Page 155 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
Perhaps that’s what prompted the familiar curve of Rory’s lips, that signature smirk sliding into place. The one that usually preceded him saying something utterly outrageous or taking the piss.
“Christ, Teddy,” he drawled. “That might be the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said to me. And you once compared my eyes to tempestuous seas and beautiful skies or whatever.”
His fingers traced idle patterns on my chest, but I could feel the slight tremor in them. “What’s next? How about a sonnet about how my ass is like two perfect moons rising over the Scottish moors?”
I shook with laughter. This was, of course, pure Rory, deflecting sincerity with humour when the feelings became too intense, too real. Too frightening.
It would take months, maybe years of moments like this—actions over words, consistency over grand gestures—to properly earn his trust. But that was okay. I was up for the challenge.
I caught his wandering hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Actually,” I said, matching his teasing tone whilst holding his gaze. “I was thinking more along the lines of comparing your habit of making jokes when you’re terrified to a hedgehog rolling into a ball.”
His mock scowl was immediate and fierce. “I’m not terrified.”
“Yes you are,” I whispered, leaning closer until our noses nearly touched. “But that’s okay. I’m terrified too.”
Rory’s surprise rippled outward, followed by something softer. Relief, perhaps, that he wasn’t alone in this staggering thing growing between us.
“Come here,” I murmured, pulling him down until he was cradled against my chest, his head tucked beneath my chin. As he melted into me, his mouth found that tender spot on my throat once more—a quick, possessive press of lips and the gentle pull of his mouth that made me exhale sharply. Claiming me one last time before surrendering to the quiet.
The sharp edges of Rory’s fear smoothed away as contentment began flowing—warm honey spilling into me, golden and sweet. His breathing deepened, syncing with mine as I stroked through his hair, those ridiculously messy blond strands still soft despite how much I’d touchedthem.
I sighed, reality creeping back in around the edges of our perfect bubble. “We missed the end of the lights. Oops. But anyway, the solar storm is surely over now. We should try Isla and Dev on the sat phone.”
Rory grumbled something unintelligible against my chest but eventually reached for the satellite phone. The silence went heavy as he dialled Isla’s number first.
It rang. And rang. And rang. No answer.
He tried Dev next, fingers moving more urgently now across the keypad. Again, the endless ringing echoed through the tent.
No answer.
We looked at each other. The torchlight flickered.
And I couldn’t help the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. The Northern Lights had finished their dance… but something else entirely had begun.
25
Theodore
We made the decision that it wasn’t practical to march all the way through the night in rough terrain. I wasn’t particularly convinced the torch battery would hold up.
In order to sleep easy, we told ourselves that it was very possible the pair of them were both asleep, phones on silent. Though Isla had specifically said hers wouldn’t be.
The temperature continued to plummet throughout the night. We zipped together two sleeping bags, then huddled together, Rory’s body heat the only thing keeping hypothermia at bay. His teeth chattered against my shoulder, tiny percussion beats that eventually settled into rhythm with my own shivers. I almost asked him to shift—surely a wolf would generate more warmth—but wasn’t entirely confident cuddling a fanged, clawed creature was safe. Particularly when nightmares might strike.
Instead, I wrapped my arms tighter around him, pulling him against my chest until there wasn’t a millimetre of space between us.
My alarm shrieked at five in the morning, cutting through the grey light of dawn.
“Rory.” I shook his shoulder. “Time to go.”
He was awake instantly, no grogginess, just sharp focus as he took in my expression. We were up and packed within minutes—Rory’s tent skills were even faster than mine.
“Shall we check the BnB first?” I said, somehow already knowing his response.
“The cottage,” he said grimly. It was sensible—we had no evidence they ever left.
Tension radiated from him as we rushed back, both of us moving at a near-jog despite the constant inclines. I rang Isla’s number every few minutes. Nothing. Rory tried Dev, then Alex. It was a challenge to convince Rory not to shift to run ahead of me.
