Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
WYATT
The grocery store on Harbor Street was crowded for a Thursday morning. Tourists stocking up for weekend stays. Locals grabbing essentials. The hum of mundane life that made Haven Shores feel deceptively safe.
Wyatt spotted her the moment he walked through the doors.
Narla stood near the produce section, a basket over her arm, studying tomatoes with the kind of focus she usually reserved for her candles.
She’d worn her hair loose today—dark waves falling past her shoulders, silver threads catching the fluorescent light.
The sight of her sent heat lancing through his chest.
Mine.
He started forward.
And then he saw Derren.
The Devourer had appeared at her elbow. Close. Too close. His mouth curved in that practiced smile, and he leaned down to whisper words that made Narla’s whole body go rigid.
Wyatt’s vision went sharp-edged and gold.
Every instinct surged to the surface with a force that made his bones creak. Twenty-three years of discipline, of keeping the beast caged—and it crumbled in the space of a heartbeat.
He crossed the store in seconds. Didn’t remember moving. Just suddenly there, inserting himself between Narla and the monster wearing a charming mask.
“Ms. Wright.” His voice came out rough, barely human. “We have a meeting.”
Derren’s smile never wavered, but calculation shifted behind his eyes. Cold and calculating, it assessed Wyatt with predator precision.
“Sheriff Gentry.” The words were smooth as silk. “I was congratulating Narla on her recent success with those remarkable candles. Everyone’s talking about them. I’ve been researching.”
Wyatt felt Narla’s hand brush his back—a steadying touch, a warning. Her fingers trembled.
“They’re keeping her busy.” Wyatt held Derren’s gaze without blinking. Let the predator see the predator staring back. “Too busy for casual conversations.”
A flicker of annoyance, quickly masked, crossed Derren’s face. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to keep her from important work.” He stepped back, hands raised in mock surrender. “We’ll chat another time, Narla. Do give my best to your parents. Such a lovely facility they’re in.”
The threat landed exactly where Derren intended it. Narla’s breath hitched. Her hand tightened against Wyatt’s spine.
Derren walked away, still smiling, and Wyatt had to lock every muscle in his body to keep from lunging after him.
“Wyatt.” Narla’s voice was barely audible. “Not here.”
He grabbed her basket. Took her arm. Steered her toward the checkout with a grip just short of bruising.
The drive back to his cabin passed in tense silence. His hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel. Her face turned toward the window, pale and drawn.
It wasn’t until they were inside, door locked, wards humming, that she finally spoke.
“He knows.” She wrapped her arms around herself, and he hated the way she made herself small. “About us. About you. He congratulated me on finding a ‘protector.’”
Something cold settled into Wyatt’s chest. His panther went very still—the stillness of a predator measuring the distance to a kill. “What else did he say?”
“That he’s enjoying Haven Shores. That the community has been so welcoming.” Her laugh was bitter. “That he hopes nothing happens to spoil his visit.”
Kill him. End this.
The panther’s demands crashed against his skull. He paced the length of the main room, unable to stay still, unable to think through the red haze of protective fury.
“We’re not ready.” The words tasted like ash. “We don’t know if the candles will work the way we need them to. If we move too soon—”
“He’ll kill everyone I care about.” Narla’s voice cracked.
Wyatt stopped pacing. Turned to face her.
She stood in the center of his cabin—the space he’d never let anyone enter—and she looked like she was about to shatter.
“Hey.” He crossed to her. Caught her face in his hands, cradling her jaw with a gentleness that surprised him. “Look at me.”
Those dark eyes met his. Wet with unshed tears. Exhausted. Terrified.
And underneath it all, more. Something that made his breath hitch.
Want.
“He doesn’t get to win.” Wyatt’s voice dropped. “Not this time. Not ever again. Do you understand me?”
“You can’t promise that.”
“Watch me.”
He kissed her.
Soft at first. Barely a brush of lips. Giving her the chance to pull away, to say no, to choose differently than this.
She didn’t pull away.
Her hands came up to grip his wrists, holding him in place, and she kissed him back with a desperation that sent fire racing down his spine.
Yes. Finally.
He felt it then—her magic brushing against him, warm and insistent, the way it had at the festival but deliberate now. Chosen. Something in him went quiet at the touch.
Wyatt tilted her head, deepening the kiss, and she opened for him with a soft moan that went straight to his cock. She tasted like coffee and sweetness—honey, maybe, from her morning tea. He licked into her mouth, slow and thorough, and felt her shiver against him.
“Wyatt.” His name came out breathless when they broke apart. Her pupils were blown wide, lips swollen and parted. “I need—”
“Tell me.” He kept his voice steady despite the fire building in his blood. “Tell me what you need.”
“I want to experience more than being afraid.” Her fingers slid up his arms, over his shoulders, into his hair. “I want to feel you. All of you.”
His restraint snapped.
He kissed her again—harder this time, deeper, his hands sliding down to grip her hips and pull her flush against him. She gasped at the evidence of his arousal pressing against her belly, and the sound made him growl.
“Not like the festival,” she managed between kisses. “Not fast and frantic. I want—” She broke off, frustrated, her fingers tightening in his hair.
“What do you want?” He nipped at her lower lip. “Say it.”
“I want you to take your time.” Her voice dropped, husky and wanting. “I want you to make me forget everything except how you feel inside me.”
Fuck.
His panther surged at her words, and Wyatt had to take a breath. Two. Force himself to slow down when every instinct screamed to take her right here against the wall.
“Bedroom.” The word came out half-growl. “Now.”
He took her hand, lacing their fingers, and led her down the hallway. Past the spare room where she’d been sleeping. Past the bathroom. To the door at the end.
His room. His bed.
His.