Chapter 28 - Rory
Rory
“Ipromise you, we’ll go over everything again later. But right now, I really need you to take Dev back with you.”
Uncle Alex’s face had cycled through disbelief, horror, and grim acceptance as we’d explained everything.
The surgical scars on Dev’s scalp, the blood-soaked cottage, Isla’s betrayal, Callum’s involvement—each revelation had caused visible flinches.
When I’d told him about Moira being still alive, he’d turned away from us, needing several minutes to compose himself.
It turned out Isla had rung him around the same time as she’d run off from us. She’d been crying so hard she’d made no sense, then she’d either disconnected the call or lost signal.
“Should’ve known something was off when I caught Callum’s stench mixed with hers,” Alex had said, voice bitter. “That lad’s been trouble since he could walk.”
I opened my mouth to remind him that Isla was the one who brought Callum into the whole operation, then snapped it shut. It was going to take Alex a long time to process this. If he needed to focus on hating Callum rather than his dead wife coming back to life, then I’d let him.
“So, Alex, is it okay if—”
“Where are we?”
We spun around. Dev had pushed himself upright, blinking slowly at our startled faces.
“Dev!” I lurched forward, but Maxwell caught my arm. “You’re okay!”
“Bloody hell,” Dev groaned, pressing a palm to his forehead. “Feel like death warmed over. Who’s this bloke, then?”
“Isla’s father,” I said.
Dev’s eyes widened, pupils still slightly dilated from whatever they’d pumped into him. “She stabbed me with a tranquiliser!”
“She did.”
He rubbed at his neck, wincing. “Memories get proper hazy after that. Everything went sideways.”
Maxwell stepped forward, his voice carefully neutral. “Alex, I know this is a lot to ask. I know you’re probably desperate to find Isla. But can you take Dev back and check him over? I give you my word, if we find Isla, we won’t harm her.”
Alex looked conflicted, grey beard twitching as he worked his jaw. “I’m sorry, but—”
“If you go back with Dev,” I interrupted, “you can sound the alarm to Edina, and bring out everyone. A proper search party.”
Alex released a deep sigh that seemed to deflate his entire frame. “Can you walk, lad? Or shift even? It’d be quicker to run over the hills rather than take the buggy. Also, I don’t want to bump into any humans like this.”
Dev tested his balance, swaying slightly before steadying himself against the buggy’s frame. “Think I can manage.”
Five minutes later, after hiding the buggy full of bodies deep in a thicket of bushes, we parted ways—Alex supporting Dev as they headed toward the treeline, whilst Maxwell and I turned back toward the castle ruins.
I couldn’t help but feel slightly sick at sending Dev off with Alex, the father of the woman who’d helped kidnap him, stuck a chip in his brain, and most recently, almost ripped him to shreds.
I’d have to buy him a drink when we got home. If he wanted to be friends again.
We made good pace, considering my battered condition.
Maxwell glanced at me every few minutes, raising his eyebrow every time I fibbed that I was fine.
The oversized boots I’d nicked from one of Callum’s men kept slipping, making me stumble over rocks and bracken.
Finally, I had enough, kicking them off to walk barefoot.
When the castle ruins came into view, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. A horrible sensation came over me—that this was a colossal waste of time, when we could have been tracking down Isla. That Maxwell knew this was a stupid idea, and was being too nice to me.
Every step towards the ruins felt like walking through sludge. My legs grew heavier with each stride, as though invisible weights had attached themselves to my ankles. Maxwell eyed me, the amount of concern radiating from him making everything worse.
I almost felt irrationally angry at him for a second—for humouring me, for allowing us to exhaust ourselves walking here when we could be doing something useful. Something that actually mattered.
Two hundred metres from the ruins.
One hundred.
Fifty.
A faint hum tickled my ears. I grabbed Maxwell’s arm. “Stop.”
“What?”
The sound grew louder. Mechanical. Purposeful.
“A vehicle is coming.”
Maxwell frowned, tilting his head. “I don’t hear—”
An engine roared in the distance, getting closer and closer. Maxwell’s eyes widened as the sound reached him too.
Then I saw it—one massive bike tearing across the moorland, two riders hunched together, wearing chunky helmets. The driver handled the rocky ground like he’d been born on a motorbike, while his passenger looked oddly elegant even whilst gripping on for dear life.
“No!” Maxwell exclaimed. “It can’t be!”
But it was.
I could feel it—feel my brother through our bond. My legs began to shake, and I stumbled as I started running towards them.
The vehicle slid to a rapid stop, sending up a spray of dirt and bracken.
Kit threw his helmet off, hair sticking up at odd angles.
“Rory!” He ran towards me and we crashed into each other in an extremely rare hug. “You’re alright!” he repeated, voice muffled against my shoulder. “I was so bloody scared. I should have come with you from the start. I—”
“Stop, it’s fine. It was all fine. Until it wasn’t. But Maxwell saved me. I mean, I saved Maxwell, to be fair.”
“Oi!” Maxwell called from behind.
“How did you find us?”
Kit squeezed tighter, then released me. “I’ll always find you, Rory,” he said, ruffling my hair in a way that should have annoyed me but only filled me with love.
He’d come. He’d really come for me.
