Page 172 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
She wasn’t a monster. The realisation hit me like a punch to the gut—not the relief I’d expected, but something messier, more complicated. All these years, I’d needed her to be irredeemably evil. It was cleaner that way, easier to carry my anger like armour. But sitting here, watching her hands shake as she processed what Callum had done…
She was a terrible mother, yes. Someone who’d failed me in every way that mattered, absolutely. But not the snarling beast of my nightmares. Just a woman who’d made awful choices that had damaged me just as deeply, regardless of her motivations. And somehow, that felt worse. Because now I had to live with the complexity of it all—the knowledge that someone could have “loved” me in their own twisted way and still destroyed me completely.
Before anything else could be said, I stood up.
“Will you come back again?” she said, voice strained.
I tried to shrug casually. “Who knows? Out of all of you, I only really liked Isla, and she turned out to be a murderous psychopath.” I walked to the door, resting my hand on the handle. “One final thing. How did you know Maxwell was a telepath?”
Theway she smiled told me everything. “You know this pack will always do everything it can to protect itself. And you’re not the only one with friends in high places.”
I left the office without looking back.
Maxwell was waiting in the lobby. “Dev’s back at Primrose Cottage. Alex has already left, joining the search for Isla.”
I groaned. “More walking. My legs are going to fall off after this holiday.”
Maxwell’s mouth quirked upwards. “Holiday?”
I waved my arm. “You know, mission. Case. Whatever. I’m tired.”
He caught my hand, squeezing tight as we walked down the stairs towards the cottage. “You did it, Rory,” he said softly. “You saved all those wolves.”
My cheeks warmed. “Kit and Seb did most of the—”
“No.” His grip on my hand tightened. “You did that. And…” He paused, looking like the words were physically painful to get out. “I can’t believe I’m saying this—and you better not do it to me ever again—but I’m glad you ran off when you did.”
I blinked at him. “What?”
“If you’d listened to me, and if we’d played it safe and waited for backup… Isla would have gotten away. We’d have lost Dev again. All those wolves would still be trapped, or worse.”
The validation hit me harder than I’d expected. Maxwell—Detective Inspector Theodore Maxwell, who lived and breathed procedure and protocol—was telling me that my chaotic, impulsive, completely ridiculous way of handling things had actually beenright.
I had to swallow hard around the sudden tightness in my throat. “Can I have this praise in writing? I want to give it to Seb. He might finally buy me a new car as a reward.”
He laughed. “But I’d miss your old car so much.”
When the cottage came into sight, it was tempting to break into a run. I was suddenly desperate to get back to London. To Killigrew Street Hotel. To real life. To Priya.
“Hopefully Dev has rounded up Freddy for me,” I said.
“I’m sure the pair of them are cuddling as we speak,” Maxwell said, followed by a resigned huff.
I sniggered. “Listen, all you need to do to make Freddy like you is feed him. It’s really that simple.”
“I don’t negotiate with terrorists.”
“Let’s pack at the speed of light,” I said. “Good thing my suitcase is still by the door, right?”
Instead of glaring at me, or laughing, Maxwell suddenly grabbed my arm. A particular thread of anxiety seeped into me from him. “Wait a second.”
I stilled.
He cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at me. “When we get back to London… I was just thinking… Perhaps we could… That is, if you wanted to…”
“What? Spit it out.”
His jaw worked silently for a moment. “Would you like to go for dinner? With me. Properly.”
