Page 56 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
His anxiety hit me like a slap.
“And C,” Rory continued with forced lightness, “it’s messy and gross and you’d probably throw up.”
I shifted my weight, suddenly acutely aware of how the leaves crunched beneath my feet. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. It was inappropriate.”
“It’s fine,” Rory said, his voice oddly soft. “I get why you’d be curious. But trust me, it’s not pretty.”
I winced. “I didn’t quite realise.”
“Yeah, well.” He shrugged, then gestured vaguely toward a dense cluster of trees. “I’ll just go over there, do my thing, and come back considerably furrier.”
I nodded, still feeling like an idiot, suddenly realising that Rory probably hadn’t wanted me to even come out with him this evening. Why had I weirdly declared I’d come? It wasn’t like I could actually run with him—I’d just end up crashing into trees in the dark while he bounded ahead.
I was still frozen in place when I heard it—a series of sharp cracks followed by a muffled groan that made my skin prickle. The sounds emanated from the thicket where Rory had disappeared.
Another crack, louder this time, like breaking branches. Then a sound that wasn’t quite human—a strangled cry that cut through the night air.
What was happening to him? I’d known intellectually that shifting involved physical transformation, but I hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected it to sound like torture.
A muffled whimper reached me, sad and helpless. Before I could stop myself, I took a step forward, every instinct screaming at me to help him.
“Rory?” The word escaped before I could catch it, barely above a whisper.
More sounds—wet, wrong sounds that made my stomach lurch. Was this normal? Was he hurt? How would I even know the difference?
A rustling in the undergrowth stopped me mid-step. Then suddenly, he burst from the thicket.
Where Rory had vanished, a wolf now stood, moonlight alchemizing his golden fur to silver. He was smaller than Kit’s wolf form, but whathe lacked in size, he made up for in presence. His fur seemed to capture the moonlight itself, glowing around the edges like a halo.
Wild thing wreathed in silver light,
Beauty carved from moon and night.
I laughed softly at the two hoops still adorning his left ear, glittering with each movement of his head. The wolf’s movements were fluid, graceful in a way human-Rory’s never quite managed to be. Those eyes, though—unmistakably Rory’s, bright with intelligence and that familiar mischievous glint.
I couldn’t look away. In that moment, I understood why humans had both feared and worshipped wolves throughout history. He was magnificent. His facial markings were striking—darker fur outlined his eyes like natural kohl, making them appear even more vibrant, whilst his muzzle bore subtle streaks of cream.
Rory trotted toward me, his bag dangling from his jaws. He dropped it at my feet, then looked up at me with what could only be described as a wolfish grin, tongue lolling slightly to one side.
I bent down to pick up the bag, slinging it over my shoulder. “Great. I’ve been demoted from Detective Inspector to coat check attendant.”
Rory barked once—a sharp, happy sound—then began bouncing around my legs, transformed into pure energy. He circled me, playfully nipping at my shoelaces, then darted away only to rush back again. I couldn’t suppress my laughter.
It made perfect sense for Rory’s wolf to be all unfiltered joy, without the constant need to maintain his human façade. I couldn’t help but feel an odd surge of jealousy—when did I ever get to drop the weight of everything and be free like this?
Rory nudged my leg with his head, looking up at me expectantly. My hand hovered uncertainly above him. Was I allowed to touch? God, I wanted to. His fur looked impossibly soft, catching the light in ways that made my fingers itch to discover if it felt as magical as it looked.
“Aren’t you something,” I said, admiration shining throughmy voice.
His tail wagged furiously at the praise, and he pressed closer against my leg, clearly fishing for more attention. The universal language of “pet me, I’m magnificent.”
But what if he bit my hand off? ThiswasRory we were talking about, after all.
Rory nudged me again, more insistently this time, then pressed his head directly into my palm.
Permission granted.
I knelt down, hesitantly at first, then with growing confidence buried both hands in his fur. It was even softer than it looked, like the velvet of my mother’s prized evening jacket I’d secretly touch as a child, thick and warm beneath my fingers. Rory leaned into my touch, eyes half closing in pleasure.
