Chapter Seventeen
Bridget Winslow
When Truth Breaks Chains
The woman Rachel called Lila moves around the cabin, her lips moving in silent incantation. I watch, helpless, as invisible barriers spring up around me. The oppressive weight of containment settles over the house like a shroud.
I’m trapped. Caged.
The realization leaves me breathless. My fingers twitch, instinctively reaching for the familiar comfort of my magick, but there’s nothing there. Just a hollow emptiness where my power should be.
Bast stands nearby, his presence both a comfort and a torment.
The new bond between us hums with an energy I don’t understand, tying me to him in ways I can’t begin to comprehend.
Part of me wants to lean into that connection, to lose myself in the warmth and safety he represents. But I can’t. I won’t.
My sister’s face flashes in my mind—pale, scared, trapped in that cold cell back in Salem.
I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms. I have to find a way out of here.
I have to save her. But how? How can I possibly escape, get back to Salem, break her out, and then…
what? Where would we go? What would we do?
The Mathairs would hunt us forever. They wanted Meredith Banfield dead and she’d been gone more than two decades. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to center myself, to find some scrap of clarity in the chaos of my thoughts.
“Bridget.” Rachel’s voice cuts through my spiraling panic. I open my eyes to find her watching me. “Why didn’t you know what your glowing eyes meant? About Kindreds?”
I laugh, the sound bitter and hollow even to my own ears. “There’s a lot I didn’t know, apparently.”
Rachel frowns, exchanging a glance with Lila. “But surely the Mathairs taught you about—”
“The Mathairs taught me what they wanted me to know,” I snap, unable to keep the edge from my voice. “And apparently, it was the abridged edition.”
I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside me. “All I knew—all I was ever told—was that having sex with a man would steal my magick for a few days. That male witches were dangerous and insane. And werewolves?”
I gesture my tied hands toward Bast, unable to meet his eyes. “Before today, I’d never even seen one. You’re not supposed to exist on this continent.”
I meet Lawrence’s glare—his hatred for me burns cold and sharp as a Salem winter.
But I need answers more than I need his forgiveness.
“They told us male witches kill witches and steal their magick. That you hear voices, that stolen power drives you mad until you become rabid, dangerous creatures that have to be put down.”
Shame scalds my cheeks as the memories surface—mothers weeping as they handed over their infant sons, my own silent acceptance of their grief. Lawrence’s jaw tightens, but there’s no madness in those eyes. Only a very human anger.
“How am I supposed to know what’s the truth and what’s a lie unless I’ve witnessed it myself?” I ask.
Lawrence’s expression softens, though wariness still shadows his eyes.
“That’s where I’m being unfair to you. You wouldn’t know.
” His voice gentles, as if explaining to a child who’s been badly misled.
“The Mathairs rule through fear and ignorance, they have for centuries—it’s easier to control witches who are afraid of their own kind.
And yes, as a male witch, I can steal power from other witches.
And that stolen magick would eventually drive me mad because the ghosts of the witches I killed would haunt me.
But we’re talking dozens of murders, years of corruption.
Male witches are not immediately any more dangerous than females. ”
I swallow back the bile creeping up into my throat.
“What about the werewolves?” Bast asks quietly. “What exactly did they tell you about us?”
“They said werewolves were created by ancient witches as guardians. That you were bound by blood magick to serve and protect.” A bitter laugh escapes me. “They said any claims of werewolf sightings in North America were just made-up stories. No wolves had ever been allowed to leave Europe.”
“And you believed them?” There’s no judgment in his tone, just curiosity.
“I believed everything they told me,” I admit, each word scraping my throat raw.
“Why wouldn’t I?” My hands tremble and I clench them tight.
“I lived apart from the real world for the first ten years of my life. I never saw another human being that wasn’t a witch.
Never saw a man until that first trip into the town of Salem. ”
My breath comes in sharp gasps. “They raised me, shaped me, loved me…” Hysteria edges into my voice. I press my palms against my eyes, seeing my years of unquestioning loyalty through new light. “They are my family. But I am…a weapon,” I whisper at the end.
The entire room is silent.
