“I don’t know.” Her brow furrowed. “Before the surge, my candles just… helped. Subtle enchantments for peace, protection, clarity. The mate-revealing started after the equinox. After—” She glanced at him. “After the festival.”
“After we lost control.”
“After the dynamic shifted.” She pulled her knees back to her chest. “I’ve been thinking about what Derren said. That revelation magic is dangerous. That my candles might be weaponized.”
“Can they expose what he is?”
“I don’t know.” She met his gaze, and he saw fear there—but also more. Determination. “But maybe it’s time to find out.”
Wyatt’s panther stirred with approval. This was the woman who had survived a monster for years. Not the victim. The survivor. The fighter.
“We’ll figure it out.” He let his hand settle on the railing between them, close enough to touch but not quite. “Whatever your magic can do, whatever Derren is planning—we’ll find a way.”
Her fingers found his. Interlaced. Held.
They stayed like that as the fire burned low, hands clasped on the table, not kissing, not pushing further than the fragile trust between them could bear.
Building trust. Slowly. Carefully.
NINETEEN
WYATT
The drive back to her cottage was quiet.
Not awkward—that was the strange part. Wyatt had expected tension, discomfort, the usual distance that settled between them. Instead, there was more. A settling. An ease he didn’t know how to name.
Narla sat in his passenger seat, her head tilted against the window, watching the dark trees slide past. Her hand rested on the center console, inches from his. Not touching, but available. Present.
“You didn’t have to do this, you know.” Her voice was soft. “The date. The cooking. Any of it.”
“I know.”
“You could have just called. Scheduled a meeting at the station. Kept things professional.”
“I could have.” He kept his eyes on the road. “I didn’t want to.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Why?”
The question deserved an honest answer. He owed her that much, after everything she’d shared.
“I’ve spent years watching you from a distance. Investigating you. Telling myself it was professional vigilance when it was—”He stopped. Forced himself to continue. “When it was more than that entirely. My panther knew what you were from the first moment. I just refused to listen.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m tired of fighting it.” He pulled into her driveway and stopped. Turned to face her in the darkness. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t want to be near you. That your presence doesn’t make the beast inside me go quiet in a way nothing else does.”
Her lips parted. Her eyes caught the moonlight, dark and deep, and watching him with an intensity that hollowed out his chest.
“Wyatt—”
“I’m not asking for anything.” He needed her to understand. “I’m not expecting you to feel the same way. You’ve been through hell, and the last thing you need is a panther shifter crowding you when you’re still trying to survive a monster.”
“What if I want to be crowded?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “What if I’ve been surviving so long that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to actually live?”
“Narla.”
“I saw your face in my candle.” She said it without looking away. “The night of the festival. I lit a candle to calm myself, and the flame showed me you. Clear and undeniable. My fated mate.”
