Page 84 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
“By trying to be one of them!” I shouted. “Running with the pack was a chance to get closer, to learnsomething, maybe!”
The anger seemed to drain from Maxwell suddenly as he studied my face. “Did you want to run with them to feel close to a pack again?”
The question caught me so off guard, I inhaled sharply. I looked away, unable to meet his gaze as something tender and painful stirred inside me. “No. It… it would have been horrible, anyway.”
“How so?”
“Running beside them but not being able to feel them. Being physically there but still… disconnected. It’s worse somehow, being right next to what you can’t have.” I risked a glance up at him. There was a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. “Look, I just want this whole thing over as quickly as possible. I barely held it together today with Edina pretending to be mother of the year. I want to find Dev and go home. That’s all.”
“So your brilliant plan was to run off without talking to me and get into a fight?” Maxwell stepped closer. “Did you consider for one second what would happen if you didn’t come back? If they’d all suddenly decided to finish what Callum started?”
“I knew what I was doing!”
“Did you?” He was close enough now that I could smell mint on his breath. “Because from where I’m standing, you never think things through. You never consider anyone else. Never stop to consider the consequences.”
His words stabbed into me, in the same spots where my parents’ voices had carved permanent wounds.“You never think things through. You never consider anyone else.”How many times had I heard those exact words? How many times had teachers, my parents, pack elders thrown them at me like stones?
“That’s not fair,” I managed, but my voice came out small as the familiar shame crept up my throat, hot and choking. I was eight years old again, being told I was selfish for forgetting to do my chores. Twelve, being called reckless for climbing too high in a tree. Fifteen, hearing that I was too impulsive, too chaotic, toomuchfor anyone to handle properly.
Maybe they were all right. Maybe I really am just broken.
Maxwell’s expression shifted, his anger dissolving into something that looked almost like horror. “I didn’t mean—” He stopped himself, jaw working as he struggled with something. “You’re not broken, Rory. It’s just… Do you even care about your own wellbeing? Or are you so desperate to prove yourself that you’ll risk everything?”
“I care about solving this case,” I said through gritted teeth. “I care about finding Dev. I care about not spending one more day in this nightmare than necessary.”
“And what about the people who care about you?” Maxwell asked quietly. “What about them?”
The question crackled in the air like a live wire, something in his tone sending my heart into an erratic beat against my possibly fractured ribs.
“Don’t pretend you care about me,” I said. “I’m just an assignment. A problem you’re stuck with.”
Something sparked in Maxwell’s eyes—hurt, maybe, or anger. “Is that what you think?”
“Isn’t it true?” I challenged. “You’ve made it perfectly clear how you feel about me from day one, Maxwell. Even before you arrested me that night.”
“You have no idea how I feel,” he growled, and suddenly the air between us seemed to thrum with something beyond anger.
“Then enlighten me,” I whispered, my heart still hammering. “How do you feel?”
Maxwell’s hands clenched at his sides, like he was fighting some internal battle. He took a half step closer, the space between us shrinking. “You’re impossible,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly.
“I’m not sure that’s a feeling, Detective Maxwell.” I retreated a step, but couldn’t resist adding, “Perhaps you should be more specific.” My heart skipped a beat as he followed, advancing like a predator.
“It is when it comes to you,” he said. “Impossible. Infuriating. Reckless.”
With each word, he moved forward, and I backed away until the cool plaster of the cottage wall pressed against my bare shoulders. The blanket slipped slightly, and I clutched it tighter, suddenly aware of my near-nakedness.
“Still not feelings,” I challenged, tilting my chin up. “Those are just adjectives.”
Maxwell’s breath hitched. He moved forward suddenly, one hand landing on the wall beside my head, effectively caging me in. The manoeuvre left me breathless, with his soft exhalation ghosting across my forehead. His size should have made me feel trapped, claustrophobic—I usually despised being cornered—but right then, there was something almost thrilling about being caught in Maxwell’s orbit.
“You want feelings?” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “I feel terrified every time you’re out of my sight. I feel like I’m losing my mind when you pull stunts like tonight.”
I could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the faint scent of his black pepper and lemongrass cologne mingling with sweat and forest air.Raindrops-lemongrass-Maxwell.
The wall behind me was solid and cool, a stark contrast to the warmth emanating from Maxwell as he leaned in closer.
“That sounds suspiciously like caring,” I said, my voice a whisper.
