved everyone else.” His voice came out muffled against his knees. “Carrie, all those missing shifters—”
“This is bigger than we thought. That’s not our fault. We’ve done what we can.”
“No.” He lifted his head, those blue-green eyes blazing with desperate determination. “We have to do something. What if they decide to mass exterminate them all? Get rid of the evidence?”
“The wolves are too valuable for that,” I said, though doubt gnawed at me. How could I be certain of anything in this nightmare?
Rory’s jaw worked silently for a moment. Then, “Maybe they’re taking them to the castle ruins. To get out that way.”
“What, underground?”
“Yes.”
A laugh escaped before I could stop it. Brief, incredulous. Rory’s frown deepened.
“Sorry. What we found there could indeed be connected to GREY. But the chances of there being a direct tunnel from here to there is slim to none. It’s what, six, seven miles? It would be a truly impressive feat for anyone to secretly dig that. Impossible, even.”
“You’re right,” he muttered, shoulders sagging further. “It was stupid.”
As I studied Rory’s dejected profile—the way his shoulders curved inward, protecting himself from another blow—something fierce and protective surged through me.
He’d spent most of his life being dismissed and underestimated.
Being told his ideas weren’t good enough.
I wouldn’t be another voice adding to that chorus.
“No, it wasn’t stupid.” I climbed to my feet, extending my hand. “Stand up.”
“What?”
“We need to get to that castle.”
Confusion clouded his features. “You just said it was impossible.”
“And what did we agree about impossible things?”
Understanding dawned across his face like sunrise. That brilliant smile appeared, making my heart skip.
“Though, it doesn’t feel right leaving Dev—”
Rory’s head snapped up, cutting me off mid-sentence. His entire body went rigid, every muscle coiled like a spring ready to release.
“Someone’s coming,” he whispered.
I strained to listen but heard nothing beyond the usual forest sounds—wind through pine branches, distant birdsong. But Rory’s senses were picking up something mine couldn’t. His nostrils flared slightly, testing the air.
“How many?” I kept my voice low, hand instinctively moving towards the gun in my coat pocket.
“Just one wolf.” His brow furrowed in concentration. “I think it’s…”
A large grey wolf burst through the treeline, powerful legs eating up the distance between us in seconds. The creature was massive—easily Kit’s size, with a thick coat that caught the morning light.
“Alex,” Rory finished, his voice carrying a mixture of relief and apprehension.
The wolf stopped short, amber eyes taking in the scene before him. First Rory and me, then the buggy with its grim cargo barely concealed beneath the tarp, then back to us again. His intelligent gaze lingered on the bloodstains decorating the forest floor.
“Can you shift back?” Rory asked.
I looked away as bones began to crack and reshape. When the shifting stopped, I glanced back to find a naked Alexander Thorne standing where the wolf had been
His short grey hair was mussed, but his blue eyes were sharp and alert as they swept over the scene before him.
At first, his weathered face lit up with genuine relief at seeing Rory.
But then Alexander’s expression grew stern as he took in our dishevelled appearance, the bodies we’d clearly been attempting to move.
“What on earth is going on here?” he said, his accent thickening with authority. “And why are you in my daughter’s clothing?”