Page 97 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
Then a shriek tore through the stillness—Rory.
My heart lurched violently against my ribs. My stomach twisted into a knot of dread as I sprinted toward the sound, branches whipping at my face. The forest blurred around me, my mind conjuring images of bloodied earth and sightless eyes, of Rory crumpled beside a bodygone cold.
I burst through a thicket to find Rory on his knees, shoulders hunched, head bowed. I dropped to the ground beside him, my hand instantly finding his back.
“Rory,” I said through breathless pants, scanning for the body.
But there was no Dev. Instead, Rory was staring down at a phone—a sleek, latest model iPhone, screen cracked and dark. The device was half buried in decomposing leaves.
“Look,” I said, pointing to a thin wire trailing from the phone into the undergrowth. I gently lifted it with a stick to reveal a small external battery pack, slightly weathered. Where the wire connected to the pack, the insulation had frayed, exposing copper strands.
Priya and Felix crashed through the foliage behind us, both breathing hard.
Felix immediately crouched down, examining the setup. “Huh. Maybe this explains the extremely intermittent signal,” he said. “The connection is damaged. When moisture conditions are just right, it might create enough of a circuit to power the phone for a few seconds or minutes—long enough to ping a tower before dying again.”
“Right,” said Rory, flatly.
I studied him. He’d clung onto that minuscule shard of hope, that we’d find Dev alive out here, sitting around waiting for rescue. Now that was shattered.
The hand that was still on Rory brushed up and down his back in soothing strokes before I forced myself to stop—suddenly thinking that there was a chance Rory would rather Priya and Felix didn’t know about…us. Perhaps he would be embarrassed to have them discover he’d lowered himself to someone like me, who couldn’t be further from the vibrant, colourful types he probably surrounded himself with. Someone he openly despised.
I lowered the stick and pulled out my phone, snapping several photos of the device and its surroundings from different angles. This was evidence now. Proper evidence.
“We need to do a thorough search of the area,” I said, reaching into my jacket pocket for a plastic evidence bag I habitually carried. “See if we can find anything else. Anything at all.”
As I carefully sealed the phone and battery pack, I couldn’t help but feel a prickle of guilt. Normally, this would be the moment I’d call in a full forensics team, have them comb the entire area with meticulous precision. We’d set up a perimeter, bring in cadaver dogs, establish a command post. The works.
Now that we had concrete evidence suggesting Dev might have met with foul play, was it time to involve the authorities? The Scottish police would certainly have grounds to investigate. We could construct a plausible story—Dev was Rory’s friend who’d mentioned hiking in the Highlands before disappearing. We’d tracked his phone here out of concern. That narrative would be enough to mobilize significant resources.
But the supernatural element complicated everything, as usual. If Dev’s disappearance was connected to Meridian’s interest in shifters, bringing in regular police could create more problems than it solved.
“I’m going to hold off on calling this in officially,” I said, tucking the evidence bag into my inner pocket. “We’ll see what Seb says later.”
Rory nodded, his face grim but determined. “So what now?”
“We search,” I said. “Properly, systematically.”
I quickly organized us into a grid pattern, marking out sections of forest with Felix’s help. He used his tablet to divide the surrounding area into search quadrants, each roughly twenty meters square.
“Stay within sight of at least one other person,” I instructed. “Look for anything unusual—clothing, blood, disturbed earth, anything that doesn’t belong in a forest.”
The next three hours passed in painstaking, muddy work. We combed through underbrush, examined the bases of trees, peered into hollow logs. The rain started again, a persistent drizzle that soaked through my jacket and made the search even more challenging.
Rory shifted into his wolf to better pick up Dev’s scent, if there was any trace of it left to detect. While I methodically examined my quadrant, I kept one eye on the golden wolf darting through the forest.
Every fifteen minutes or so, Rory would bound back to me, pressing his warm body against my legs. The first time, I froze, unsure how to respond. But his expectant look broke through my hesitation, and I found myself reaching down to scratch behind his ears.
The wolf leaned into my touch, eyes half closing in what could only be described as bliss. I chuckled despite myself, fingers sinking into his thick fur.
“You’re like a puppy,” I murmured. “Just with far sharper teeth.”
Rory made a huffing sound before darting away again.
This pattern repeated—Rory following scent trails, then returning to check in with me. Each time he approached, he’d press harder against my legs, sometimes nearly knocking me off balance. And each time, I’d obligingly stroke his head or scratch that spot behind his right ear that made his back leg twitch.
It really was funny how much he seemed to like me as a wolf.
By mid-afternoon, we’d covered nearly half a square kilometer around the original site. Felix, who’d been examining the forest floor with surprising enthusiasm, considering I’d never seen the man outside, finally straightened up with a wince.
