“This might be uncomfortable,” I warn, maneuvering her so she’s on her side. My hands shake slightly as I reach for the middle seat belt and secure it around her waist. “Just…just to keep you from rolling off.”
Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I’m lost in her like I was last night. There’s so much there—something that makes my chest ache. I look away first, slamming the door with more force than necessary.
Behind the wheel, I grip the steering column hard.Get it together, O’Connor. You’ve got a job to do.Protect the pack. Protect the coven. Protect…her.
Even if she might be the biggest threat of all.
The drive back to my cabin is the longest trip of my life. The silence in the truck is oppressive, broken only by the crunch of gravel under the tires and Bridget’s muffled breathing from the back seat. My eyes flick to the rearview mirror more times than I care to admit.
She looks so small back there, curled on her side, her dark hair a tangled mess across her face. The urge to reach back and brush those strands away, to cup her cheek and tell her everything will be okay, is almost overwhelming. But I can’t. I don’t even know if it would be true.
I take the turn onto my property too fast, the truck fishtailing slightly. Bridget lets out a muffled noise of surprise, and I mutter a curse. “Sorry,” I say, though I’m not sure if I’m apologizing for the driving or…everything else.
As the cabin comes into view, my stomach twists. Just last night, I led her up those same steps, drunk on joy and desire. Now… Christ, now everything’s gone to shit.
I park and sit for a moment, hands still gripping the wheel.Think, O’Connor. You need a plan.But every thought is tangled up in the scent of her, in the memory of her lips on mine, in the sickening knowledge that it might all have been a lie.
With a growl of frustration, I yank open my door and stalk around to the back. Bridget’s eyes are on me the second I open her door, wide and wary. My heart clenches.
“I’m going to carry you inside,” I tell her. “I… I don’t want to hurt you.”
She nods, a tiny movement that releases some of the tightness in my heart. As I lift her into my arms again, I can’t help but notice how perfectly she fits against my chest. She was made for me. Fated for me. And that’s the cruelest joke of all.
Inside, I pause, unsure where to put her. The couch feels too casual, the bed too intimate. I settle for lowering her gently into one of the kitchen chairs.
“Lawrence and Rachel will be here soon,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “They’ll…we’ll figure this out.”
Bridget makes a sound—frustration, maybe fear—and I have to look away. Because if I keep staring into those green eyes, I might do something stupid. I might really start to believe that whatever brought her here, whatever mission she was on, doesn’t matter anymore. That we can overcome it.
But it does matter. And I have no fucking clue if we can.
I’m pacing the living room floor, torn between watching Bridget and staring out the window, when the crunch of tires on gravel announces more arrivals. Lawrence exits a vehicle with two other men I haven’t met.
My wolf bristles, especially after what he did to Bridget in town. But we need answers, and he might be the only one who can get them. He’s directly dealt with theMathairsbefore. Most of the witches in Banfield Court haven’t.
The knock at the door is more of a demand than a request. I yank it open, my lips curling back in an involuntary snarl. “Lawrence.”
He pushes past me without waiting for an invitation. The two men with him take up places at the bottom of my steps, standing like guards.
“Where’s her phone?” Lawrence demands, not bothering with pleasantries.
The question catches me off guard.Her phone?My wolf bristles at Lawrence’s tone, but I’d felt Bridget’s fear when she checked that screen earlier. These witches that sent her…they’re controlling her somehow.
“On her, I suppose. Or in her purse.” I gesture to where I tossed her bag on the coffee table.
Lawrence snatches up the purse and digs through it. “Not here.” He stalks toward my mate and I’m in front of him in a half a second.
“Mine,” I growl in his face.
“Phone.”
I turn to Bridget and feel along her hips, finding the phone in her front right pocket. I pull out the device and toss it to him.
“What do you think you’ll find?”
“Plans. Itinerary. If she’s working alone or not.”
Fuck.I glance at my mate, really look at her. She’s trying to be strong—spine straight despite her bound hands, chin lifted in defiance—but I see the way fear haunts her eyes. Smell the salt of unshed tears. Through our bond, I feel how her chest aches from Lawrence’s spell, how her wrists burn from the binding. But it’s the broken trust in her expression that hits hardest. Like she’s already accepted that everyone in her life will eventually hurt her.
