“I meant it,” she murmurs against my chest. “What I said when I thought you were dying. I love you.”
My heart stutters at the words. Through our bond, I feel the truth of them, pure and bright as morning sun. My wolf rumbles in satisfaction.
“I know.” I press my lips to her hair. “I felt it. It’s what brought me back. When you chose me over her, when youpoured your magick into healing me. I felt everything. I love you so much.”
She lifts her head, those incredible green eyes meeting mine. “I’m scared,” she admits. “Not of them. Not anymore. I’m scared of how much I feel for you. How much I need you. I’m scared for my sister. I’m scared for everyone in this town.”
I trace the marks on her wrist, feeling our bond pulse at the contact. “We’re going to save your sister, Bridget. And then we’re going to burn the Salem Court to the ground for what they did to both of you.”
A small smile tugs at her lips. “Promise?”
“Promise.” I lean down, capturing her mouth with mine. When we finally break apart, I rest my forehead against hers. “No one’s ever taking you from me again. But first, we have to make sure everyone here is safe. We’ve got a war to win.”
CHapter Twenty-One
Bridget Winslow
Washing Away the Past
The door creaks shut behind Rachel and Lawrence, leaving blessed silence in their wake. Liam and Gen are already outside, heading for his and Bast’s mother’s house.
Bast’s blood has dried in tacky patches on my skin, making my clothes stick uncomfortably. The coppery scent fills my nose. My stomach turns at the memory of Bast lying motionless in the gravel, his beautiful fur matted with red. If I’d been even a second slower breaking through those wards…
I shake my head, trying to dispel the image. But exhaustion makes my thoughts sluggish, heavy. Using that much power to heal Bast, to fight Elsa—it’s left me drained in a way I’ve never experienced. Like my bones have been hollowed out, replaced with lead.
I sag against Bast’s chest. Every muscle aches, my skin still burning from breaking through the wards. But we’re alive. He’s alive.
“Just us now,” Bast murmurs into my hair. His arms tighten around me, making me feel safe and protected.
“We should clean up before heading to your mother’s.” Elsa’s empty eyes flash in my memory, and I shudder. “There’s so much blood and dirt.”
“Hey.” Bast’s fingers catch my chin, tilting my face up to his. “Stay with me. Don’t go there.”
His golden eyes anchor me to the present, keeping the memories at bay. His concern washes over me in gentle waves. The connection between us feels deeper now. Maybe because I finally stopped fighting it.
“Shower,” he says softly. “Then we’ll deal with everything else.”
I nod, but neither of us moves. His thumb traces my cheekbone, wiping away a streak of blood—mine or his or Elsa’s, I’m not sure anymore. The simple touch sends shivers down my spine.
“Can you walk?”
“I think so.” But when I try to stand, my legs buckle. Bast catches me before I hit the floor, sweeping me into his arms like I weigh nothing.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, and gods help me, I believe him. “I’m feeling much stronger.”
The bathroom is small but neat, with a glass-enclosed shower taking up one corner. Bast sets me on the counter, his hands lingering on my waist. His reluctance to let go pulses through me, raw and desperate, as if every inch between us physically pains him.
“Let me take care of you.”
My heart stutters at those words—let me take care of you. No one’s ever taken care of me before. I’ve always been the one doing the taking care of—my sister, my duties. TheMathairstaught us that needing care was weakness. That depending on anyone else was failure. But looking into Bast’s eyes now, seeing the tenderness there mixed with something darker, hungrier… Iwant to let go. To trust. To let myself be weak, just this once, with someone who won’t use it against me.
“Yes,” I whisper, the word feeling like surrender in the best possible way.
Through our bond, I feel his wolf rise closer to the surface—not with violence or anger, but with an overwhelming need to protect, to cherish. To claim. The connection between us feels different now, deeper than before. Each emotion echoes between us with crystal clarity, no walls or hesitation to muddy the waters. When his fingers find the hem of my ruined shirt, I feel his determination to be gentle warring with his desperate need to touch me.
Blood and dirt streak Bast’s chest where my hands left marks earlier. A deep purple bruise blooms along his ribs, though I watch in fascination as it already starts to fade at the edges. Dirt and blood mat my hair, and angry red welts from the wards wrap around my arms like burning vines.
I lift my arms and he pulls off my shirt. The fabric sticks in places where blood has dried, making me wince. Bast’s jaw tightens at each small sound of pain.
