Page 64 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
“I’m concentrating,” he muttered, though his lips curved upward.
I leaned back in my seat, watching him from the corner of my eye. The static between us still lingered in my fingertips, like an echo of something I couldn’t quite understand. Whatever it was, it definitely wasn’t a “wolf thing” I’d ever experienced before.
But if Maxwell wanted to write it off as supernatural weirdness, that was fine by me.
All too soon, we crested a hill, and my stomach dropped.
“There it is,” I said, pointing ahead to where the vast estate was finally coming into view in the valley below. Thorne Manor stood imposing against the landscape, grey stone walls rising from the mist.
“Jesus,” Maxwell muttered.
“Welcome to my childhood home,” I said, my voice hollow. “A beautiful prison with a spectacular view.”
Maxwell fidgeted with his shirt collar, and I could practically feel the anxiety radiating off him. “So, if we’re concealing my identity, what profession should I say I am? I could say I’m a… teacher? Accountant?”
I glanced over, surprised by his nervousness. Detective Inspector Theodore Maxwell, actually worried about something? I considered his question for a moment, watching the familiar landscape roll by.
“You could easily pass as an accountant,” I teased, earning me a glare through those nerdy glasses I was growing ratherfond of.
“Gee, thanks.” He sighed, adjusting his grip on the wheel. “And what about… us? How did we meet?”
I stared at him blankly before realising what he meant. Right. The boyfriend cover story.
“Don’t worry,” I said, a slow grin spreading across my face. “I’ll think up something fun on the spot.”
The look of absolute horror that crossed Maxwell’s face brightened my day.
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”
As we descended toward the iron gates, I added, “I’m sorry in advance for any bullshit you have to put up with as my fake boyfriend. These guys are nothing like the city shifters. They’re the sort that still believe humans are beneath them.”
“Wonderful,” Maxwell muttered. “Anything else?”
“Just try not to be alone with any of them,” I said. “They can smell fear.”
Maxwell shot me a look. “Are you trying to make me nervous?”
“Is it working?”
He didn’t answer, just drove forward, toward the ghosts I’d been running from for five years.
The gates remained still, and for one delicious moment, I indulged in fantasy. They’d stay shut. We’d shrug, turn the car around, and head back to London.Sorry, Dev, we tried!Back to my normal life, away from this place and all its painful memories.
Then the gates began to creak open.
“Here we go,” Maxwell murmured, putting the car into gear.
We drove through, the gates closing behind us with an ominous clang. The manor house wasn’t immediately visible through the trees—we still had about half a mile of winding private road ahead.
“The whole estate is surrounded by this bloody wall,” I explained, gesturing to the high stone barrier that ran alongside the road. “Nearly ten feet tall in places. The locals hate it.”
“How big is the property?”
“About two thousand acres. The manor and gardens are at the center, then it’s just miles of forest, hills, streams… perfect territory for wolves.” I sighed. “Perfect place to hide.”
Was Dev right here, within these very walls? The thought sent a chill through me. I’d asked Felix repeatedly to check over all of the location data we’d gathered from his phone pinging back to life for those few minutes, but apparently we couldn’t obtain a more accurate estimate. It could have been here, or miles and miles away.
I stared out at the misty landscape, trying to make sense of it all for the millionth time. Why would Dev be up here, so close to my family’s territory? Not on holiday, certainly. Dev was a city boy through and through. He’d complained incessantly about the lack of decent coffee when we’d visited Brighton for a weekend. The idea of him willingly venturing into the Scottish wilderness was absurd.
