She smiled.
Narla had walked into his life and burned those walls to ash. Had forced him to feel things he’d convinced himself he couldn’t. Had given him what he’d never expected—a home. A family. A future.
Worth it. Every moment of fear and confusion and wanting. Every sleepless night. Every wall that had to fall. All of it. Worth it.
She started toward him, weaving through the crowd. The friend group watched her go with knowing smiles—Cassia’sstorm energy settling into contentment, Junie’s grin turning smug, Avine and Theo exchanging looks of quiet satisfaction near the fireplace.
Narla reached him and slid her hand into his. The touch was natural now. Automatic. As essential as breathing.
He kissed her.
The bar erupted.
Cheers and catcalls and whistles echoed off the dark wood walls. Theo’s wolves howled—actual howls, because wolves couldn’t help themselves. Leo was laughing while Junie shouted a ribald comment. Beck had climbed onto the bar to lead some toast.
Delos wolf-whistled. Because apparently dragons found that funny.
And in the corner, watching it all with insufferable smugness, sat Elder Sue Tidewell.
“Took them long enough,” she announced to the room at large. “I was starting to think I’d have to lock them in a closet.”
“You had a betting pool,” someone called.
“I run betting pools on all my couples. It keeps things interesting.” Her smile widened as she looked at Wyatt and Narla. “Five successful cross-species bonds since the surge began. Haven Shores is becoming quite the romantic phenomenon.”
“We did the work,” Junie protested. “You watched.”
“Watching is its own work, dear.” Sue smiled.
He thought about the man he’d been before Narla. The cold sheriff who trusted no one. The predator who’d convinced himself that isolation was the same as strength.
That man was gone now. Not destroyed—transformed. Broken open by love and rebuilt around a new awareness.
Around her.
He thought about the cabin that had been his prison. Bare walls, functional furniture, nothing that suggested a person with an inner life lived there. Now there were candles on the counters. Her clothes in the closet. The scent of lavender and beeswax woven into every room.
Home. Finally, he had a home.
He pulled Narla closer, his arm settling around her waist. She leaned into him without hesitation, her body fitting against his with the ease of long familiarity.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“That I wasted so many years being afraid of this.” His mouth found her temple. “That you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. That I don’t know how I existed before you.”
“That’s a lot of thinking.”
“I’m making up for lost time.”
She turned in his arms, reached up to touch his face. Her fingers traced his jaw, his cheekbone, the lines around his eyes that had deepened in the weeks since the festival.
“You know what I’m thinking?”
“Tell me.”
“You, with your suspicious investigations and your obsessive surveillance and your panther who knew what you wouldn’t admit. You made me want to fight. Made me want to live. Made me want?—”
“What?” The word scraped out.
