Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
NARLA
The morning after the lighthouse, Narla woke to Wyatt’s mouth on her shoulder and his hand sliding up her thigh.
“We have somewhere to be.” Her protest came out breathless as his teeth grazed the sensitive spot below her ear.
“Later.” He rolled her beneath him, and she stopped protesting.
An hour later—showered, dressed, and pleasantly sore in all the right places—she stood in Wyatt’s kitchen and tried to figure out how to tell her best friends the rest of it—all of it this time, not just the edges she had been willing to expose before.
Wyatt came up behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist, his chin settling on top of her head. She leaned back into his chest without thinking about it. The ease of touching him still surprised her sometimes—how natural it had become, how her body sought his warmth without conscious thought.
“You don’t have to do this today.” His voice rumbled against her back.
“We can wait until after—”
“No.” She turned in his arms, pressed her palms flat against his chest. “I’ve made them wait long enough. They deserve the truth.”
“They’re going to want blood.”
“Good.” She rose on her toes, kissed the corner of his mouth. “So do I.”
The Siren’s Rest looked like every postcard of coastal New England—weathered shingles, window boxes overflowing with late-season flowers, the faded sign swinging gently in the ocean breeze.
Avine’s bed-and-breakfast had been the emotional heart of the friend group since before Narla arrived in Haven Shores.
Every crisis, every celebration, every moment of collective joy or grief—they’d processed it all in the suite on the top floor.
Today would be no different.
Wyatt parked his truck at the curb and cut the engine. His hand found hers across the console, squeezed once.
“I can come in with you.”
“This is a witches’ gathering.” She squeezed back, then released him. “The alphas have their brewery. We have our wine and questionable life choices.”
“Should I be worried about those questionable life choices?”
“Probably.” She leaned across, brushed her lips against his cheek. The stubble scratched pleasantly against her lips. “I’ll call when we’re done.”
She climbed out before he could protest further.
Felt his gaze on her back as she walked up the porch steps, through the front door, up the narrow staircase to Avine’s suite.
The door was already open. Voices drifted out—Junie’s bright chaos, Cassia’s dramatic intensity, and underneath it all, the warm steadiness that was Avine.
Narla paused at the threshold. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She’d told Wyatt everything. She’d told Junie some of it. But telling the whole group, all at once—
You’ve hidden long enough.
She walked through the door.
Avine’s laptop was already open on the coffee table, Dahlia’s face on the screen.
Cal’s shoulder was visible behind her. Three heads turned as Narla entered.
Avine rose from the couch, her expression soft with concern.
Junie stopped mid-sentence, her gaze sharpening.
Cassia’s fingers sparked with residual storm energy, the way they always did when she was worried.
“You came.” Avine crossed the room, pulled Narla into a hug that smelled like lavender and fresh-baked bread. “We weren’t sure you would.”
“I almost didn’t.” Narla returned the embrace, drawing strength from it.
Avine pulled back and studied her face. Whatever she saw there made her expression shift—concern deepening into fierce determination.
“Sit.” She guided Narla to the couch and pressed a glass of wine into her hand. “We’re listening.”
Narla sank into the cushions. Junie settled beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched.
Cassia claimed the armchair across from them, her storm-dark gaze fixed on Narla’s face.
On the laptop screen, Dahlia leaned forward, her brow furrowed.
Four friends. Four women who’d stood by her through candle crises and festival disasters and the everyday chaos of supernatural life in Haven Shores.
Four people she’d been lying to since the day she arrived.
“I need to tell you something.” Her voice was steadier than she expected. “About why I came to Haven Shores. About what I’ve been hiding all these years.”
“We know some of it.” Junie’s hand found hers, squeezed. “You told me about Derren. About Niccolas.”
“I told you the surface.” Narla took a breath. “This is everything.”
And she began.
She told them everything—the Devourers, their true nature, what Derren had done to Niccolas and Clara. Not the careful, partial version. All of it.
When she finished, the suite was silent. On the laptop screen, Dahlia had pressed her hand over her mouth; Cal had moved into frame behind her. Avine’s expression had gone fierce. Cassia’s storm energy crackled quietly through her hair.
“We’re going to destroy him.” Junie broke the silence, her voice flat with certainty. “I’m working on glamour-piercing potions. They’re not perfect, but they strip magical disguises down to the fundamental form. If we can get one into Derren’s vicinity—”
“Aero and Delos are already prepared.” Cassia’s storm energy crackled with certainty.
From the laptop, Dahlia’s voice joined the chorus. “Cal can call in the Ursa sleuth for backup. They’re only a flight away. He’s already offered.”
“We can coordinate evacuation if it comes to that.” Avine’s practical mind was already spinning. “The Siren’s Rest can be a safe point. The wards here are strong—Theo reinforced them after Nerissa. We can shelter civilians, keep them protected while the fighters engage Derren.”
The outpouring of love made Narla’s eyes sting again. Her friends were stepping up without hesitation, weaving safety nets she’d never thought to ask for.
“Thank you.” The words felt inadequate. “All of you.”
Wyatt was out of the truck before Narla reached the curb, his long stride eating up the distance between them.
“How’d it go?”
“They’re mobilizing.” She let him pull her into his arms and press a kiss to her hair. “Potions, dragons, wolves, bears. My friends are preparing for war.”
“Good.” His voice was rough. “So are the guys. They’re meeting at the brewery tonight.”
“Cassia mentioned it.”
He pulled back enough to look at her face. His fingers found her chin, tilted it up.
“You’ve been crying.”
“Happy tears. Mostly.” She managed a watery smile. “Turns out telling people the truth and having them rally around you is kind of overwhelming.”
“Get used to it.” He brushed his thumb across her cheekbone, wiping away a tear she hadn’t realized had fallen. “That’s what I’m here for.”
Narla leaned up and kissed him. Right there on the sidewalk, in full view of anyone passing by, in full view of the gossip network that would have this all over Haven Shores by sunset. She didn’t care.
His hands came up to cup her face, and he kissed her back—slow, thorough, possessive. When they finally broke apart, his eyes had gone bright with heat.
“Not that I’m complaining,” he murmured, “but what was that for?”
“For being patient.” She pressed her forehead to his chest, breathed him in. “For waiting while I figured out how to let people in.”
“I’d wait longer.” His arms tightened around her. “However long you need.”
“I know.” She tilted her face up to look at him—this man who’d watched her for years, who’d suspected her and wanted her and refused to give up on either. “That’s why it matters.”