“Her flames,” he said. “They could strip his disguise.”
Aero nodded. “The accounts describe using ‘light that cannot lie’ to force Devourers into their true forms. Once exposed, they become vulnerable.” His gaze met Wyatt’s, ancient and deadly. “Delos and I, when the time comes, we’ll be ready.”
“And if the candles don’t work?”
“Then we find another way.” Aero’s voice held the certainty of someone who’d lived eight centuries. “He’s survived this longby hiding. By picking off isolated targets who couldn’t fight back. Haven Shores isn’t isolated.”
Wyatt’s tension eased from his shoulders. Not relief—relief was for after the monster was dead. But validation, maybe. Confirmation that his instincts to protect, to fight, weren’t just his panther’s possessiveness.
“I need to check on her,” he said. “She’s at the shop.”
Aero’s expression shifted—the faintest flicker of emotion that might have been amusement on anyone else. “Go. I’ll contact you if I find anything else.”
Wyatt was halfway to the door when Aero spoke again.
“Sheriff.” A pause. “The accounts mention more. Devourers fixate on threats. When they identify threats that could expose them, they become obsessed with eliminating them.”
Wyatt’s blood ran cold. “Narla’s candles.”
“And Narla herself.” Aero’s voice was flat with warning. “She’s not just a witness anymore. She’s the weapon that could destroy him. If Derren realizes that?—”
“He won’t touch her.”
The words came out harder than Wyatt intended. His panther surged so close to the surface, his vision flickered, the world going sharp-edged and predator-clear.
Aero inclined his head. “See that he doesn’t.”
TWENTY-FOUR
WYATT
The grocery store on Harbor Street was crowded for a Thursday morning. Tourists stocking up for weekend stays. Locals grabbing essentials. The hum of mundane life that made Haven Shores feel deceptively safe.
Wyatt spotted her the moment he walked through the doors.
Narla stood near the produce section, a basket over her arm, studying tomatoes with the kind of focus she usually reserved for her candles. She’d worn her hair loose today—dark waves falling past her shoulders, silver threads catching the fluorescent light. The sight of her sent heat lancing through his chest.
Mine.
He started forward.
And then he saw Derren.
The Devourer had appeared at her elbow. Close. Too close. His mouth curved in that practiced smile, and he leaned down to whisper words that made Narla’s whole body go rigid.
Wyatt’s vision went sharp-edged and gold.
Every instinct surged to the surface with a force that made his bones creak. Twenty-three years of discipline, of keeping the beast caged—and it crumbled in the space of a heartbeat.
He crossed the store in seconds. Didn’t remember moving. Just suddenly there, inserting himself between Narla and the monster wearing a charming mask.
“Ms. Wright.” His voice came out rough, barely human. “We have a meeting.”
Derren’s smile never wavered, but calculation shifted behind his eyes. Cold and calculating, it assessed Wyatt with predator precision.
“Sheriff Gentry.” The words were smooth as silk. “I was congratulating Narla on her recent success with those remarkable candles. Everyone’s talking about them. I’ve been researching.”
Wyatt felt Narla’s hand brush his back—a steadying touch, a warning. Her fingers trembled.
