Chapter 11
ELEVEN
WYATT
The back booth was a study in barely contained testosterone.
Theo Vance anchored one end—wolf alpha, quiet authority, the kind of leader who rarely raised his voice because he never had to. He nodded at Wyatt as he approached, gray eyes assessing in that calm, measured way that saw everything and revealed nothing.
Leo Castellan sprawled beside him, lion energy barely contained in human form. The Castellan Ventures heir had traded his usual designer suit for a Henley and jeans, but the predator underneath was as obvious. He raised his beer in greeting, gaze sharpening with interest.
Hux Holt sat apart from the others, nursing a whiskey with the focused intensity of a man trying to drown his thoughts. The mayor’s usual political polish had worn thin, leaving raw edges visible. Whatever he’d seen—or hadn’t seen—in that candle flame, it was eating at him.
And then there were the dragons.
Aero Tau occupied the corner with ancient stillness, eight centuries of existence compressed into the deceptively slight frame of an academic. His dark eyes tracked Wyatt’s approach with the patience of a predator who’d learned to wait centuries for his prey.
Delos Gefen sat beside him—younger, brasher, fire dragon to Aero’s storm. He’d been in Haven Shores for barely two months, but he’d already established himself as the group’s most persistent source of bad jokes and worse timing. His grin as Wyatt approached held far too much anticipation.
“Sheriff.” Theo gestured to the empty seat. “Glad you could finally join us.”
“Finally” hung in the air. Wyatt ignored it, sliding into the booth with what he hoped was neutral indifference.
Beck appeared with a beer before Wyatt could order, setting it down with a knowing look. “On the house. You look like you need it.”
“Thanks.” Wyatt wrapped his hand around the glass. Didn’t drink. “Aero. You said there were developments with the surge investigation.”
“There are.” Aero’s voice was measured, precise. “But before we discuss that, perhaps we should address the more immediate matter.”
“Which is?”
Delos leaned forward, nostrils flaring. “You smell different.”
Every head at the table turned toward Wyatt.
His panther bristled.
Here we go.
“Your scent.” Delos wasn’t grinning anymore.
His expression had sharpened to focused, predatory attention—the dragon underneath the cheerful exterior.
“It’s changed. There’s complexity layered beneath it.
Something floral and…” He inhaled again, dramatic and deliberate. “Is that jasmine? And candle wax?”
Wyatt said nothing. His grip on his beer glass tightened.
“Candle wax.” Leo’s voice was deceptively casual. “Interesting. Can’t think of anyone in Haven Shores who might smell like candle wax. Can you, Theo?”
“Not off the top of my head.” Theo’s neutral expression didn’t waver. “Although there is that candle shop on Moonstone Lane. What’s it called? Spellbound Lights?”
“That’s the one.” Leo snapped his fingers. “Run by that witch. What’s her name? The one who’s been driving our resident sheriff crazy for—”
“Enough.” Wyatt’s voice came out sharper than he intended. “I didn’t come here to discuss my personal life.”
“Your personal life.” Beck spoke for the first time, his deep rumble cutting through the banter. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“I’m calling it none of your business.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” Leo set down his beer, the casual amusement fading from his face.
“When one of us starts smelling like someone else—when the scent is that deep, that embedded—it’s very much our business.
Because we’ve all been there. Every single one of us sitting at this table has gone through exactly what you’re trying to pretend isn’t happening. ”
“I’m not pretending—”
“You’ve been avoiding us.” Theo’s quiet observation cut through Wyatt’s protest. “You haven’t returned calls. You haven’t answered texts. You’ve been taking alternate routes to avoid passing the brewery. I know because my wolves reported it.”
“Your wolves reported my driving patterns?”
“They reported that the sheriff was acting strangely.” Theo’s gray eyes held steady. “And now you’re here, smelling like the candle witch, radiating tension, and refusing to talk about it. So either a change occurred, or you’ve developed a new hobby of rolling around in her inventory.”
Delos snorted into his beer. Even Hux, lost in his whiskey, cracked the ghost of a smile.
Wyatt’s panther paced behind his ribs, agitated. The beast wanted to snarl, to snap, to make them all back off. But these weren’t enemies. These were… allies. Something closer than allies, maybe, though he’d never admit it out loud.
“The festival.” The words scraped his throat. “At the equinox festival. The surge hit, and—”
“The surge hit, and you lost control.” Leo finished the sentence with the certainty of someone who’d walked that path. “Couldn’t stop yourself. Couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t do anything except get your hands on her.”
Wyatt’s jaw clenched.
“How far did it go?” Delos’s question was blunt, practical. “Are we talking about a kiss? Something more?”
“That’s—”
“Something more.” Aero’s observation was clinical, detached. “The scent markers are unmistakable. This wasn’t a casual encounter. This was—”
“Can we not analyze my sex life at the table?” Wyatt’s voice came out as a growl. “I came here to discuss the surge. Not to be interrogated.”
“The surge is exactly what we’re discussing.
” Aero pulled out a leather journal—worn, ancient, covered in handwritten notes.
“The equinox amplified magical energy across Haven Shores by approximately 340 per cent. We’ve seen similar spikes before, but nothing this concentrated.
And the mate-revealing properties of Ms. Wright’s candles suggest the surge is specifically targeting bonded pairs. ”
“Targeting?”
“Responding to, perhaps. Amplifying.” Aero flipped through pages covered in diagrams and calculations.
“The surge began shortly after Avine and Theo’s mating.
It intensified after Junie and Leo’s bond, again after Dahlia and Cal’s, and reached its current peak after Cassia and I completed our claiming.
” He looked up. “Four cross-species bonds in eighteen months. The surge appears to be feeding on them, growing stronger with each successful match.”
“Feeding on them.” Wyatt didn’t like the sound of that. “What does that mean for the people involved?”
“Nothing harmful, as far as I can determine. The bonded pairs seem to anchor the surge rather than deplete from it. But the pattern suggests…” Aero paused, choosing his words carefully.
“The surge may be attempting to create more bonds. To propagate itself by pushing compatible pairs toward claiming.”
The table went quiet.
“You’re saying the surge made him do it?” Delos looked between Aero and Wyatt. “Made him jump the candle witch at the festival?”
“I’m saying the surge may have lowered inhibitions. Amplified existing attraction. Pushed an already recognized mate bond toward physical consummation.” Aero’s gaze settled on Wyatt. “But it can’t create attraction where none exists. It can only enhance what’s already there.”
“Already there.” Leo leaned back, studying Wyatt with unsettling perception. “Meaning you’ve been carrying a torch for the candle witch for—what? Years?”
“I haven’t been—”
“Please.” Beck’s snort was derisive. “You’ve been watching her since she arrived. Following her movements. Investigating her background. Don’t tell me that was professional suspicion.”
“It was.”
“Trust me.” Leo’s voice held an edge of understanding that made Wyatt want to hit the wall. “I know exactly how that feels—the certainty that arrives before you have words for it. Before you’re ready to name it.”
Wyatt stared at the table. At his untouched beer. At anything except the faces watching him with varying degrees of sympathy and amusement.
His panther prowled restlessly. The beast wanted to roar the truth from the rooftops—not maintain this fiction of control and professional distance. These men had been where he was. Had fought the same fight. Had lost in exactly the same way.
“She’s your mate.” Leo said it quietly, all trace of teasing gone. “Isn’t she?”
Wyatt didn’t answer.
Which was answer enough.