Chapter 30
THIRTY
WYATT
Wyatt hadn’t slept properly in days.
Days of heightened vigilance, of potions brewing in Junie’s shop, of Aero and Delos conferring about dragon fire and ancient weaknesses. The alpha network checked in daily—tracking Derren’s movements, strengthening wards, staying ready for whatever might come.
Beck’s wolves had swept the eastern boundary twice since the construct attack; the trail had gone cold, the things dissolved to nothing, but the tracks had numbered fourteen.
That was the worst part. The not knowing.
But Wyatt knew. And the waiting was slowly driving him insane.
Derren’s glamour made him untouchable—direct attacks would only feed his power.
So they waited. Watched. Stayed sharp.
And Wyatt tried to pretend that every moment of delay didn’t feel like gambling with Narla’s life.
He found her in his kitchen, barefoot, wearing one of his flannels over her tank top.
She’d started leaving things at the cabin—a hairbrush, spare clothes, candles on every surface that made the space smell like her magic.
His territory was becoming theirs, and his panther rumbled with satisfaction every time he noticed a new addition.
She looked up as he entered, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea. The smile she gave him was soft, unguarded—the kind of expression she’d never shown him during their six years of careful distance.
“You’re brooding again.”
“I don’t brood.”
“You absolutely brood. You stand in doorways with your arms crossed and stare into the middle distance with that look on your face.” She set down the mug, crossed to him. “Talk to me.”
“Nothing to talk about.” His hands found her hips anyway, pulling her close. “Just thinking.”
“About Derren?”
“About you.” The admission slipped out before he could stop it. “About keeping you safe. About what happens if he decides to make a move.”
“Don’t.” Her finger pressed against his lips. “Don’t spiral into worst-case scenarios. We have wards. We have allies. We’ll handle whatever comes.”
“You make it sound simple.”
“It’s not.” Her hand moved to his chest, spread flat over his heart. “But I spent six years paralyzed by fear. Hiding. Waiting for the axe to fall. I’m done with that.”
“Come with me.” The words surprised even him. “There’s somewhere I want to show you.”
She tilted her head, curiosity flickering across her features. “Now? It’s almost midnight.”
“Best time for it.” He bent his head, brushed his mouth against her temple. “Trust me?”
Her answer was to set down her mug and slip her hand into his.
The drive to the harbor took fifteen minutes. Wyatt kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on Narla’s thigh—a point of contact he hadn’t realized he needed until her warmth seeped through the denim.
She didn’t ask where they were going. She watched the town lights slide past, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the back of his hand. The silence between them was comfortable. Easy. The kind of quiet that came from two people who didn’t need words to fill space.
The lighthouse appeared around the final curve, its pale tower rising against the star-scattered sky.
Decommissioned for decades, the structure looked abandoned from the road—no lights, no signs of habitation.
Just weathered stone and salt-crusted windows and the faint groan of wind through ancient supports.
Narla straightened in her seat. “The old lighthouse?”
“My secret.” He pulled into the small lot at the base. “Seventeen years in Haven Shores, and I’ve never brought anyone here.”
She turned to look at him. In the dim light filtering through the windshield, her expression was soft with surprise. “Why me? Why tonight?”
The question deserved a real answer. Wyatt considered deflecting—years of habit, years of walls. But she’d given him her truths. Every ugly, painful piece of her past. The least he could do was return the favor.
“Because I’m tired of hiding.” He reached across, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You showed me who you really are, Narla. Everything you’ve been carrying. Everything you were afraid to say. And I don’t want to keep doing that. Not with you.”
She was quiet for a long moment. Then she leaned across the console, kissed the corner of his mouth—soft, lingering.
“Show me your lighthouse, Sheriff.”
The door protested when he unlocked it, hinges groaning despite the oil he’d applied last month. Wyatt guided her inside with a hand on her lower back, reaching for the flashlight he kept on the shelf near the entrance.
“Watch your step. The floor’s uneven in places.”
The beam of light swept across the storage room—ropes coiled in corners, buoys hanging from hooks, a rusted anchor propped against the far wall. Clutter he’d never bothered to clear away. Camouflage, in case anyone ever found this place.
“You leave it like this on purpose.” Narla’s voice carried a note of amusement. “So it looks abandoned.”
“Thorough to a fault.” He led her past the debris to the spiral staircase at the back. Cast iron, worn smooth by decades of climbing feet. “One hundred twenty-seven steps. I’ve counted.”
“Of course, you have.”
He went first, testing each step out of habit, though he knew the structure was sound.
Her footsteps echoed behind him, steady and sure.
The rhythm of their ascent filled the narrow column—metal groaning, wind whispering through gaps in the stonework, their breathing synchronizing without conscious effort.
Halfway up, she caught his hand.