Seb caught up, somehow managing to look immaculate despite having just been on a motorbike—burgundy tailored trousers uncreased, his fancy long black coat with brass buttons pristine.
Maxwell stared. “But… but… how the fuck did you two get here from London so fast?”
Seb looked amused. “We took the private jet in the end. Drove Kit’s motorcycle to the airfield, breaking all the speed limits.”
“Hey! You tell me I’m not allowed to speed!” I tried to joke.
Maxwell’s mouth dropped open like a fish. “You… you have a private jet?”
“I have access to one.” Seb’s mouth quirked. “We’ve landed at a tiny private airfield. It’s completely empty at the minute. I’m trusting Felix to take care of everything. The pilot and crew are there waiting.”
“So… what are we doing?” Kit asked, arms crossed as he surveyed the castle ruins.
I allowed Maxwell to fill them in, keeping a close eye on my brother throughout, waiting for his reaction to hearing about GREY.
Though his heart rate rocketed, he schooled his expression almost perfectly.
I wished he’d shared more about what he’d been through during his time with them, so I could help him. Perhaps now, he’d be forced to.
When we got to the part where Maxwell relayed that I wanted to come here in case the wolves happened to casually pop out of the castle, I cringed.
“Right,” said Kit, frowning, looking between Maxwell and me. “And how far away did you say the other place was?”
“Umm… not that far,” I said weakly, as Maxwell said, “Almost eight miles.”
I could tell Kit was trying not to laugh.
“There’s a secret tunnel network all over London!” I protested. “We use it every day!”
“Yes, built during World War Two under a city already connected by an underground train network,” said Seb dryly.
“Let’s go see this entrance, then,” said Kit.
We trudged across to the west wall where Maxwell and I had found the hatch yesterday. I brushed away the layer of dirt and grass clumps, showing them the concrete rectangle with its clean edges, stark against the ancient stone foundations.
“Well, this is all very fascinating,” Seb began, “but how are we supposed to—”
“Shut up,” Kit interrupted sharply, holding up one hand.
We all froze.
Kit dropped to the ground, pressing his ear against the hatch. “There’s people arguing underneath here!”
“What?” I scrambled down beside him, flattening my ear to the cold surface.
Muffled voices drifted up through the concrete—indistinct but definitely human.
“We can’t just stay here all day and night!” someone complained.
“Where is Megan?” another voice demanded.
“We’re not being paid enough for this!”
I lifted my head, staring at Maxwell in amazement. “There really are people down there.” My throat tightened. “There’s people, Maxwell!”
“Can you hear me?” boomed Kit in the loudest voice I’d ever heard.
The voices arguing below fell silent instantly.
“You have sixty seconds to open this hatch before we blow it open for you.”
“Thanks for consulting me on that plan,” Seb deadpanned.
Kit grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, boss.”
I pressed my ear back against the concrete, straining to catch every word. More arguing erupted below—panicked this time, voices overlapping in frantic whispers.
“—told you we should have just stayed put—”
“—can’t leave the cargo without authorisation—”
“—who the hell are they?”
My stomach lurched. Cargo. They were talking about people like bloody cargo.
“Ten!” Kit bellowed, making me jump. “Nine! Eight!”
Scuffling sounds echoed from beneath us, followed by electronic beeping. Maxwell grabbed my arm, pulling me back from the hatch as mechanical whirring filled the air.
“Seven! Six!”
The concrete hatch opened with a sharp hiss, revealing a ladder descending into darkness. Stale air wafted up, tinged with antiseptic.
“Out you come,” ordered Seb in that voice nobody ever dared disobey. “Now.”
The first figure that emerged was a burly man in tactical gear who burst through the hatch with a taser raised, scanning for targets.
Kit moved like lightning, tackling him before he could fire. They hit the ground hard, the taser skittering across the grass.
Two more armed figures scrambled up—a tall woman and another bloke with a sidearm. Maxwell’s gun was already trained on them whilst Seb simply stepped forward, and something about his presence made them freeze mid-draw.
“Weapons down,” Maxwell barked. “Now.”
The remaining figures climbed out sheepishly after that—a young bloke in expensive trainers, a middle-aged woman clutching a tablet, others in smart office attire.
One wore a white lab coat over a pink shirt.
Seven in total, all looking significantly less confident now that their armed colleagues were face down in the dirt.
Maxwell kept his gun raised, expression hard.
Seb surveyed the group with cold efficiency. “Is this everyone?”
The group exchanged nervous glances. Eventually, the woman in the white coat cleared her throat. “Two more are still with the cargo.”
“Cargo?” Seb’s voice dropped to something dangerous.
“The um…” She swallowed hard. “The patients.”
Seb nodded at Kit, who climbed down the ladder without hesitation. A minute later, footsteps echoed up from below, and two more figures joined our ragged lineup.
“There’s about thirty to forty wolves down there. One of them fits Carrie’s description. All unconscious and restrained on metal trolleys,” Kit spat. “Like meat.”
“You’re all being transported for questioning,” Seb stated calmly. “We’ll use that airfield’s outbuilding,” he murmured to Kit.
“What?” the youngest man squeaked. “Questioned? On whose authority?”
Seb only smiled. Was I imagining the hint of fangs?
“You can call me Black,” he told him. “But do try not to talk to me unless it’s truly necessary.”