Chapter 45
FORTY-FIVE
NARLA
Aweek later, Narla sat in a cold marble chamber.
The Continental Council representatives watched from their raised dais—an ancient vampire with hooded eyes, a wolf elder with silver threading her hair, and a witch whose power hummed through the air thick enough to taste.
They’d traveled to Haven Shores for this.
For her testimony. For the impossible news that a Devourer had survived five centuries of hunting and been destroyed by a small coastal town.
“Start from the beginning,” the wolf elder instructed. “Leave nothing out.”
She had told this story before—to Wyatt, to her friends, to herself in the dark of a hundred sleepless nights. It never got easier. But speaking it into the marble silence of an official chamber, she felt each word set like stone. Permanent. On record. Impossible to erase or dismiss.
She told them everything. The patient files that hadn’t added up.
The fire that was not an accident. Clara’s car.
The six years of silence. When she finished, she slid Niccolas’s files across the table before the wolf elder could ask.
“Niccolas’s files. I had copies made before submitting the originals to the Haven Shores Elder Council. They’re yours now.”
When she finished, her throat was raw.
The chamber sat in weighted silence.
“You held this information for years.” The vampire’s voice carried no accusation, but the observation hung in the air.
“I did.”
“The Council has resources. Protocols for—”
“For what?” The words came out sharper than she intended. “For a species your archives declared extinct? My sister tried to bring you evidence. She died for it.” Narla held the ancient gaze without flinching. “Tell me why I should have believed you’d protect me any better.”
The vampire’s expression didn’t change. But he inclined his head, slowly, as though the weight of the concession cost him something. “You should not have had to bear this alone. That is a failure we cannot undo, and will not pretend otherwise.”
The wolf elder opened a leather-bound folder on the dais. “We found a partial case file in our enforcement archives. Clara Wright. Your sister.” Her voice was quiet. “We should have listened.”
The wolf elder shifted forward. “The families of his victims deserve to know.”
“I’ve compiled everything Niccolas documented.
Patient names, dates, locations. Five centuries of feeding—there’s no way to identify everyone.
But it’s a start.” Narla’s hands had steadied during the testimony, her voice growing stronger with each revelation.
Speaking the truth had felt like releasing a breath she’d held for years.
“Some of those families have been wondering what happened to their loved ones for decades. They deserve answers.”
“We’ll investigate,” the witch said. “Track his movements through the centuries. Build as complete a record as we can.” Her expression softened almost imperceptibly. “You’ve given them something they never expected to receive. Closure.”
Closure. Such a simple word for such a complicated thing.
“I didn’t do it for closure.” Narla rose from the witness chair, suddenly exhausted by the formality, the cold marble, the weight of official proceedings. “I did it because he would have kept killing. Because I finally found people worth fighting for.”
She thought about her friends. About Wyatt, currently wearing a groove in the antechamber floor with his pacing. About the community that had rallied around her without hesitation.
“Is there anything else?”
The representatives exchanged glances. The vampire inclined his head.
“You’re free to go, Ms. Wright. The Council thanks you for your testimony.” A pause. “And for what you accomplished. Destroying a Devourer is no small feat.”
“I had an army.” She turned toward the door. “I had Haven Shores.”
Wyatt was waiting exactly where she knew he’d be.
The bond told her his location before she cleared the doorway—that constant awareness, that compass in her chest pointing unfailingly toward her mate. He stood near the antechamber’s far wall, arms crossed, radiating tension that probably had everyone else in the room edging toward the exits.
His gaze found hers the instant she appeared. Two strides and he was there, his hands cupping her face, his forehead pressed to hers.
“Done?”
“Done.” She leaned into him, let his warmth chase away the chill of the marble chamber. “They’ll investigate. Build a record. Give families answers.”
“Good.” His thumb traced her cheekbone. “You okay?”
“Better than okay.” And it was true. The weight she’d carried for so long had finally lifted. Speaking the truth hadn’t destroyed her—it had set her free. “I need to see my parents.”
His lips brushed her forehead. “I’m coming with you.”
She didn’t argue.