Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
NARLA
They worked until well past sunset.
Wyatt made calls while Narla sat in the chair across from his desk, wrapped in the spare jacket he’d pulled from a closet without comment. It smelled like him—cedar and darkness, musk and predator—and she probably shouldn’t have found that as comforting as she did.
He worked his way through the network, voice steady and precise. Theo confirmed the pack was already running tighter patrols. Leo had contacts for Derren’s cover identity. Beck had personally been watching the bar and businesses, logging every movement.
Haven Shores was closing ranks around her.
The realization hit Narla like a wave she hadn’t seen coming.
For years, she’d convinced herself that hiding was the only option.
That speaking up meant death for everyone she cared about.
That Derren’s power was absolute, and her only hope was to make herself small enough that he’d forget she existed.
But these people—this community—they didn’t look at Derren and see an impossible threat.
They looked at him and saw a problem to be solved.
“You’re staring.”
Wyatt’s voice pulled her back. He was leaning against his desk, arms crossed, watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read.
“Just thinking.” She tugged his jacket tighter around her shoulders. “Years I’ve been running. And in one afternoon, you’ve built half an army.”
He pushed off the desk, crossed to her chair, and crouched so they were eye to eye. “You’ve been one of us since the day you arrived. The fact that you were concealing secrets doesn’t change that. It just means we have more to protect you from.”
Her throat tightened with emotion.
“Wyatt—”
“Come home with me.”
The words hung between them. His gaze was steady, unblinking, utterly serious.
“Not like that.” A ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth. “I have a spare room. And my cabin is more defensible than your cottage. Just until we deal with Derren.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I know.” He reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Come home with me anyway.”
It was the anyway that undid her.
Not because he thought she was weak. Not because he was trying to control the situation. But because he wanted her close, and he wasn’t pretending otherwise.
“Okay.” The word came out barely above a whisper. “But I need to get some things from my cottage first. And Ember—”
“Bring the owl.” His hand lingered at her temple, warm against her skin. “I’ve got plenty of perches.”
She laughed—a real laugh, surprised out of her. “He’ll leave dead mice on your pillow.”
“I’ve had worse houseguests.”
They drove to her cottage in his truck, headlights cutting through the darkness. Ember was waiting on the porch when they arrived, feathers puffed in agitation, clearly offended at being left alone during such obvious drama.
“I know,” Narla murmured as she unlocked the door. “I’m sorry. We’re going to stay somewhere else for a while.”
Ember’s dark gaze swiveled to Wyatt, who’d stationed himself at the edge of the porch, scanning the tree line.
The owl hooted. Low and considering.
“That’s not a yes,” Narla warned him.
Another hoot. Slightly less hostile.
“I’ll take it,” Wyatt said without turning around.
Narla packed quickly—clothes, toiletries, the evidence from her cellar that she’d been too afraid to use. Niccolas’s files. The patient records that proved Derren had been feeding on vulnerable supernaturals. The financial documents that traced shell companies and offshore accounts.
She’d hidden this for so long. Thought of it as her last resort, the weapon she’d never be brave enough to deploy.
Now she handed it all to Wyatt like an offering. Like a declaration of war.
His expression went hard as he flipped through the files. “This is enough. This is—Narla, this is more than enough to bring him down.”
“If we can get it to someone who will believe us. If Derren doesn’t kill everyone who sees it first.”
“Then we make sure enough people see it that he can’t kill them all.” Wyatt closed the folder and tucked it under his arm. “One afternoon, remember? Half an army.”
She wanted to believe him. God, she wanted to believe him so badly, it burned.
“Let’s go,” she said. “Before I talk myself out of all of this.”
Wyatt’s cabin was exactly as she remembered—isolated, minimal. But as they walked through the front door, as she set her bag on his spare bed and Ember claimed a spot near the window, something shifted in the air.
He’d let her in to stay.
Not just physically. He’d shown her his territory, his sanctuary, the place where the predator slept. In panther terms, that carried weight.
In human terms, it meant everything.
“There’s food in the kitchen.” Wyatt’s voice was carefully neutral, but she caught the way his gaze lingered on her face.
She crossed to him, stopped close enough to feel his heat but not quite touching. “Thank you. For today. For everything.”
His control slipped—a flash, his eyes going bright with need that made her pulse race. Then it was gone.
“Get some sleep.” His voice was rough.
She wanted to argue. Wanted to drag him down and kiss him until neither of them could think straight. Wanted to experience more than the exhaustion of carrying secrets for so long.
But he was right. She needed rest. Needed to process everything that had changed in the span of one conversation.
“Goodnight, Wyatt.”
“Goodnight, Narla.”
She went to the spare room. Closed the door. Pressed her back against it and let herself breathe—really breathe—for the first time in longer than she could remember.
Ember settled on the perch by the window, his dark gaze watching her with reluctant approval.
“I know,” she whispered. “I told him. I actually told him everything.”
The owl hooted softly.
“Yeah.” Narla climbed into the bed that smelled faintly of cedar and laundry soap. “Maybe it’ll be different this time.”
Through the wall, she could hear Wyatt moving around the main room. His footsteps were nearly silent, predator-quiet, but she tracked them. Felt her breath ease at the knowledge that he was close.