“I heard through the grapevine. Is she okay?”
“I’m fine.” Narla leaned into Wyatt’s side, speaking toward the phone. “Shaken, but fine.”
“Thank God.” A crash, a curse, then Junie was back. “The glamour-piercing potions are almost ready. I’ve been running tests all week—they strip magical disguises down to the fundamental form. But I don’t know if they’ll work on something as old as a Devourer.”
“Narla’s candles might be our backup.” Wyatt’s arm settled around her waist, pulling her closer. “If the potions fail, she lights the flame.”
“Worth a shot. I’ll bring everything I’ve got to the war council.”
Leo. Cal, via video from Paris. Beck. Hux, who promised to coordinate the town’s defensive wards.
By the time the calls were done, Narla’s head was spinning.
“All of them.” She sank onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. “They all just… dropped everything.”
Wyatt sat beside her. Close enough that their thighs pressed against each other. “That’s what community looks like.”
“I’ve been here for years.” Her voice caught. “Years of hiding, of keeping them at arm’s length, of convincing myself I couldn’t trust anyone. And one phone call?—”
“They’ve been waiting for you to let them in.” His hand found hers, lacing their fingers. “Just like I was.”
She turned to look at him. This man who’d spent years watching her, suspecting her, wanting her despite himself. Who’d shifted into a killing machine to protect her and then held her while she fell apart.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
His mouth curved. Not quite a smile—too much predator in his face for that—but something close. “You walked into my station and shorted out my computer. Fate has opinions.”
A laugh bubbled up, warm and bright. “That was an accident.”
“Sure, it was.” He pulled her into his lap, settling her across his thighs with casual possessiveness. “Your magic knew what it was doing.”
She should protest. Should point out that they had bigger concerns than this, that Derren was out there marshaling forces, that the war council was hours away, and they should be preparing.
Instead, she looped her arms around his neck and kissed him.
His hands came up to cradle her face. Gentle, despite the violence he’d just committed in her defense. Tender, despite the predator still lurking behind his expression.
“When this is over,” he murmured against her mouth, “I’m taking you somewhere. Anywhere you want. The lighthouse, the cliffs, a cabin in the mountains—I don’t care. Just us.”
“A vacation?” The concept felt foreign. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d thought about anything beyond survival.
“A future.” His voice dropped. “The one Derren stole from you. I want to help you build it again.”
Her throat tightened. “Wyatt?—”
“You don’t have to answer now.” He kissed her again, softer this time. “Just think about it. What life looks like without fear. Whatever that means for you.”
She had no idea what that looked like. Couldn’t imagine a world where Derren wasn’t a shadow at the edge of her vision.
But sitting here, in his lap, in his cabin, wrapped in his arms—she could almost picture it.
Almost.
TWENTY-NINE
NARLA
The hours until the war council passed in a blur of preparation.
