One little girl waves shyly when I glance her way. The simple gesture makes my throat tight. My training never prepared me for this—for small kindnesses, for the way helping others could fill some empty space inside me I never knew existed.
With the injured tended, we move back outside into the afternoon sun, continuing to erase the evidence of Oliver’s attack. Body removal teams have already cleared the field, leaving only dark stains in the grass to mark where his wolves fell. There were a few injuries, but no casualties on our side.
I try not to look at those stains too long. Or think about how it could’ve been different. Instead, I focus on what I can fix. On the way these people—my people now, though that thought still feels strange—work together to rebuild.
“Bridget.” Emma speaks from behind me. I turn and she motions me over. “A word?”
I follow her a few steps away, my heart pounding. But Emma just takes my hands in hers, her touch surprisingly warm.
“Thank you,” she says simply. “For choosing differently than they taught you. For helping protect my family.”
“I’m sorry they sent me after your mother. After you.”
“You’re not them.” Her hands squeeze mine. “And now you never have to be,” she says, then heads back over to stand next to her mate, who’s wearing only a pair of jeans.
The simple truth of Emma’s words hits me like a physical blow, cracking something open inside my chest. For years, I’d carried the weight of what I was trained to be—a weapon, a hunter, a perfect soldier of Salem Court. But here, among these people who should hate me most, I’ve found something I never knew to look for—forgiveness. Not just from Emma, but from myself.
I watch her walk away, my fingers still tingling from her touch. The daughter of the woman I was sent to destroy just gave me permission to become someone new. The magnitude of that gift makes my eyes burn.
Aiden’s voice cuts through the hum in my mind. “Everything is under control for now. Oliver is no longer a threat, but there’s likely more problems on the way.”
The Delta Team. Right.
“I want everyone to get some rest.” His tone carries that strange alpha authority that makes my spine straighten automatically. “That includes you two.” He looks pointedly at Bast, who’s appeared at my side, then at me. “Bridget, we’ll need your help. My contacts say yourfriendswill likely be here tomorrow afternoon at the earliest.”
Not my friends.
Bast’s hand finds the small of my back and the tension inside me evaporates instantly. “They’ve got this. Let’s go get cleaned up.”
I glance at his bare chest and the low-riding gray sweatpants he’s sporting and smile.
“What?”
“You wolves go through a lot of clothes. You know that.”
He barks out a laugh and shakes his head. “It’s a regular problem, yes.”
Looking around, I see others already heading out—Liam and Gen are walking to their truck, Dave’s people organizing watch rotations. Even Rachel and Lila are packing up their bags.
I let Bast guide me to his truck. What happens tomorrow to all these people if I can’t figure out a way to help them take down the most highly trained team of witches Salem Court has ever created? What happens to Bast? To me? To my sister?
A small whimper escapes my throat and I choke back a sob.
“Hey there.” Bast tucks me into the passenger seat of his truck and snaps the seat belt in place. “One problem at a time, Bridget. We got through this one. We’re going to take those witches down and then we’re going to go get your sister.” He looks up into my eyes with those beautiful soulful irises and my heart melts. “I give you my word.”
I manage a half smile for him. I nod.
The drive home stretches, endless, every bump in the road making my skin spark where it brushes against Bast’s arm on the console. My fingers drum against my thigh. The air in the truck grows thick, heavy. All I can smell is him. And it’s intoxicating.
The cabin comes into view and my heart pounds against my ribs. Bast’s knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. He kills the engine and I’m out of my seat before the truck stops rocking on its shocks.
His hands catch my waist as I round the hood. One step and his fingers slide up my sides, guiding me backward until cedar planks press against my shoulders. Pine needles crunch beneath our feet.
My fingers trace the planes of his chest, memorizing warm skin and hard muscle. His breath catches. The sound draws my eyes to his mouth, to the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips.
He moves closer, crowding me harder against the wall. The rough wood catches at my shirt, scraping tender skin beneath. But I don’t care. Can’t care about anything but the way his thumbs stroke my hip bones through my jeans.
“Bridget.” My name rumbles through his chest, low and fierce, like a promise carved in stone.
