Page 22 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
Theodore
Won’t be boring.
I should be so lucky.
Rory was now four drinks deep, with no sign of the supposed shifters we were here to question. The night was slipping away, and instead of conducting an investigation, I was babysitting an increasingly inebriated wolf with boundary issues.
One drink ago, he’d launched into a sad spiral about Dev Bassi, showing me picture after picture of his face on his phone.
“This was us at Pride,” Rory slurred, swiping to yet another image of the missing journalist. “And this one’s from his birthday. He hated this photo, but I think he looks perfect.”
Honestly, I really didn’t get the Dev obsession. Though Rory made his career sound interesting, his curated social media photos screamed pretentious self-absorption. Every image featured the same calculated smile, the same careful angles.
The server approached with another round neither of us had ordered. Rory’s eyes lit up as the glasses landed on our table. He reached for one with the enthusiasm of a man who’d forgotten we were here on official business.
I grabbed drink number five, and pushed it out of Rory’s reach. My fingers brushed against his as I intercepted the glass, sending a sudden jolt through me.
…warm hands….
Rory pouted, his lower lip jutting out in a way that made him look absurdly young. “That’s mine.”
“You’ve had enough,” I said firmly. “We’re supposed to beworking.”
…no fun…
“You’re no fun,” he mumbled, slouching back in his seat. The neon lights caught in his hair, turning the blond strands into something almost celestial. His subtle eyeliner made his eyes larger, more intense somehow. As he tilted his head to stare longingly at the confiscated drink, the club’s lights glinted off the collection of silver studs and hoops that lined his ear, dancing in the light with each slight movement. I found myself counting them, wondering absurdly if they’d feel warm or cool to the touch.
Irritated at my own distraction, I forced my gaze away, only for Rory’s thoughts to assault my mind.
…I bet he could be fun, though…was Dev fun?…I think Dev was fun…we had fun…didn’t we?…until he broke up with me…maybe I wasn’t fun enough…
I rubbed my temple, feeling the pressure of too many thoughts threatening to spill into me. Not just Rory’s—the nightclub was now full to bursting, and I was suffering from it.
“What was so great about Dev, anyway?” I found myself snapping. “You talk about him like he hung the moon.”
Where hadthatbitterness come from? I normally possessed endless patience for listening to people’s ramblings. Came with the territory. Yet something about this was pushing my buttons…
Rory’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again like a fish gasping for air. No words came out. For the first time since I’d met the excitable wolf, Rory Thorne was speechless.
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “See!”
The silence stretched between us, unusual and almost unsettling. Rory’s constant chatter was as much a part of him as his snark and bounciness. Seeing him without words felt wrong, like witnessing something private.
His face crumpled, every inch of cockiness draining away, leaving something horribly raw and vulnerable behind. “I thought he loved me,” he said, voicecracking on the last word. His eyes glistened in the club’s pulsing lights, threatening tears.
Fuck. Fuck.Fuck.
I wasn’t equipped for this. Angry Rory, annoying Rory, even fake-flirtatious Rory—those versions I could handle. But this broken, hurt version? I had no protocol for that.
“It’s all my fault that he broke up with me,” Rory continued, staring down at his now empty glass. “I was too much. Too needy. Too keen. Desperate, in fact.” He laughed, a horrible hollow sound. “Dev was so far out of my league it was ridiculous. Everyone thought so.”
I frowned. “Who’s ‘everyone?’”
Rory waved his hand dismissively. “Doesn’t matter. I knew it. He knew it.” He traced the rim of an empty glass with his finger. “I just thought maybe… I don’t know. That it wouldn’t matter. That he could still love me.”
His gaze lifted to meet mine, the light catching in his eyes. Blue? Green? Both and neither at once, like sunlight filtering through shallow water. Poetry in colour that shifted with each blink, each change in his mercurial mood. The only constant was their intensity.
“What happened? In the end, I mean, with you and Dev?”
