Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
WYATT
He’d taken their wine to the deck after dinner. The acres of woods behind his cabin had been his only respite for years. He’d never brought anyone out here.
And he had never talked about his past.
Not to the guys at the brewery, not to Aero’s careful probing, not even to his aunt Georgia, who’d given him a home when no one else would. His history was a locked room, sealed and warded, contents too dangerous to examine.
But Narla was watching him with those eyes that saw everything, and the beast inside him had gone uncharacteristically silent, and the sunset was painting the world in colors that made the truth feel less jagged.
“My parents were volatile.” The words felt jagged, unpracticed. “My father was a panther with a temper. My mother was a witch who loved too hard and couldn’t leave. They spent my entire childhood tearing each other apart and piecing each other back.”
Narla didn’t interrupt. Didn’t offer platitudes. Just listened.
“I learned early that feeling things was dangerous. That passion led to destruction. That the safest thing you could do was stay in control, no matter what.” He picked up a pebble, turned it over in his fingers.
“My mother died when I was twelve. Car accident. Random, senseless. My father drank himself to death within the year.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. They were miserable people who made each other more miserable. But they were my parents, and losing them—” He threw the pebble over the railing, watched it disappear into the trees. “I bounced through foster homes after that. Five of them before I turned seventeen. None of them stuck.”
“What happened at seventeen?”
The question hit somewhere deep. The memory rose, unbidden—the rage, the transformation, the six months of isolation that followed.
“My panther emerged.” His voice went hollow. Distant. “And it went feral.”
Narla inhaled sharply.
“I don’t remember most of it. Fragments. Flashes. The beast took over completely, and the human part of me—” He stopped. Started again. “They had to isolate me. Six months in a containment facility, learning to cage the panther, to force it back under control.”
“Is that why you’re so careful?” Her voice was soft. “Why you hold yourself apart from everyone?”
“I learned what happens when I lose control. When I let the beast win.” His hands clenched in his lap. “I can’t let that happen again. Can’t risk—”
“Hurting someone.”
“Becoming my father.” The admission tore out of him, raw and unfiltered. “He had the same beast. The same rage. And he destroyed everything he touched.”
Silence fell between them. The sun had sunk behind the treetops, painting the clouds in shades of purple and crimson.
He’d never told anyone. Not the full truth. Not the fear that lived at the core of him—that the violence in his blood was waiting to break free, that his control was the only thing standing between him and the monster his father had been.
“We’re both controllers.”
Narla’s voice pulled him back. He turned to find her watching him with an expression he couldn’t quite read—understanding, maybe. Recognition.
“You control your panther,” she continued. “I control my emotions. We’ve spent our whole lives making ourselves smaller so we don’t hurt anyone.”
The truth of it hit him somewhere deep.
“You’ve been hiding behind serenity the same way I’ve been hiding behind silence.” He heard it, the parallel he’d never seen. “Keeping people at arm’s length. Pretending we don’t need anyone.”
“Surviving.” Her voice was quiet. “It’s what we know how to do.”
“What if we’re tired of surviving?” The question came out before he could stop it. “What if we want more?”
Her gaze held his. The air between them crackled—that same electric charge that had ignited at the festival, tempered now into attraction slower. More deliberate.
She didn’t answer. But she scooted closer, close enough that their shoulders almost touched.
They stood in silence as the evening deepened, the firepit crackling softly between them as the cold outside settled in.
Wyatt wanted to kiss her. The urge was a physical ache, his panther pacing with restless hunger. Her mouth was right there, soft and inviting, and he knew exactly how she tasted, how she felt pressed against him.
But this wasn’t the festival. Wasn’t the surge stripping away their inhibitions. This was a choice they were making—carefully, deliberately—and he wouldn’t rush it. Wouldn’t risk destroying whatever fragile trust they were building.
“Tell me about your candles.” He forced the words past his tight throat. “The mate-revealing magic. How does it work?”
She blinked at the subject change, then laughed softly. “Going back to strategic planning?”
“Going back to not taking action I might regret.”
Emotion flickered in her expression. She understood what he wasn’t saying.
“The candles show what’s true.” She wrapped her hands around her wine glass. “When someone lights one with genuine intention—consciously or unconsciously asking who they’re meant for—the flame shows them the answer.”
“Could they show other truths? Other hidden things?”
“I don’t know.” Her brow furrowed. “Before the surge, my candles just… helped. Subtle enchantments for peace, protection, clarity. The mate-revealing started after the equinox. After—” She glanced at him. “After the festival.”
“After we lost control.”
“After the dynamic shifted.” She pulled her knees back to her chest. “I’ve been thinking about what Derren said. That revelation magic is dangerous. That my candles might be weaponized.”
“Can they expose what he is?”
“I don’t know.” She met his gaze, and he saw fear there—but also more. Determination. “But maybe it’s time to find out.”
Wyatt’s panther stirred with approval. This was the woman who had survived a monster for years. Not the victim. The survivor. The fighter.
“We’ll figure it out.” He let his hand settle on the railing between them, close enough to touch but not quite. “Whatever your magic can do, whatever Derren is planning—we’ll find a way.”
Her fingers found his. Interlaced. Held.
They stayed like that as the fire burned low, hands clasped on the table, not kissing, not pushing further than the fragile trust between them could bear.
Building trust. Slowly. Carefully.