Her next spell rips through me like barbed wire. Warm blood runs down my face, mixing with the tears I didn’t know I was crying. Through our bond, I feel Bast struggling to move, to help. His pain fuels me, turns my fear to fury.
Elsa’s hand finds my hair, yanking my head back. “TheMathairsshould have drowned you along with your brother.” Magick builds around her other hand, deadly and cold. “I’ll rectify that mistake now.”
Drowned me? A brother? Fuck. What? No. Concentrate, Bridget. She’s trying to distract you.
Time slows. In her eyes, I see every moment of cruelty, every “lesson” that left me bloody and broken. I see Brianna’s suffering. I see the death she plans for Bast. The way the Salem Court will ruin everything for everyone here.
Not this time.
I don’t think. Don’t plan. I just act, the way she taught me. My hands find her face, and I pour everything into them—rage, love, desperation.
Elsa’s eyes go wide. Her mouth opens in a silent scream as power—my power, my mate’s power—surges between us.
Then it’s over.
She slumps, empty eyes staring at the predawn sky. I scramble away from her body, retching into the gravel. Every inch of me screams with pain, but I force myself to move.
“Bast.” I crawl to him. “Bast, please. Please wake up.”
He’s so still.
Too still.
Blood mats his fur, and ugly welts from Elsa’s spells have cut deep bloody gashes through his sides. Through our bond, I feel his life force flickering like a candle in the wind.
“I’m sorry.” Tears fall freely now as I gather him into my lap. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. Please don’t leave me. I can’t—” A painful sob slips free. “I love you. Do you hear me, you stubborn wolf? I love you. So you have to wake up. Please.”
I press my forehead to his wide flat head, feeling the weak flutter of his breath from his snout against my cheek. “I choose you,” I whisper fiercely. “I choose us. Just please, please be okay. I love you.”
Chapter Twenty
Bast O’Connor
Rising From Darkness
Everything hurts. I float in darkness, each breath a battle against the weight crushing my chest. The witch’s magick burns through my veins like acid, stealing my strength, my will to move. But something anchors me here—the scent of lavender and angry storms. Tears fall on my fur.
Bridget.
Her voice cuts through the pain. “I choose us. Just please, please be okay. I love you.”
The words sink into my soul, and suddenly I’m fighting harder to surface from this darkness. To get back to her. Through our bond, I feel her terror, her grief—and underneath it all, a fierce, burning love that takes my breath away.
Then her magick hits me, wild and strong and nothing like the cruel power that took me down. This is pure Bridget, wrapped in the primal energy of our mate bond. It pours into me like summer rain, knitting flesh and bone back together. I howl in triumph as strength returns to my limbs.
Fuck, it hurts. But it’s a good hurt. A healing hurt. Each pulse of her power washes away more of Elsa’s poison, replacing ice with warmth.
I force my eyes open. I need to see Bridget’s face.
She’s crying. My beautiful, fierce mate, covered in blood and dirt, tears cutting clean tracks down her cheeks as she pours everything she has into healing me. The sun rises behind her, painting her in gold, and all I can think ismine. Finally, completely, mine.
“That’s it,” she whispers, her hands trembling against my fur. “Come back to me.”
The shift ripples through me before I can stop it, fur melting away to skin as my body remembers its human shape. Bridget’s arms tighten around me, supporting my weight as I change. The bond between us thrums with relief and exhaustion and something deeper—trust, maybe. The walls she’s carried so long are finally crumbling.
Her hands shake as she helps me sit up. Every muscle screams in protest, but I catch her hands in mine, pressing my lips to her knuckles. I manage a weak smile. My throat feels like I’ve swallowed glass, but I force the words out anyway. “You saved me.”
“I killed her.” Bridget’s eyes are fixed on Elsa’s body lying crumpled in the gravel. “I killed my mentor—the woman who raised me.”
