Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
WYATT
He woke before dawn.
Narla was still there. Warm against his side. Real and solid and breathing soft and steady.
“Stay.” The word escaped before he was fully awake—rough, honest, stripped of all the careful distance he’d spent decades constructing.
A simple word. Loaded with everything he couldn’t articulate.
Narla stirred. Her eyes blinked open, and when she found his gaze in the half-dark, something in her expression softened.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I’ll stay.” She settled back against his chest. “Not because I’m scared. Because I want to.”
His arms tightened around her.
Wyatt lay still after, watching the light change as the sun crept toward the horizon. His panther was quiet for once—not pacing, not demanding. Just… content.
He’d forgotten what that felt like. Or maybe he’d never known.
His gaze traced her face in the growing light. The dark hair spread across his pillow. The silver threading her temples. The lines at the corners of her eyes that spoke of laughter and worry and forty-four years of living.
Mine.
Not just his panther’s claim. His own.
She stirred. Stretched like a cat, all graceful limbs and sleep-warm skin. Her eyes blinked open, and when she saw him watching, a slow smile curved her lips.
“Morning.”
“Morning.” He couldn’t resist dipping his head to kiss her—soft, unhurried, tasting the remnants of last night.
She hummed against his mouth. “I could get used to waking up like this.”
“Good.” He pulled back enough to meet her gaze. “Because I’m not letting you go back to that spare room.”
Her smile widened. “Possessive.”
“Panther.” As if that explained everything. Maybe it did.
He kissed her again—longer this time, deeper—and felt her body respond. Her nipples pebbled against his chest. Her thigh slid between his legs.
“We should talk about Derren.” Even as she said it, her hand was sliding down his stomach.
“We should.” He groaned as her fingers wrapped around his hardening cock. “In a minute.”
The minute stretched into twenty. Then thirty. By the time they finally made it to the kitchen—Narla wrapped in his shirt, Wyatt in nothing but boxer briefs—the sun was fully up, and the coffee was desperately needed.
“He’s escalating.” Narla accepted the mug he offered. Black, no argument. “The grocery store—that wasn’t just a threat. He was testing. Seeing how you’d react.”
“I nearly shifted in the produce aisle.” The admission came with a flash of shame. “All that discipline, and one look at him near you—”
“He wanted that.” Her free hand found his. “He wanted to see if he could make you lose control. It’s what he does. Finds the cracks in people and pries them open.”
Wyatt’s grip tightened. “Then he knows I’m a threat.”
“He knows you’re protective.” She set down the coffee. Moved closer. “There’s a difference. A threat is a target he eliminates. A protector is a tool he uses. He’ll try to go through you to get to me.”
The thought made Wyatt’s blood run cold. Not because he feared for himself—he’d faced down worse than an ancient parasite—but because she was right. Derren would use him. Would use every feeling Wyatt had for her as leverage.
“Then we move faster.” His voice hardened.
“Dragon fire and truth magic.”
“And the whole damn town.” He turned to face her. “You’re not in this by yourself. Neither am I.”
Her expression shifted. The fear didn’t vanish—it might never vanish entirely—but steel rose up beside it.
“Then let’s end him.” She leaned forward, pressed her lips to his. “We do this as a team.”
The word should have terrified him. Should have triggered every defense he’d built over two decades of isolation.
Instead, it was right.
“Get dressed.” He kissed her back—quick, hard, a promise of more to come. “We’ve got a monster to kill.”
Ember hooted from the hallway. Approval, if Wyatt didn’t know better.
He was starting to like that damned owl.