But Narla didn’t run. She stood her ground and let her magic rise.
She wasn’t the same woman who’d fled from monsters six years ago. The sight of the constructs made her stomach turn—these weren’t monsters born. They’d been people. Victims. And Derren had taken even their deaths and corrupted them into weapons.
That could have been Niccolas. Could have been Clara.
The thought made her candle-flame power surge hot in her chest.
And at the center of the construct army?—
Derren.
His glamour was already flickering, struggling to maintain itself against the chaos of his attack. Narla caught glimpses of the horror beneath—limbs too long, joints bending wrong, skin that drank the light.
“Did you think you could prepare for me?” His voice carried across the harbor, that awful harmonic underneath making her hindbrain scream submit. “I’ve been watching your little gatherings. Your potions, your dragons, your plans. So predictable.”
Six years of nightmares condensed into a single sound.
Narla’s hands trembled. Her magic flickered.
Then Wyatt’s presence blazed in her awareness—closer, his panther running flat-out toward her, fury and fear and MATE pulsing through the bond.
She wasn’t alone. She would never be alone again.
She straightened her spine. Let her magic rise.
“You should have killed me when you had the chance.”
The wolves arrived first.
They poured out of the forest in a silver wave—Theo’s pack, responding to the alarm that had swept through Haven Shores the moment the constructs surfaced. They hit the construct line with feral precision, teeth and claws tearing through dead flesh.
Then the lions, Leo leading them in a coordinated flanking maneuver that cut the construct forces in two.
Then the thunder of bear paws—Cal’s sleuth, fresh off the red-eye from Paris, crashing into the battle with the unstoppable momentum of a living avalanche.
And above it all, dragons.
Aero descended from the clouds in storm-dragon form—massive, ancient, lightning crackling along wings that had seen eight centuries of conflict. His roar split the morning sky, carrying the weight of ages. Delos followed close behind, smaller but fierce, his fire-dragon flames already building for the fight.
Haven Shores had come to fight.
The sight of them—her community, her found family, her home—made Narla’s throat tight with emotion even as constructs closed in around her.
Then Avine was there.
The innkeeper had shed her gentle hostess demeanor completely. She moved to the dock’s edge, both hands raisedtoward the harbor, and the ocean answered. The water shifted—not a wave but a wall of pressure, rising against the dock pilings, grinding back against the constructs still clawing their way up from the depths. Seawater sealed over the openings in slow, relentless columns. The creatures beneath beat against it and failed. The reinforcements stopped coming.
“The witches are in position!” Avine’s voice carried over the battle sounds. “Junie’s got the glamour-breakers ready. Cassia’s coordinating with Aero. We just need?—”
“Me.” Narla understood. “You need my truth magic.”
“When you’re ready.” Avine gripped her hand, and Narla felt a surge of power flow between them—cold and deep, the particular pull of the sea, the strongest witch in Haven Shores channeling something far older than any of them. “We do this together.”
Theo’s wolves worked in coordinated teams, cutting through construct ranks with military precision. The pack had trained for this kind of battle after Nerissa’s attack, their formations tight and lethal.
Leo’s lions flanked and harried, golden forms darting through the chaos with predatory grace. They weren’t as numerous as the wolves, but they were devastating—each lion taking down constructs twice their size.
And Cal’s bears crashed through the construct army with the determination of alphas who’d dropped everything the moment they heard Haven Shores was under attack. Family first. Haven Shores was family.
