Chapter 19
NINETEEN
WYATT
The drive back to her cottage was quiet.
Not awkward—that was the strange part. Wyatt had expected tension, discomfort, the usual distance that settled between them. Instead, there was more. A settling. An ease he didn’t know how to name.
Narla sat in his passenger seat, her head tilted against the window, watching the dark trees slide past. Her hand rested on the center console, inches from his. Not touching, but available. Present.
“You didn’t have to do this, you know.” Her voice was soft. “The date. The cooking. Any of it.”
“I know.”
“You could have just called. Scheduled a meeting at the station. Kept things professional.”
“I could have.” He kept his eyes on the road. “I didn’t want to.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Why?”
The question deserved an honest answer. He owed her that much, after everything she’d shared.
“I’ve spent years watching you from a distance. Investigating you. Telling myself it was professional vigilance when it was—” He stopped. Forced himself to continue. “When it was more than that entirely. My panther knew what you were from the first moment. I just refused to listen.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m tired of fighting it.” He pulled into her driveway and stopped. Turned to face her in the darkness. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t want to be near you. That your presence doesn’t make the beast inside me go quiet in a way nothing else does.”
Her lips parted. Her eyes caught the moonlight, dark and deep, and watching him with an intensity that hollowed out his chest.
“Wyatt—”
“I’m not asking for anything.” He needed her to understand. “I’m not expecting you to feel the same way. You’ve been through hell, and the last thing you need is a panther shifter crowding you when you’re still trying to survive a monster.”
“What if I want to be crowded?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “What if I’ve been surviving so long that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to actually live?”
“Narla.”
“I saw your face in my candle.” She said it without looking away. “The night of the festival. I lit a candle to calm myself, and the flame showed me you. Clear and undeniable. My fated mate.”
He’d known. On some level, he’d known since the first moment they’d met, since the lightning had arced between them and his panther had roared its recognition. But hearing her say it—acknowledge it out loud—
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I was terrified.” Her hands twisted in her lap. “Derren destroys everyone I care about. My husband. My sister. If he found out I had a mate—if he knew there was someone that mattered—”
“He’d use me to hurt you.”
“Or kill you outright.” Her voice cracked. “I couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk you.”
Wyatt reached across the console. Took her hand. Let the warmth of her skin anchor him.
“I’m not easy to kill.” The words were nearly a growl. “And I’m not going anywhere. Derren can try whatever he wants. It won’t change this.”
“This.” She echoed the word. “What is this, exactly?”
“I don’t know.” Honesty. He owed her that. His thumb traced circles on her palm. “You matter. Whatever that means, wherever it leads. You matter.”
She didn’t respond with words.
She leaned across the console, her free hand finding his jaw, and pressed her lips to his cheek. Soft. Deliberate. A promise rather than a demand.
“Thank you.” She pulled back, and her smile was the most genuine thing he’d seen from her since they’d met. “For the strategic meeting. And for not kissing me, even though I could see how much you wanted to.”
“You’re welcome.” His voice was steadier than it had any right to be. “And for the record, it took considerable restraint.”
“I know.” She opened her door, the dome light flooding the car. “Goodnight, Wyatt.”
“Goodnight, Narla.”
He watched her walk to her cottage, waited until she was inside with the door locked and the wards sealed, then sat in her driveway for a long moment.
His panther was pacing. Agitated. Wanting more.
But underneath the frustration was more. A quieter emotion.
Satisfaction.
They were building trust. Brick by careful brick. Not rushing, not forcing, not letting the intensity of the mate bond overwhelm the fragile foundation of trust between them.
Wyatt started the engine and headed home, the memory of her lips on his cheek burning brighter than any candle flame.