“But they didn’t find you.” Gen speaks for the first time since we left the mountains. “And they won’t break Bridget.”
The highway stretches endlessly ahead. But Gen’s right. Bridget survived their training once. Survived years of their manipulation. And now she has something they never counted on.
She has a pack.
“Tell me again about Salem Court.” I force the words out past the pain. “Tell me everything again. Every weakness. Every shadow. Every crack we can use to our advantage.” My fingers trace the blackened knots on my wrist. “I need to go over it again.”
Lawrence’s grin is sharp as a knife. “Which part? With the wards they think are unbreakable? The secrets they keep from their own people?” His eyes gleam. “Or with all the ways Meredith and I planned to tear it down, if they ever found us?”
“Everything. Tell me everything again. I need to be prepared for any scenario.”
Because when we reach Salem, I’m going to show theMathairsexactly what happens when you break a wolf’s mate bond. Going to remind them why the ancient witches made and bound wolf protectors to their souls in the first place.
“The outer wards are strongest.” Lawrence’s voice fills the tense silence as we wind through Boston’s crowded streets. “But they’re built to keep people out, not in. No one’s supposed to want to leave their perfect Court.”
A bitter laugh escapes me. “Except Meredith did. And now Bridget.”
Through the tether, I feel another flicker of pain. My hands clench on the steering wheel as we turn onto 1A North. The road to Salem. To her.
“Take the next exit.” Lawrence points ahead. “The Court sits in an old neighborhood on the outskirts. Tourists never findit. Humans just see another neighborhood filled with historic houses with perfect lawns.”
The GPS chirps, guiding us through quiet residential streets. Each turn brings us closer. The tether pulses weakly—she’s alive, but whatever they’re doing to her…
“There.” Lawrence’s voice drops to a growl. “Third house on the right. White clapboard. Black shutters.”
I slow the car, studying what looks like a perfectly normal colonial home. An American flag hangs by the red door. Mums bloom in careful rows. But beneath that pristine facade, I feel the hum of ancient power. Wards layered on wards, centuries of witchcraft woven into every board and brick.
And somewhere behind those wards, they’re hurting my mate.
“Park two streets over,” Lawrence instructs. “We don’t want to be seen immediately.”
Our caravan splits up, finding inconspicuous spots to wait. To prepare. Twenty-five wolves and witches, ready to lay waste to everything theseMathairshave built once and for all.
I trace the blackened knots on my wrist, feeling the phantom echo of our broken bond. They think they’ve weakened us by breaking it. Think they’ve proven their power.
They’re wrong and I’m going to prove it.
Chapter Thirty
Bridget Winslow
Price of Freedom
Pain.
That’s the first thing I register as consciousness creeps back. Everything hurts—muscles, bones, soul. The hollow emptiness where Bast should be throbs like an open wound, a void so complete it makes breathing feel like swallowing broken glass. My body remembers theMathairs’magick tearing through me, ripping away the bond that made me whole. Each heartbeat echoes wrong, missing its other half.
Our last moments together flash through my mind—his warmth, his scent, the perfect safety of his arms. Now there’s just…nothing. A darkness so complete it makes me want to scream until my throat bleeds.
Screaming cuts through the fog in my head. Not mine, though. Multiple voices. Familiar voices.
“Get your hands off her!” Brianna’s chains rattle against stone. The sound draws me back a few years—her chains rattling in that cell, after they killed her mate. I was too afraid to help her then. Too loyal to their lies.
“Please, don’t—” Emma’s plea turns into a strangled cry.
I force my eyes open. The cell swims into focus, lit by torches that cast dancing shadows on damp stone walls. Two guards in Court uniforms have Emma by the arms, trying to drag her out of the corner. Her face is pale, one hand pressed protectively over her stomach. Blood from earlier questioning has dried at the corner of her mouth, but her eyes burn with a fire I recognize—a mother’s desperate need to protect her child.
The baby. Meredith’s power. They can’t—
