Chapter 40
FORTY
WYATT
The bond snapped into place like a circuit being completed.
One moment, there was pleasure, just the aftermath of release, just their bodies tangled on the clifftop.
The next moment—he knew where she was. Not through sight or sound or touch, but something lodged beneath instinct, absolute and certain.
A fixed point inside his chest, anchored to her.
There was a sense of—rightness. Completeness. Like a piece of him that had been missing his whole life had finally clicked into place.
Mate. Bonded. Ours.
His panther’s satisfaction was absolute. Narla shuddered beneath him, her breath coming in gasps. Blood welled from the bite mark on her shoulder—a crescent pattern, his mark, permanent and undeniable.
“Narla.” His voice roughened, wrecked. “Are you—”
“Yes.” She laughed—breathless, wondering. “God, yes. I can feel you. Not your thoughts, not your emotions, just—you. Where you are. Like you’re a star I can always navigate by.”
“The bond.” His lips found the mark, tasting copper and salt. “Compass-awareness. As if you’re the north I’ll always navigate by.”
“Is that what this is?” Her fingers traced his jaw, wonderingly. “I feel—whole. For the first time in years. Like something that was missing finally came home.”
He pressed his forehead to hers, neither of them speaking. There weren’t words for it—just the bond settling into place, the claiming mark cooling on her skin, and the absolute certainty that nothing would ever be the same.
Mate.
He had a mate. After a lifetime of solitude, he had a mate.
They lay wrapped in the blanket afterward, watching the stars come out.
The ocean continued its endless rhythm below.
The wind had died down, leaving the night still and cold, but he barely felt it.
Her body was tucked against his side, her head on his chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his stomach.
The claiming mark on her shoulder had stopped bleeding. Already, he could see the edges starting to heal—not completely, never completely, but enough that the crescent shape was visible. His mark. His claim. Proof that she belonged to him.
“No regrets?” The question came out before he could stop it. She tilted her face up to look at him. In the starlight, her expression was soft, wondering.
“None.” She kissed his jaw. “You’re mine now, Sheriff. No take-backs.”
“I was yours the moment you walked into my station. Your magic knew before either of us did.” He caught her hand, laced their fingers. “Maybe that’s what the surge has been doing all along. Pushing people toward the ones they were meant to find.”
“Maybe.” She settled back against his chest. “Or maybe we were always going to find each other. The surge just sped things up.”
“Sped things up.” He snorted. “We spent years dancing around each other.”
“We’re slow learners.”
“Speak for yourself. I knew what you were to me the moment I saw you.”
“You spent years investigating me.”
“Thoroughly researching. There’s a difference.”
“Stalking.” But she was smiling, her voice warm with teasing. “My mate is a stalker. I should probably be concerned.”
Mate.
The word hit him again, fresh and overwhelming. She’d called him her mate. Not just a lover, beyond a partner—her mate. The one she’d been waiting for her whole life, even if neither of them had known it.
“You should definitely be concerned.” He rolled her beneath him, pinning her to the blanket with his weight. “I’ve been watching you for years. I know your routines. Your habits. The way you tap your fingers when you’re nervous and bite your lip when you’re thinking.”
“Creepy.”
“Observant.” He kissed her nose. “I know the exact shade of gray you wear when you’re having a bad day. I know you make lavender candles when you’re stressed and cinnamon ones when you’re happy. I know you talk to your owl in full sentences and he judges you silently in return.”
“Ember doesn’t judge.”
“Ember judges everyone. He’ll be leaving dead mice on my doorstep for the next thirty years.”
“That’s a sign of respect.”
“That’s a threat.” But he was smiling too, the easy banter settling the muscles of his shoulders. This was what he’d been missing all those years. Not just physical intimacy, but this—lightness, laughter, the simple joy of being with someone who knew all his sharp edges and loved him anyway.
“You can make up for lost time other ways,” she murmured. Her hips shifted beneath him, deliberately provocative. “If you’re feeling ambitious.”
“Derren is still out there.”
“So we should conserve our energy.” But her hands were already pulling him closer.
Neither of them moved to stop.
They drove back to the cabin. The night had grown cold, but the bond pulsed warm in Wyatt’s chest, a constant reminder of her presence even when she sat just inches away.
He kept one hand on her thigh, his thumb tracing circles on her knee, unable to break contact for long.
She met his gaze. “Whatever comes, we face it.”
“We face it.” He glanced at her—his mate, his claimed, his everything. “Together.”
“No more doing this alone,” she said quietly.
“Never again.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “That’s a promise, Narla.”
He meant it. More than he could express. He pulled into the cabin’s driveway. Neither of them moved to get out immediately. Just sat in the quiet, the moon painting silver stripes across the dashboard, settling over them.
“Whatever happens next—” he started.
“Don’t.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “Whatever happens, we face it. No contingency planning for failure.”
She leaned across the console and kissed him instead—soft and unhurried, her hand over the bond humming steady in his chest.
“Take me inside,” she murmured when she pulled back.
He did.
Dawn came too soon.
Wyatt woke with Narla draped across his chest, her hair spilling over his shoulder, her breath warm against his skin. The claiming mark on her shoulder had settled into a dark crescent, already beginning to scar—proof of what they’d chosen, as real as the bond humming in his chest.
For a long moment, he just lay there. Feeling her weight. Feeling the bond humming in his chest—that GPS awareness, that sense of exactly where she was even though she lay inches away.
Mate. Mine. Ours.
His panther was finally content. Maybe truly content for the first time ever.
He’d been a ghost before her. Now he was claimed, and awake, and exactly where he was supposed to be.
Narla stirred against him. Her eyes fluttered open.
“Morning.” Her voice was sleep-rough, satisfied.
“Morning.” His lips brushed her hair. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I got thoroughly claimed last night.” She smiled against his chest. “And like I’m finally whole.”
“Good.” He tightened his arms around her. “Because today, we end this.”
Today, they would face Derren. Today, they would fight for their community, their friends, their future. But first—
He rolled her beneath him, kissed her deep and slow.
“We have time,” he murmured against her mouth. “A little time.”
“Then stop wasting it.”
He didn’t argue.
Outside, the sun was rising over Haven Shores. The community stood watch. Wolves running patrol. Dragons circling the harbor. Witches gathering their potions and candles. But here, in this cabin, there was just them. Just Wyatt and his mate, wrapped in each other, breathing in this stolen peace.
Claimed.