She takes the sandwich I offer but just holds it, staring at the book in her lap. Her emotions are churning—grief, anger, hope all tangled together. “Tell me about him? About Reid?”
“Lawrence didn’t say much. Just that he’s strong, talented. A good guy.” I brush away a tear from her cheek. “He wants to tell Reid about you and Brianna. Unless you want to wait…”
“No.” The word comes out fierce. “No more waiting. No more secrets.” She finally takes a bite of the sandwich, like the decision to move forward woke up her appetite. “Brianna’s coming with us?”
“Yeah. Rachel’s picking us up at nine tomorrow. Finn’s got the jet ready.”
Relief floods through our bond. “Good. I need… I need to be away from here. From all of this.” She gestures vaguely at Salem beyond our window. “I want to go home.”
Home.My cabin in the mountains. Our life together. She called it home. The joy growing in my chest almost hurts.
I pull her close again. “We’ll be home soon.”
She burrows into my side, the book still clutched to her chest. Within minutes, her breathing evens out as sleep claims her again. But this time, there’s a smile on her face.
I stay awake, keeping watch, my thoughts full of tomorrow and all the healing yet to come. But for now, she’s safe. She’s mine. And soon, she’ll have even more family to help put all these broken pieces back together.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Bridget Winslow
Dawn of Freedom
Dawn creeps through lace curtains, painting delicate patterns across antique wallpaper. The bed-and-breakfast room feels like something out of another life—a warm, homey haven worlds away from the cold, unforgiving granite halls of the Court and the blood-soaked marble courtyard where I nearly died. Where our bond was reborn.
The bed shifts slightly as Bast breathes deeply in his sleep, his arm draped possessively over me. Even now, his presence hums through our connection, steady and grounding. Carefully, I ease out from under his arm, the borrowed robe whispering against my skin as I pad barefoot across worn floorboards to the full-length mirror.
The reflection that greets me feels alien, like gazing at a stranger—or a shadow of myself. I’ve changed. Not just on the outside, though the physical marks tell their own story.
My fingers tremble as I untie the robe, letting it fall open. The wound on my side is mostly healed but still tender. Our new bond saved my life, but some wounds aren’t physical and don’t ever fade completely. Some reminders we carry forever.
I glance higher, drawn to the new tattoos etched across my collarbone. Shimmering green swirls spiral upward, curling along my throat like living vines catching the morning light. Different from the now-black bands around my wrists, these shimmer with life and power. With choice. With love.
My fingers hover over the emerald designs, and a lump rises in my throat. TheMathairswould have called these chains. That’s what they taught us—any connection to another person is weakness. A vulnerability to be exploited. Which is what they did to me through Brianna. But standing here, watching the early light catch these emerald swirls, all I feel is strength.
“Beautiful.” Bast’s voice is rough with sleep as his arms slide around my waist. He’s warm against my back, his touch gentle where the knife went in. I feel his lingering fear of how close he came to losing me, tangled with fierce joy that I’m here. That I’m his.
“They tried to break us,” I whisper, leaning into his warmth. “But they made us stronger instead.”
His hands drift up my body, cupping my breasts as his lips find that sensitive spot below my ear. “Once you’re healed,” he murmurs, “once we’re home, I’m going to worship every inch of you. Show you exactly how unbreakable we are.”
Heat pools low in my belly at his promise, but the practical part of me knows we don’t have time. And he’s probably right about needing to heal. With a reluctant sigh, I glance at the antique clock on the wall.
“We should get ready. Rachel will be here soon.”
Bast groans softly but doesn’t argue. Instead, he reaches for the sweats the owner of the B&B left folded on the dresser. “We’ll get you whatever you need once we’re home,” he promises, brushing his thumb over my cheek. “Anything.”
Bast helps me dress, his touches lingering like he can’t quite believe I’m real. I understand the feeling. Everything sinceyesterday feels like a dream—the fight, the almost-dying, the discovery of a brother I never knew existed. And Bast’s whole family and pack is waiting for me in Colorado.
TheMathairstried to teach us that family was a weakness. That love made you vulnerable. That true strength came from standing alone.
They were wrong about so many things.
* * *
The parking lot outside is quiet in the cool morning air. Rachel leans against a rental car, her arms crossed. Beside her, Brianna bounces on the balls of her feet. The moment she sees me, she bolts forward, nearly tackling me in a hug.
“Careful,” Bast warns, his hand steady at my back, but I hug her tightly anyway, careful of my still-healing side. His protective instincts are warring with the knowledge that I need this—need to hold my sister, to prove to myself that we both made it out.
