Bridget’s fear spikes again. Not for herself—for me. For us. I grind my teeth, fighting back a snarl.
“How many on the plane?” Focus on logistics. Not the growing distance between us.
“Twenty-five,” Rachel answers. “We’ve chosen our strongest witches and Lawrence’s, plus wolves from the O’Connor and Gallagher packs.”
“I’ll handle things here,” Marion adds.
Aiden nods sharply. “Dave, you’ll coordinate defense with Marion? In case they send anyone else our way?”
“Already on it.” Dave’s expression hardens.
The room erupts into motion, but I stand frozen next to Finn. My fingers trace the marks on my wrist, remembering how they felt when we completed our bond. When she chose me. Chose us.
“Hey.” Liam appears, eyes steady on mine. “We’re getting them both back.” He looks at me and then Finn. “Both of them.”
“I know.” I meet his gaze, letting him see the deadly promise there. “Then we burn it all down.”
Finn steps closer, his face set in stone but his eyes bright gold. “For our mates.”
“For all of them.” Lawrence’s words silence the room. “Every witch they’ve broken. Every family they’ve torn apart. Every lie they’ve told.”
Something new pulses beneath Bridget’s fear and guilt—a tiny spark of hope. She feels us coming. Feels our determination.
I pour everything into our connection. Love. Rage. Promise.
Hold on, love. We’re coming to tear down every wall they’ve built. Every lie they’ve told. Every chain they’ve forged.
And this time, we’re doing it together.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Bridget Winslow
Behind the Red Door
My fingernails dig half-moons into my palms as Boston’s streets rush past the SUV’s tinted windows. Each landmark feels like a countdown—past Fenway, through Back Bay, up 95. Closer to Salem. Closer to the Court. Closer to an ending I’ve always feared but never truly believed would come.
Emma trembles beside me, her face ashen, and I fight the urge to scream against the binding that seals my voice.
“Almost home,” Mira chirps from the driver’s seat, her cheerful tone a mockery of everything that word should mean. Home isn’t here anymore. Home is a cabin in the mountains, the scent of pine needles, and golden eyes that see straight through to my soul.
Emma’s hands rest protectively over her stomach, and my heart twists. They can’t know about the baby. Can’t discover that she carries Meredith’s magick, passed down to an unborn child. TheMathairswould… I can’t even finish the thought. I press my shoulder against Emma’s and give the smallest shake of my head, looking down at her hands.
She moves them immediately.
We turn onto Essex Street, and my stomach lurches. Everything looks exactly the same—pristine colonial houses with their manicured lawns, American flags fluttering in the morning breeze. Such a perfect mask for the horror that lies beneath. Tourists will be here in a few hours, snapping photos of “historic Salem,” never knowing that real witches walk among them.
That real monsters sit on thrones of power just yards away.
The SUV’s turn signal clicks like a countdown as we pull into the driveway. My throat closes at the sight of that house—so perfectly mundane with its white clapboard siding and glossy black shutters that match every other colonial on the street. The brass numbers catch the light, mocking me with their cheerful shine beside that bloodred door.
My hands shake—such a pretty cage. But I know what waits in the backyard. What lies behind the perfectly normal facade.
“Out,” Nia orders, yanking open my door. The morning air is crisp with early autumn, carrying the salt-tang of the nearby ocean. Such a different scent from the mountain air I’ve grown to love.
I force each step to be measured, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing me stumble up the brick path. The autumn mums nod their bronze heads in the breeze, as innocent as I’d once been in this place.
When Emma trips beside me, Carmen’s fingers dig into her arm like talons, making her whimper. I keep my face blank, though my jaw aches from clenching it—showing weakness now will only make things worse for both of us.