Rachel waves her hands at herself and then at Bast. “Obviously it’s a lot to come to terms with in a very short time frame, but they lied about the wolves being here. And they lied about a lot of other things too. You’ve got decisions to make.”
“What if they actually don’t know the wolves are here at all?” Lawrence says, rubbing his hand over his chin thoughtfully.
My phone—my leash to the Mathairs—dangles between his fingers as he scrolls through it. Each swipe of his thumb makes my skin crawl. If they think I’ve turned on them, I’ll lose Brianna forever.
“Did you report seeing the wolves?” he asks.
“I didn’t. I only reported that Meredith was already dead.”
“But you would’ve eventually reported it, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes.” I risk a glance at Bast, catching a flash of hurt in his golden eyes before he looks away. The ache in my chest intensifies, and I’m not sure if it’s my pain or his echoing through our new bond.
“You really had no idea about the soul-mate magick?” Lila asks softly, her earlier aloofness tempered by something that looks dangerously like pity.
I shake my head, suddenly feeling very small and very, very lost. “I’ve never been to another Court.
Never left the town of Salem until this mission.
Everything I know—everything I thought I knew—comes from the Mathairs and my trainers or what few bits of gossip and news I overheard when I’ve been able to walk around Salem in the real world. ”
“And you never questioned it?” Lawrence’s voice is sharp, accusatory. “Never wondered if there might be more?”
I whirl on him, rage and despair tangling in my chest until I can barely breathe.
“My sister questioned it.” My voice cracks on memories of Brianna’s cries for mercy when I watched them drag her away.
“All it got her was beatings and isolation. So I became what they wanted—their perfect, obedient weapon. Because every time I succeeded, every time I pleased them, I bought her another chance. I kept us safe.”
Tears blur my vision, hot and useless. For the first time, I can’t save her. I’m trapped in this cabin, stripped of my magick, while she sits in that windowless cell believing I’ll come for her like I always have. But this time, no one’s coming. Not for her. Not for me.
“I could never afford to question anything.” My voice splinters under the weight of truth. “You have no idea—”
The sudden buzz of my phone freezes the words in my throat. That distinctive three-pulse vibration pattern—my handler’s signal. Ice floods my veins. There’s only one reason they’d contact me now, and it won’t be to ask about the weather.
My gaze locks onto Lawrence’s palm, my heartbeat drowning out everything else as he reads the screen. Please, not another kill order. Not here. Not with Bast watching. But Lawrence’s face drains of color, and I know my wish has been denied.
“What is it?” Bast demands, taking a step closer.
Lawrence’s eyes meet mine, cold and hard. “‘Eliminate Emma Banfield,’” he reads aloud. “‘Or you never see your sister alive again.’”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The world tilts beneath my feet. “Emma Banfield. Another Banfield. Who the hell is she?”
“Bridget.”
I force myself to meet Bast’s gaze. Gold rings his pupils like a solar eclipse. I could lose all my worries in those eyes. This man who’s carved a place in my soul with claws and kindness. Who looks at me like I’m something precious even as I prove myself his enemy over and over again.
“What happens if you don’t?”
“They’ll kill me.” The words crack like ice in spring.
“They’ll kill Brianna. They won’t stop, Bast.” His jaw clenches.
I want to reach for him, but my hands are still tightly bound and I have nothing hopeful to say.
“If I don’t kill Emma, they’ll just send another after me.
And another. And another.” My breath hitches. “They’ll never stop.”
I watch as understanding dawns on their faces.
And through it all, I feel Bast’s eyes on me. Watching. Wondering. I can almost taste his conflict through our new bond. The desire to protect me warring with the need to keep his people safe.
I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know if I can. But as I stand here, trussed up like a fucking holiday roast turkey, surrounded by people who I’ve been told are supposed to be my enemies, I realize one thing with startling clarity—I don’t want to be the Mathairs’ weapon anymore.
Whatever they think Meredith did to offend them decades ago…
they’re just being petty bitches. Nothing about my orders is sacred or special.
Nothing about my training makes me better than another witch or more righteous.
I was born into a role I would’ve played my whole life if I’d never met Bast. Never met these other witches.
Never realized there was so much more in this world than the Salem Court.