“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” Leo set down his beer, the casual amusement fading from his face. “When one of us starts smelling like someone else—when the scent is that deep, that embedded—it’s very much our business. Because we’ve all been there. Every single one of us sitting at this table has gone through exactly what you’re trying to pretend isn’t happening.”
“I’m not pretending?—”
“You’ve been avoiding us.” Theo’s quiet observation cut through Wyatt’s protest. “You haven’t returned calls. You haven’t answered texts. You’ve been taking alternate routes to avoid passing the brewery. I know because my wolves reported it.”
“Your wolves reported my driving patterns?”
“They reported that the sheriff was acting strangely.” Theo’s gray eyes held steady. “And now you’re here, smelling like the candle witch, radiating tension, and refusing to talk about it. So either a change occurred, or you’ve developed a new hobby of rolling around in her inventory.”
Delos snorted into his beer. Even Hux, lost in his whiskey, cracked the ghost of a smile.
Wyatt’s panther paced behind his ribs, agitated. The beast wanted to snarl, to snap, to make them all back off. But these weren’t enemies. These were… allies. Something closer than allies, maybe, though he’d never admit it out loud.
“The festival.” The words scraped his throat. “At the equinox festival. The surge hit, and?—”
“The surge hit, and you lost control.” Leo finished the sentence with the certainty of someone who’d walked that path. “Couldn’t stop yourself. Couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t do anything except get your hands on her.”
Wyatt’s jaw clenched.
“How far did it go?” Delos’s question was blunt, practical. “Are we talking about a kiss? Something more?”
“That’s—”
“Something more.” Aero’s observation was clinical, detached. “The scent markers are unmistakable. This wasn’t a casual encounter. This was?—”
“Can we not analyze my sex life at the table?” Wyatt’s voice came out as a growl. “I came here to discuss the surge. Not to be interrogated.”
“The surge is exactly what we’re discussing.” Aero pulled out a leather journal—worn, ancient, covered in handwritten notes. “The equinox amplified magical energy across Haven Shores by approximately 340 per cent. We’ve seen similar spikes before, but nothing this concentrated. And the mate-revealing properties of Ms. Wright’s candles suggest the surge is specifically targeting bonded pairs.”
“Targeting?”
“Responding to, perhaps. Amplifying.” Aero flipped through pages covered in diagrams and calculations. “The surge began shortly after Avine and Theo’s mating. It intensified after Junieand Leo’s bond, again after Dahlia and Cal’s, and reached its current peak after Cassia and I completed our claiming.” He looked up. “Four cross-species bonds in eighteen months. The surge appears to be feeding on them, growing stronger with each successful match.”
“Feeding on them.” Wyatt didn’t like the sound of that. “What does that mean for the people involved?”
“Nothing harmful, as far as I can determine. The bonded pairs seem to anchor the surge rather than deplete from it. But the pattern suggests…” Aero paused, choosing his words carefully. “The surge may be attempting to create more bonds. To propagate itself by pushing compatible pairs toward claiming.”
The table went quiet.
“You’re saying the surge made him do it?” Delos looked between Aero and Wyatt. “Made him jump the candle witch at the festival?”
“I’m saying the surge may have lowered inhibitions. Amplified existing attraction. Pushed an already recognized mate bond toward physical consummation.” Aero’s gaze settled on Wyatt. “But it can’t create attraction where none exists. It can only enhance what’s already there.”
“Already there.” Leo leaned back, studying Wyatt with unsettling perception. “Meaning you’ve been carrying a torch for the candle witch for—what? Years?”
“I haven’t been?—”
“Please.” Beck’s snort was derisive. “You’ve been watching her since she arrived. Following her movements. Investigating her background. Don’t tell me that was professional suspicion.”
“It was.”
“Trust me.” Leo’s voice held an edge of understanding that made Wyatt want to hit the wall. “I know exactly how that feels—the certainty that arrives before you have words for it. Before you’re ready to name it.”
Wyatt stared at the table. At his untouched beer. At anything except the faces watching him with varying degrees of sympathy and amusement.
His panther prowled restlessly. The beast wanted to roar the truth from the rooftops—not maintain this fiction of control and professional distance. These men had been where he was. Had fought the same fight. Had lost in exactly the same way.
“She’s your mate.” Leo said it quietly, all trace of teasing gone. “Isn’t she?”
