They layin sheets that smelled like both of them, her head on his chest, his fingers tracing idle patterns on her shoulder.
“The pack.” Her voice was sleepy. Satisfied. “They’re really fighting for us.”
“For Haven Shores. For the community Derren thought he could threaten.” His arms tightened around her. “You’ve come so far past where you started, Narla. You’re part of something now. We both are.”
She tilted her face up, let her lips graze his jaw.
“I never thought I’d have this again.” Her hand spread flat over his heart. “After Niccolas. After Clara. I convinced myself that caring about anyone was painting a target on their back.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m lying in bed with a man who loves me, and I’m not running.” Her voice carried a new awareness—something that sounded almost like wonder. “I’m staying. Finally, I’m choosing to stay.”
The words settled into his chest, warm and true.
She was staying.
For him. With him.
He pressed his lips to her hair. “I love you.” The words came out honest, unguarded—stripped of the careful distance he’d spent decades constructing. “It’s been true for a long time. I should have said it sooner.”
She turned her face into his chest. She didn’t answer with words. She didn’t need to.
They’d face a monster soon. When Derren made his move, they’d be ready. But tonight, wrapped around each other, they chose to believe they could win.
THIRTY-FIVE
NARLA
Wyatt slept heavily beside her, one arm draped across her waist, his breath warm against her shoulder. He’d worn himself out the night before—showing her exactly what his words meant, making good on every promise whispered in the dark. Her body still hummed with the memory of it.
Then the call came at 3:00 a.m. Sunset Harbor’s night nurse, apologetic and concerned. Her father had wandered out of his room, confused and agitated, asking for Clara.
Clara.
The sister who’d been dead for years. The sister whose murder Narla had never been able to explain.
“He’s fine now,” the nurse had assured her. “Settled back down. But he was quite upset, Mrs. Wright. Asked why Clara hadn’t visited. We thought you should know.”
Narla had thanked her, hung up, and stared at the ceiling for an hour while Wyatt’s heartbeat thudded against her back. She should wake him. Should tell him. Should let him go with her to the nursing home three hours away, watch over her while she checked on her parents, make sure Derren didn’t?—
If Derren was already watching, arriving with Wyatt confirmed everything he’d suspected—two targets instead of one. A lone woman making a family visit was far less interesting. She told herself that firmly. She almost believed it.
Wyatt shifted in his sleep, pulling her closer. His lips brushed her temple—unconscious, instinctive. Even in sleep, he reached for her.
Something lodged in her throat. Not pain—something deeper. When did this happen? she wondered. When did his cabin start feeling more like home than anywhere I’ve lived in years? She couldn’t pinpoint the moment. What mattered was that it had happened. And now she was lying in his bed, surrounded by his scent, and the thought of going back to the life she’d lived before him made her chest feel hollow.
But old habits die hard.
She slipped out of bed, dressed in the dark, and left a note on the kitchen counter:Checking on my parents. Back soon. Don’t worry.She knew he’d worry anyway.
The driveto Sunset Harbor took several hours through winding coastal roads, the sky lightening from black to gray to pale pink as she traveled. Ember rode on the passenger seat, his feathers ruffled with disapproval.
“I know.” She kept her voice low, though there was no one to hear. “I know it’s stupid. I should have brought him. But what if Derren is waiting for him? What if this is an ambush, and if I don’t show up alone, he kills my parents?”
The owl’s stare was eloquent. He’d been giving her that look for thirty-five years—the one that said she was being an idiot and he was disappointed but not surprised.
“I’ve warded every inch of that building. The protection spells are solid. I need to check them. Make sure they’re holding.” She gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles whitening. “Dad asked for Clara. He hasn’t mentioned her in years. What if Derren found a way through? What if?—”
