Page 82 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
Door crashes open. Raindrops-lemongrass-mine rushes out.
“Rory? Oh, thank god. Fuck, are you hurt?” Worried. Heart beats fast-fast in chest. Can hear blood rushing beneath skin.
Answer with throat-sound. Whine-admit pain. Too tired to pretend strength.
Arms slide beneath body. Careful-touch around wounds. Lift up against warm chest.
“Christ, you’re so heavy.”
Carry into den. Place on soft-nest.
Want closeness. Need safety-comfort. Drag body forward. Rest head in lap. Warm-thigh beneath cheek. Breathe in raindrops-lemongrass-mine scent. Home-scent now.
Gentle fingers stroke behind ears. “You’re going to be okay.” Voice steadier now. Less fear-scent. “I can’t actually see anywhere that’s hurt. Just a lot of blood. Is it all yours? I’m going to call Kit.”
No! Kit-brother will make leave. Growl builds in chest. Warning-sound.
“Okay, okay. Got it. But you’re calling him yourself, later.”
Fingers resume stroking. Pain eases slightly under gentle touch.
“What am I supposed to do with you like this?”
Strokes bring joy. Not want strokes stop. But need to show not badly hurt. Need human-words to explain.
Must change back. Must become two-legs again. Need human-words to explain.
Concentrate. Pull at the human beneath fur. Call it back.
First shudder ripples through muscles. Body rebels. Wants to stay wolf. Safer as wolf. Easier as wolf.
Bones begin to crack. Pain sharper now. Fur receding into skin that feels raw, exposed. The world’s edges starting to blur, colours fading.
My perception shifts as human senses return. The vibrant tapestry of scents fades last—raindrops-lemongrass-Maxwell becoming just… Maxwell again.
The final twist of transformation leaves me naked and shivering on the cottage floor, human once more. Every muscle screams in protest. My shoulder throbs where Callum’s teeth tore through.
The room spun.Focus, focus!
The cold clarity of human thought slammed back into me. I’d abandoned Maxwell via text message. I’d gotten into a fight to the almost-death with Callum.
Oh shit. Maxwell was going to absolutely murder me.
The concern in his eyes would soon harden into that familiar cold fury. The little bubble we’d been building over the past few days was about to pop. Spectacularly.
And that hurt far worse than any wolf’s bite could.
Just say sorry, Rory. That will be a good start.
“Bloody hell,” I said instead, through chattering teeth. “Well, that went well, wouldn’t you say?”
“No, I would not say,” Maxwell snapped, throwing a blanket on top of me. Possibly because I was shivering, but probably so he didn’t need to see my dick. “Are you okay?”
I lay still, cataloguing the damage. Shoulder definitely bitten. Ribs ached with each breath. Various scrapes and bruises, but nothing catastrophic. The shift had already healed the worst of it, though not as completely as I’d hoped.
“I’m okay,” I croaked.
“Are you sure?” Maxwell’s voice was tight.
