Chapter 47
FORTY-SEVEN
NARLA
Later, driving back to Haven Shores with Wyatt’s hand warm on her leg, Narla thought about candles.
Her magic hadn’t faded after the battle.
The surge-amplified gift remained—every candle she made still showed truth, still revealed fated mates to anyone who lit the flame.
The range had changed too: where her standard candles had always required the recipient to hold the flame or stand within reach of it, the surge had extended her truth-revealing gift further, to anyone present in the room when the wick caught.
The phenomenon had thrown Haven Shores into chaos for weeks.
Relationships questioned, futures revealed, uncomfortable truths rising to the surface.
The lioness and her husband had parted quietly; Junie said it had been coming long before any candle confirmed it.
That was the thing about truth—it didn’t break what was solid.
It only revealed what was already there.
But sitting in the passenger seat, watching the coastline blur past, Narla finally understood what the gift meant.
Not a curse. Not an accident. A purpose.
She and Wyatt had spent six years circling each other. Six years of denied attraction, missed opportunities, walls built from fear and suspicion. If not for the surge, they might have continued that dance forever—too stubborn to reach for what they wanted, too afraid to admit the truth.
Her candles could help others avoid that fate. Could show people their matches before years slipped away. Could cut through denial and fear and give them the clarity she’d almost missed.
“You’re quiet.” Wyatt’s thumb traced circles on her thigh.
“Thinking about candles.”
“Dangerous territory.”
“I know what I’m supposed to do with them now.” She turned to look at him—her mate, her claimed, the man who’d spent years investigating her because his panther had known what his mind refused to accept. “Help people find what we almost didn’t.”
“We found it eventually.”
“Eventually.” She smiled. “After years of you stalking me.”
“Surveillance.”
“Obsessive monitoring.”
“Professional observation with personal investment.”
She laughed, and the sound felt easy. Natural. Like laughter was supposed to feel—not a luxury she couldn’t afford, but a simple joy she’d finally remembered how to access.
She leaned her head against his shoulder and watched the coastline blur past. There was nothing that needed saying—not right now. He lifted her hand and brought it to his lips anyway, the gesture easy and certain.
“Beck’s been planning a party for a week,” he said finally.
“A week?”
“He had a betting pool on when we’d finally figure it out.” Wyatt’s mouth curved. “He’s been waiting for this since the day you walked into my station.”
“Everyone had a betting pool on us.”
“Sue Tidewell is insufferably smug about it.”
“Sue Tidewell is insufferably smug about everything.”
He laughed, and she leaned across to kiss his cheek, and the road stretched ahead toward Haven Shores and the future they’d finally let themselves imagine.
WYATT
Wolf Moon Brewery was packed.
Every supernatural in Haven Shores seemed to have crowded into Beck’s family establishment—wolves and lions and bears, witches and the occasional dragon.
The dark wood interior glowed with fairy lights someone had strung along the rafters.
The back booth permanently reserved for the alphas had been commandeered for guest-of-honor seating.
Wyatt stood near the bar, nursing a beer he didn’t particularly want, and watched his mate across the room.
Narla was talking to Cassia, her hands moving as she explained something. Probably the mechanics of her truth candles—Cassia’s storm energy was crackling with interest, lightning flickering through her hair. Junie had joined them, adding commentary that made both women laugh.
Narla’s face was open. Unguarded. The mask she’d worn for six years had finally dropped, revealing the woman beneath—fierce and warm and full of a joy she’d forgotten how to feel.
She was beautiful. She’d always been beautiful. But this was different.
This was his mate. Happy. Free. Finally, completely free.
The bond hummed at the edge of his awareness—that constant knowledge of exactly where she was.
“Stop brooding.” Delos appeared at his elbow, dragon-warm and annoyingly cheerful. “This is a celebration. Brooding is forbidden.”
“I’m not brooding.”
“You’re standing in a corner staring at your mate with an expression that would terrify small children.” Delos flagged down Beck for another beer. “That’s textbook brooding.”
“I’m observing.”
