Chapter 36
THIRTY-SIX
NARLA
The pain was indescribable.
Not heat—wrongness. Corruption spreading through her veins, eating at her magic, consuming everything it touched.
Her candle-flame power flickered and dimmed, overwhelmed by something ancient and hungry.
The fire didn’t burn her skin. It burned deeper—down to the core of her, where her magic lived.
She felt it spreading through her chest, wrapping around her heart, trying to snuff out the light she’d carried since childhood.
Narla collapsed. Her knees hit the pavement, then her hands, then her cheek pressed against cold asphalt. The world went gray at the edges.
Sound distorted—Derren’s voice coming from far away, Ember’s shriek cutting through the static.
Her familiar was attacking. She could hear wings beating, talons scraping, the high keen of an owl in battle fury. But Derren barely noticed. Just batted the bird away with one too-long arm, sent Ember tumbling across the parking lot.
Wyatt.
His name rose through the pain like a lifeline. She saw his face—not the controlled mask he wore in public, but the raw, unguarded expression he wore only for her. The way he’d looked at her last night. The way his voice had cracked on the word “love.”
All those mornings in his kitchen, trading casual touches, learning the rhythm of him. All those nights in his bed, wrapped in warmth, finally feeling alive again.
She thought about her life before him. The careful walls she’d built and called a life. The slow, quiet death dressed up as safety.
And then she had walked into his office, and everything had changed. He’d seen through her mask from the beginning. Had spent years watching, waiting, refusing to look away even when she’d done everything to remain invisible.
He’d made her feel visible again. Wanted. Worth fighting for.
I don’t want to go back.
The thought crystallized with perfect clarity, even as the dark fire spread through her chest.
She didn’t want to go back to who she was before him. Even if it was safer. Even if it was easier. She’d rather have this—this terrifying, exhilarating, too-much feeling—than another year of waiting for her life to begin.
Derren loomed over her, his true form blocking out the rising sun. The wrongness was absolute—a hole in reality, a wound in the fabric of existence.
“Your mate can try to save you.” His voice carried that awful harmonic. “He will fail.” A sound that might have been a laugh erupted from him. “And I’ll consume him too. Slowly. So you can watch.”
No.
The word wasn’t spoken. Couldn’t be spoken—her voice had failed, her body shutting down, the dark fire stealing everything. But she felt it. A defiance that burned brighter than the corruption spreading through her veins.
You don’t get to have him. You don’t get to take this from me. Not after I finally found something worth living for.
“Sleep now, little candle witch.” Derren’s voice faded into static. “When you wake—if you wake—everything you love will be ash.”
Wyatt. I’m sorry. I’m not done.
Darkness claimed her.
Light.
Warmth.
A voice she knew, ragged with fear.
“—don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare leave me. Narla. Narla!”
She tried to open her eyes. The effort was monumental—her lids weighted with exhaustion, her body heavy and wrong.
“She’s waking up.” Another voice. Female. Avine? “Give her space—”
“I’m not leaving her.”
“Wyatt, the healers need room to—”
“I said I’m not leaving.”
Narla forced her eyes open.
The world came into focus slowly. Soft light filtering through gauzy curtains.
The warm tones of Avine’s suite at the Siren’s Rest. Familiar faces crowded around the bed—Avine near the door, Junie clutching a vial of something purple, Cassia crackling with storm energy that she was clearly struggling to contain. And Wyatt.
He sat on the edge of the bed, one hand gripping hers so tightly, it should have hurt. His face was ravaged—gray with exhaustion, eyes red-rimmed, jaw shadowed with stubble. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
But he was here. Solid and real and alive.
He’s alive. Derren didn’t—
His name scraped from her throat—barely a whisper. His entire body shuddered. His free hand came up to cup her face, his thumb brushing her cheekbone, his touch impossibly gentle despite the desperation radiating off him.
“You’re awake.” The words were torn from his chest. “You’re—Jesus, Narla. I thought—”
“How long?”
“Thirty-six hours.” Avine stepped closer, her expression soft with concern. “The dark fire—it came within inches of your heart. If Ember hadn’t led Wyatt to you—”
“Ember?”
“He flew into the kitchen window so hard, he cracked the glass.”
Wyatt’s hand tightened on hers. “Screaming. Beating his wings. I’ve never seen an animal that frantic. He kept flying toward the door, then back to me, then toward the door again. I knew something was wrong.”
“He led you there.”
“Three hours in made in two.” His voice had gone flat.
Factual. The tone he used for case reports.
“Broke every speed limit. Nearly crashed twice. Followed your owl the whole way—he kept circling back to make sure I was still behind him.” His composure cracked.
“Found you in the parking lot, hidden between cars. You were so still. There was your lips had gone cold, your skin ash-grey. I thought—”
“I’m here.” Narla pulled her hand free, reached up to cup his face. His stubble scraped against her palm. “I’m still here.”
“Barely.” His eyes were wet. Wyatt Gentry, who’d spent his whole adult life refusing to feel anything, was crying.
“The dark fire was spreading. The healers had to carve it out of you—physically cut away the corrupted tissue to stop it from reaching your heart. If you’d been alone another ten minutes—”
“But I wasn’t.” She stroked his cheekbone with her thumb. “Ember found you. You found me. My parents—”
“They’re fine.” Cassia’s voice was fierce.
“Derren—”
“Gone.” Wyatt’s jaw tightened. “By the time I got to you, he’d vanished. But he left a message. Written in dark fire on the pavement beside you.”
Narla’s stomach dropped. “What did it say?”
Wyatt’s expression went cold with fury. “Three words. ‘Come find me.’” The room fell silent.
“He’s done hiding.” Junie’s voice was hard. “He knows we’re coming. He’s inviting the confrontation.”
“Because he thinks he’ll win.” Cassia’s storm energy crackled audibly. “Five centuries of surviving—he’s confident. Arrogant.”
“He should be worried.” Wyatt hadn’t looked away from Narla. “Because I’m going to tear him apart.”
“Wyatt—” Avine started.
“Could you give us a minute?” His voice was quiet but absolute. “All of you. Please.”
The witches exchanged glances. Junie squeezed Narla’s foot through the blankets; Cassia pressed a hand to her shoulder; Avine nodded once, soft and understanding.
Then they were gone, and Narla was alone with Wyatt.