“Boss?” Rena’s voice cut through the haze. “You okay? You look?—”
“Fine.” He shoved back from his desk, grabbed his keys. “I’m going out. Community visits. Don’t wait up.”
He was in his car before she could ask follow-up questions, pulling out of the parking lot with more speed than the situation warranted.
“This is professional.” The lie echoed in the empty car. “I’m investigating a magical incident. Gathering information. Nothing personal.”
His beast didn’t bother responding. They both knew exactly what this was.
He’d driven her route a hundred times. Late-night patrols that just happened to pass her property. Casual surveillance he’d justified as professional caution.
What he’d told himself was due diligence. What his panther had always known was something closer to worship.
Today, he didn’t bother with the pretense.
What was she hiding from?
What had driven her to fortify her cottage like she expected siege?
He parked in the driveway, killed the engine, sat motionless for a long moment.
The bond pulsed between them. He could feel her inside—her presence, her proximity, that magnetic pull since last night. His panther strained toward her with desperate hunger.
The front door opened before he could move.
Narla stood on the porch, wearing a loose sweater and leggings, her dark hair falling around her shoulders. There wereshadows under her eyes—she hadn’t slept either—and her hands wrapped around a steaming mug.
She looked exhausted. Wary. Beautiful.
“Sheriff.” Her voice carried across the distance, carefully neutral. “I figured you’d show up eventually.”
He got out of the car slowly, giving them both time to adjust. “You’ve heard about the candles.”
“Hard not to. My phone’s been ringing since seven.” She didn’t move from the porch, didn’t invite him closer. Smart. They both knew what happened when they got within arm’s reach. “I assume you’re here about the mate-vision situation.”
“Among other things.”
Her gaze flickered—vulnerability behind that careful mask, quickly suppressed. “If you’re expecting answers, I don’t have them. The surge altered my magic. I don’t know what or why or how to stop it.”
“Have you tested one yourself?”
The question hung in the air between them. Loaded. Dangerous.
Narla’s hands tightened on her mug. Her heartbeat—he could hear it now, predator senses sharpening—kicked faster. “Why do you ask?”
“Professional curiosity.”
“That’s a lie.” The words came out flat. Certain.
She was right. It was a lie. Everything between them had been lies—his suspicion, her careful distance, the professional gloss they’d maintained while something magnetic drew them closer with inexorable force.
Last night had burned through the lies. And now they were standing in the ashes, staring at each other across ten feet of gravel driveway, both of them knowing exactly what the truth was.
“You lit a candle.” His voice came out rough. “After the festival. After—” He couldn’t say it. “You lit a candle, and you looked into the flame.”
Narla’s expression shuttered. Her scent shifted—he caught fear beneath the lavender, copper-sharp and primal. Not fear of him, exactly. Something more. A deeper truth.
“What did you see?” The question ripped out of him, raw and demanding. “Narla. What did you see?”
