He kissed her again—longer this time, deeper—and felt her body respond. Her nipples pebbled against his chest. Her thigh slid between his legs.
“We should talk about Derren.” Even as she said it, her hand was sliding down his stomach.
“We should.” He groaned as her fingers wrapped around his hardening cock. “In a minute.”
The minute stretched into twenty. Then thirty. By the time they finally made it to the kitchen—Narla wrapped in his shirt, Wyatt in nothing but boxer briefs—the sun was fully up, and the coffee was desperately needed.
“He’s escalating.” Narla accepted the mug he offered. Black, no argument. “The grocery store—that wasn’t just a threat. He was testing. Seeing how you’d react.”
“I nearly shifted in the produce aisle.” The admission came with a flash of shame. “All that discipline, and one look at him near you?—”
“He wanted that.” Her free hand found his. “He wanted to see if he could make you lose control. It’s what he does. Finds the cracks in people and pries them open.”
Wyatt’s grip tightened. “Then he knows I’m a threat.”
“He knows you’re protective.” She set down the coffee. Moved closer. “There’s a difference. A threat is a target he eliminates. A protector is a tool he uses. He’ll try to go through you to get to me.”
The thought made Wyatt’s blood run cold. Not because he feared for himself—he’d faced down worse than an ancient parasite—but because she was right. Derren would use him. Would use every feeling Wyatt had for her as leverage.
“Then we move faster.” His voice hardened.
“Dragon fire and truth magic.”
“And the whole damn town.” He turned to face her. “You’re not in this by yourself. Neither am I.”
Her expression shifted. The fear didn’t vanish—it might never vanish entirely—but steel rose up beside it.
“Then let’s end him.” She leaned forward, pressed her lips to his. “We do this as a team.”
The word should have terrified him. Should have triggered every defense he’d built over two decades of isolation.
Instead, it was right.
“Get dressed.” He kissed her back—quick, hard, a promise of more to come. “We’ve got a monster to kill.”
Ember hooted from the hallway. Approval, if Wyatt didn’t know better.
He was starting to like that damned owl.
TWENTY-SEVEN
NARLA
She’d lost count of the mornings. Each one the same—Wyatt’s arm heavy across her waist, his breath warm at her temple, the strange revolutionary certainty of waking somewhere she was wanted. A feeling she was still learning not to question.
He’d wanted to walk her to the shop. She’d talked him out of it—she knew her route, knew her wards, and had Ember for company.
He’d checked in with Beck’s wolves before she left. Derren was currently at the bakery. They would keep him there if needed. Narla would be safe on her own.
“Call me when you get there,” he’d said, pulling her in for a kiss that lingered. “I mean it.”
She’d reminded him she’d been walking this route for years. “Humor me,” he’d said, and let her go.
The walkfrom Wyatt’s cabin to Spellbound Lights took twenty minutes through the forest trails. The memory of his mouthcurved her lips as she walked. The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and salt from the distant ocean. Birds sang in the canopy overhead. Everything felt deceptively peaceful.
Narla was halfway to town when the wrongness hit her. But Theo’s wolves said Derren was in the bakery. There should be nothing else to worry about.
But something prickled at the back of her neck. A sensation she’d learned to trust over years of running—the instinct that said eyes are tracking her.
