Chapter Twenty-Nine
Bast O’Connor
Empty Spaces
The bond snaps.
One heartbeat Bridget’s there—terrified but alive, her presence as much a part of me as my own breath. The next…nothing. A void so complete it steals the air from my lungs.
Empty. Hollow. Wrong.
The steering wheel jerks under my hands as pain rips through my chest. The car swerves violently into the other lane. Horns blare. Someone shouts—maybe Liam—and hands grab for the wheel. My vision blurs, dark spots dancing at the edges as I fight to stay conscious through the agony.
“Pull over!” Rachel’s voice seems to come from far away. “Bast, brake! Now!”
My foot finds the pedal on instinct alone. The car fishtails as we skid onto the shoulder.
Can’t breathe. Can’t think.
The emptiness where she should be burns like acid in my veins, consuming everything.
I’m out of the car before it fully stops, my legs buckling as soon as they hit the ground. The world tilts and spins as I stumble down the steep embankment. My knees slam into dirt and gravel, the impact barely registering through the soul-deep pain that’s tearing me apart.
“brIDGET!” Her name tears from my throat in a roar that’s more wolf than human. Birds explode from the nearby trees, their startled cries lost beneath the sound of my grief. She’s gone. The bond that made me whole is gone.
My hands claw at my chest, trying desperately to reach the hollow space where she should be. Where she was just moments ago. The echo of her fear, her love, her desperate attempt to warn me away—it’s all gone. Ripped away like someone reached inside and carved out my heart with a rusty blade.
“No. No. No. Please.” The words come out as broken sobs. My wolf howls inside me, the sound of pure anguish intensifying until it blurs—impossible to tell if it’s emerging from my human throat or my wolf’s soul. Both, maybe.
Everything hurts. Everything is wrong.
Footsteps crunch in the gravel behind me. A hand grips my shoulder—Lawrence. The touch should make my wolf bristle, should trigger every defensive instinct I have. But I can barely feel it through the void that’s consuming me.
“Focus, O’Connor.” His voice cuts through the fog of grief like a blade. “Is she dead?”
“I can’t feel her.” The words taste like ash and blood on my tongue. “The bond—they broke it. They fucking broke it.” Or she’s dead. No. Not that. It can’t be that. It would’ve felt different. My fingers dig deeper into my chest, nails breaking skin as I try to claw my way to where she should be.
“Look at me.” Lawrence’s grip tightens until it’s almost painful. Almost enough to distract from the agony inside. “Beyond the bond. The tether. Can you still feel her magick?”
I want to rip his hand away. Want to shift and run until I find her or die trying. Want to tear into something—anything—to make this pain stop. But something in Lawrence’s voice cuts through the madness. Makes me freeze.
“The kindred tether,” he repeats, shaking me slightly. “Focus. Push past the broken bond. Find the magick you share. They may not have thought about the tether spell yet.”
I close my eyes, choking on grief that threatens to drown me. How can I focus when half my soul is missing? But I try. Force myself to reach past the screaming emptiness where our bond used to live. Past the hollow ache that pulses with each heartbeat.
There.
So faint I almost miss it beneath the roar of loss. A whisper of power that isn’t mine. That familiar scent signature that belongs only to her. The tether still holds.
“She’s alive.” The words come out raw, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. My hands shake as I hold up my wrists, showing Lawrence the Celtic knots that were emerald green this morning. Now they’re black as pitch. Dead. The physical proof of what they’ve done to us. “She’s alive, but they…they…”
I can’t finish. Can’t put into words the violation of what they’ve done. How they reached inside us and broke something that was supposed to be forever.
“The Mathairs.” Lawrence’s voice carries decades of carefully banked rage. “Breaking your bond would be their first move. Can’t have one of theirs connected to a wolf. Can’t let her feel anything beyond what they want her to feel.”
A growl builds in my chest, and this time I don’t fight it. “I’m going to kill them. Every last one of them. Going to tear their fucking Court apart stone by stone.”
“You’ll have to wait your turn.” Lawrence’s smile is all teeth. No humor reaches his eyes. Just pure, cold hatred. “Some of us have been waiting decades for this.”
I push to my feet, the world tilting dangerously before steadying. For the first time, I notice the line of vehicles stopped behind us. Pack members and witches mill anxiously between the cars, watching. Waiting. Through my grief, I feel the weight of their concern. Their rage on my behalf.
Finn strides forward, his face tight with worry. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, claws threatening to emerge. “My bond with Emma is still intact.” His voice shakes. “They haven’t—they haven’t touched her yet. But we have to move. Now.”
He’s right. Every second we waste is another second they have to hurt both of them. To break Bridget. Like they tried to break her sister. Like they broke our bond.
My wolf surges forward, and I welcome the fury. Let it fill the hollow spaces where our bond used to live. Let it burn away everything but the need to reach her. To save her. To make them pay.
They think we’re monsters? I’ll show them a monster.
“Get in the cars.” The words come out in a growl.
My hands are steady as I climb back behind the wheel.
The pain isn’t gone—won’t ever be gone until I have her back—but now it has purpose.
Direction. “They won’t expect us this quickly.
Won’t expect your male witches.” I look at Lawrence. “Won’t expect any of this.”
“No.” His eyes gleam with something ancient and deadly. “They won’t.”
The engine roars to life under my hands.
In the rearview mirror, I watch our caravan fall back into formation.
Wolves and witches united by a common enemy.
By shared pain. Some of these people have never left their mountain homes, but here they are, racing across the country to tear down the evils Salem Court hides.
For Emma. For Bridget. For everyone the Mathairs have wronged over the years.
“The bond.” My voice comes out rougher than I intend. “Will they—will they do the same to Finn and Emma?”
Lawrence shifts in the passenger seat, his massive frame tense. “They’ll likely try. But Emma carries Meredith’s magick. And that baby…” He trails off, something like hope flickering across his face. “My wife was always ten steps ahead of them. Even in death, she’s protecting our daughter.”
“What about—” I swallow hard, grip tightening on the wheel. “What about Bridget? What else will they do to her?”
“Don’t.” Liam’s voice cuts in from the back seat. “Don’t torture yourself with maybes. Focus on getting there.”
He’s right, but the hollow space in my chest aches. Without our bond, I can’t feel what they’re doing to her. Can’t send her strength or comfort. Can’t let her know we’re coming. The tether pulses weakly—proof she’s alive, but nothing more. I wish I could get more. Some emotion. Anything.
“The Mathairs will be focused on punishment.” Rachel’s words are careful, measured. “They’ll want to make an example of her. But they won’t kill her. Not right away. At least that’s my best guess from what Meredith shared about them over the years.”
The wolf inside me paces, desperate to run, to fight, to tear into the ones hurting our mate.
“They’ll try to break her first. Remake her into what they want. But Bridget is stronger than they know.” Rachel leans forward, meeting my eyes in the mirror. “She chose you. Chose us. That kind of strength doesn’t break easily.”
“They’ve had plenty of practice.” Lawrence’s voice carries the weight of old grief. “Twenty years ago, they nearly destroyed Meredith. Would have, if she hadn’t run. Would have killed her if they’d found us.”
“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 the Mathairs exactly 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 find it. 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 these Mathairs have 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.