Page 166 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
Then, before I knew what was happening, Rory was scrambling to his feet, naked and bloodied but determined. He swayed slightly, one hand pressed against his ribs where Callum’s claws had raked deep furrows. Dark bruises were already blooming across his torso.
“We need to sort this out,” I said, gesturing to the surrounding carnage. “It’s broad daylight. A hiker could wander off route.”
Rory nodded grimly. “The buggy?”
Ever so carefully, we moved Dev to the front passenger seat of the buggy, then completed the grim task of loading the three corpses into the back. Isla’s bag was tucked away in there—just toiletries and spare clothes, a thin black jumper and orange corduroy trousers.
“You look ridiculous,” I told Rory as he pulled them on, though to be fair the orange quite suited him, somehow. He stole shoes from one of the corpses, though they looked far too big.
“I can hear something,” Rory said. “The faintest ringing sound, coming from over near the buildings. An alarm. I guess to evacuate—I heard Isla order it through the walkie-talkie.”
“We can head there…”
Rory shook his head. “Don’t you think they’ll have it all locked down? Besides, we said last time there was no evidence they brought the wolves in that way. It’s not accessible by vehicle anymore.”
His face crumpled. The light died from his eyes so suddenly it was like watching someone blow out a candle. My chesttightened—not physical pain, but something far worse flooding through our bond. Self-loathing crashed into me with the force of a lorry, bitter and sharp.
Rory sank to the ground beside the buggy, back sliding down the metal frame until he sat with his knees drawn up, head dropping forward.
“Fuck!” The word exploded from him. I caught fragments of his spiralling thoughts:
…useless,always messing up,failed them…should have done more…
The intensity of his self-hatred made my stomach clench.
“Rory.” I sank down beside him, damp earth soaking through my trousers. Taking his hand felt natural now, our fingers threading together automatically. “We came to Scotland to find Dev. You found him. You did it.”
“But we haven’t saved everyone else.” His voice came out muffled against his knees. “Carrie, all those missing shifters—”
“This is bigger than we thought. That’s not our fault. We’ve done what we can.”
“No.” He lifted his head, those blue-green eyes blazing with desperate determination. “We have to dosomething. What if they decide to mass exterminate them all? Get rid of the evidence?”
“The wolves are too valuable for that,” I said, though doubt gnawed at me. How could I be certain of anything in this nightmare?
Rory’s jaw worked silently for a moment. Then, “Maybe they’re taking them to the castle ruins. To get out that way.”
“What, underground?”
“Yes.”
A laugh escaped before I could stop it. Brief, incredulous. Rory’s frown deepened.
“Sorry. What we found there could indeed be connected to GREY. But the chances of there being a direct tunnel from here to there is slim to none. It’s what, six, seven miles? It would be a truly impressive feat for anyone to secretly dig that. Impossible, even.”
“You’re right,” he muttered, shoulders sagging further. “It was stupid.”
As I studied Rory’s dejected profile—the way his shoulders curved inward, protecting himself from another blow—something fierce and protective surged through me. He’d spent most of his life being dismissed and underestimated. Being told his ideas weren’t good enough. I wouldn’t be another voice adding to that chorus.
“No, it wasn’t stupid.” I climbed to my feet, extending my hand. “Stand up.”
“What?”
“We need to get to that castle.”
Confusion clouded his features. “You just said it was impossible.”
“And what did we agree about impossible things?”