“You’re obsessing.” But Delos was grinning. “Not that I blame you. She’s remarkable. The way she faced that thing—” He shook his head. “I’ve seen dragons with less courage.”
Wyatt didn’t argue. He’d watched Narla step forward with nothing but a candle and her voice, watched her strip a centuries-old monster of its glamour through sheer force of will. Watched her reclaim the voice she’d lost when Derren destroyed her world.
Remarkable didn’t begin to cover it.
“She’s everything.” The words came out rough.
Delos laughed. “At least you got there eventually. Some people never figure it out.”
Across the room, Narla looked up. Her eyes found his immediately—that bond awareness, that instinctive knowledge of exactly where he was.
She smiled.
Narla had walked into his life and burned those walls to ash. Had forced him to feel things he’d convinced himself he couldn’t. Had given him what he’d never expected—a home. A family. A future.
Worth it. Every moment of fear and confusion and wanting. Every sleepless night. Every wall that had to fall. All of it. Worth it.
She started toward him, weaving through the crowd. The friend group watched her go with knowing smiles—Cassia’s storm energy settling into contentment, Junie’s grin turning smug, Avine and Theo exchanging looks of quiet satisfaction near the fireplace.
Narla reached him and slid her hand into his. The touch was natural now. Automatic. As essential as breathing.
He kissed her.
The bar erupted.
Cheers and catcalls and whistles echoed off the dark wood walls. Theo’s wolves howled—actual howls, because wolves couldn’t help themselves. Leo was laughing while Junie shouted a ribald comment. Beck had climbed onto the bar to lead some toast.
Delos wolf-whistled. Because apparently dragons found that funny.
And in the corner, watching it all with insufferable smugness, sat Elder Sue Tidewell.
“Took them long enough,” she announced to the room at large. “I was starting to think I’d have to lock them in a closet.”
“You had a betting pool,” someone called.
“I run betting pools on all my couples. It keeps things interesting.” Her smile widened as she looked at Wyatt and Narla. “Five successful cross-species bonds since the surge began. Haven Shores is becoming quite the romantic phenomenon.”
“We did the work,” Junie protested. “You watched.”
“Watching is its own work, dear.” Sue smiled.
He thought about the man he’d been before Narla. The cold sheriff who trusted no one. The predator who’d convinced himself that isolation was the same as strength.
That man was gone now. Not destroyed—transformed. Broken open by love and rebuilt around a new awareness.
Around her.
He thought about the cabin that had been his prison. Bare walls, functional furniture, nothing that suggested a person with an inner life lived there. Now there were candles on the counters. Her clothes in the closet. The scent of lavender and beeswax woven into every room.
Home. Finally, he had a home.
He pulled Narla closer, his arm settling around her waist. She leaned into him without hesitation, her body fitting against his with the ease of long familiarity.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“That I wasted so many years being afraid of this.” His mouth found her temple. “That you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. That I don’t know how I existed before you.”
“That’s a lot of thinking.”
“I’m making up for lost time.”
She turned in his arms, reached up to touch his face. Her fingers traced his jaw, his cheekbone, the lines around his eyes that had deepened in the weeks since the festival.
“You know what I’m thinking?”
“Tell me.”
“You, with your suspicious investigations and your obsessive surveillance and your panther who knew what you wouldn’t admit. You made me want to fight. Made me want to live. Made me want—”
“What?” The word scraped out.
“Everything.” She kissed him. “I want everything with you. The mornings and the arguments and the quiet nights. The future I couldn’t let myself imagine. All of it.”
“You have it.” He pulled her close, buried his face in her hair. “You have all of it. You have me.”
Around them, the celebration continued—laughter and music and the sounds of a community that had rallied and emerged stronger. Theo raised his glass. Beck shouted something about more drinks. Cassia’s storm energy crackled with joy.
Wyatt didn’t look away from his mate.
Years of isolation. Years spent watching her from a careful distance. One night that changed everything.
The storms of Haven Shores had finally cleared.
And for the first time in his life, Wyatt Gentry was exactly where he belonged.