He paused, looking back. The flashlight threw shadows across her face, but he could see the question in her expression.
“How did you find this place?”
“My first week as a deputy.” He resumed climbing, her fingers still laced with his. “I was learning the town’s boundaries, mapping the territory. Found the path to the lighthouse and just knew. This was mine. The one place I could be alone without being on guard.”
“Your sanctuary.”
“The only place I’ve ever had that felt like mine.” They’d reached the top. He pushed open the hatch, helped her through into the lamp room. “Watch your head.”
The view hit her visibly.
She sucked in a breath, moving to the glass walls like she’d been pulled there.
Haven Shores spread below them in a scatter of lights and shadows—the harbor where fishing boats bobbed at their moorings, the downtown strip with its storefronts dark for the night, the dark line of the forest to the east where his cabin sat hidden among the trees.
Above, stars wheeled in an endless spiral, undimmed by the sleeping town below.
The moon hung low over the water, painting a silver path across the waves. In the distance, the dragon-fire-strengthened seawall gleamed faintly—a reminder of the storms this community had already survived.
“Wyatt.” His name came out reverent. “This is—”
“I know.” He moved to stand behind her, hands settling on her hips. “I’ve watched a hundred sunsets from up here. A thousand storms rolling in from the coast. This view never gets old.”
“And you’ve never shared it with anyone?”
“Never had anyone I wanted to share it with.”
She turned in his arms, her hands coming up to rest on his chest. In the moonlight, her eyes were dark, searching.
“That’s a lot of trust, bringing me here.”
“You’ve earned it.” He brushed a strand of hair back from her face. “You showed me your monsters. Showed me everything you’d been carrying. This”—he gestured at the view—“is nothing compared to that.”
“It’s everything.” Her voice was soft. “This is where you come to be yourself. The real you, without the badge and the walls. Bringing me here…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Wyatt.”
He didn’t have words for what he was feeling. So he kissed her instead.
It started gentle—a soft press of lips, a question, and an answer. But heat built quickly between them, the same explosive chemistry that had nearly set the festival on fire. His hand fisted in her hair. Her fingers clawed at his shoulders. The kiss deepened, went desperate.
When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing hard. “We should sit,” he managed. “The walkway—there’s a spot—”
“Show me.”
He led her to the narrow balcony that circled the lamp room. They settled with their backs against the cool stone, legs stretched out before them, shoulders pressed close. The ocean stretched to infinity, dark and endless under the star-scattered sky.
“Tell me something.” Narla’s voice was soft. “Something you’ve never told anyone.”
He should deflect. Should change the subject, keep the walls up, maintain the distance that had kept him safe for decades.
Instead, he said the one thing he’d never let himself believe.
“I’ve been coming here for seventeen years.” His voice was quiet against the wind. “Not once did I imagine bringing anyone.” He looked out at the silver path of the moon on the water.
Her hand found his in the darkness.
“So when you say you’ve spent your life keeping people at arm’s length—” She traced a finger along his jaw. “This is why.”
“Partly.” He brought her hand to his lips. “And then you walked into my station and shorted out my computer.” His laugh was rough. “I knew. Immediately. Everything I’d spent years avoiding, standing right there in my station with paperwork in her hands and terror in her eyes.”
“I was terrified,” she admitted. “I felt it too—that pull. And I knew I couldn’t afford to feel anything for anyone. Not with Derren out there. Not with what I was hiding. We’re quite the pair.”
“You,” he said quietly. “You matter. More than control. More than safety. More than any of the walls I spent my life building.”
She kissed him—soft and sweet and achingly tender. When she pulled back, her eyes were bright with unshed tears.
“I used to think Niccolas was it for me. My one chance at love. And when he died, I convinced myself that part of my life was over. That I’d had my shot and lost it.”
“And now?”
“Now, I’m sitting in a lighthouse with a man who just told me his deepest pain, and I’m realizing—” She paused, her voice thick. “What I had with Niccolas was real. It was good. But this? This is different. Bigger. Like comparing a candle flame to a wildfire.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Wildfires are terrifying.” Her smile was wobbly. “But they’re also beautiful. And they clear away the deadwood so new things can grow.”
He pulled her close, tucked her head under his chin. His panther settled—truly settled, beyond dormant. Not sleeping, but calm. Watchful. Content in a way he’d never experienced.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The stars turned overhead. The ocean kept its steady rhythm below.
He kissed her—deeper this time, hungrier. Her hands slid under his shirt, traced the muscles of his back. His fingers found the hem of her flannel, the warm skin beneath.
“We should—” She gasped as his mouth found her throat. “There’s a blanket downstairs—”
“Later.” He eased her back against the cool stone of the walkway. “I need you now.”
The stars wheeled overhead.