Chapter Twenty-One
Bridget Winslow
Washing Away the Past
The door creaks shut behind Rachel and Lawrence, leaving blessed silence in their wake. Liam and Gen are already outside, heading for his and Bast’s mother’s house.
Bast’s blood has dried in tacky patches on my skin, making my clothes stick uncomfortably. The coppery scent fills my nose. My stomach turns at the memory of Bast lying motionless in the gravel, his beautiful fur matted with red. If I’d been even a second slower breaking through those wards…
I shake my head, trying to dispel the image. But exhaustion makes my thoughts sluggish, heavy. Using that much power to heal Bast, to fight Elsa—it’s left me drained in a way I’ve never experienced. Like my bones have been hollowed out, replaced with lead.
I sag against Bast’s chest. Every muscle aches, my skin still burning from breaking through the wards. But we’re alive. He’s alive.
“Just us now,” Bast murmurs into my hair. His arms tighten around me, making me feel safe and protected.
“We should clean up before heading to your mother’s.” Elsa’s empty eyes flash in my memory, and I shudder. “There’s so much blood and dirt.”
“Hey.” Bast’s fingers catch my chin, tilting my face up to his. “Stay with me. Don’t go there.”
His golden eyes anchor me to the present, keeping the memories at bay. His concern washes over me in gentle waves. The connection between us feels deeper now. Maybe because I finally stopped fighting it.
“Shower,” he says softly. “Then we’ll deal with everything else.”
I nod, but neither of us moves. His thumb traces my cheekbone, wiping away a streak of blood—mine or his or Elsa’s, I’m not sure anymore. The simple touch sends shivers down my spine.
“Can you walk?”
“I think so.” But when I try to stand, my legs buckle. Bast catches me before I hit the floor, sweeping me into his arms like I weigh nothing.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, and gods help me, I believe him. “I’m feeling much stronger.”
The bathroom is small but neat, with a glass-enclosed shower taking up one corner. Bast sets me on the counter, his hands lingering on my waist. His reluctance to let go pulses through me, raw and desperate, as if every inch between us physically pains him.
“Let me take care of you.”
My heart stutters at those words—let me take care of you.
No one’s ever taken care of me before. I’ve always been the one doing the taking care of—my sister, my duties.
The Mathairs taught us that needing care was weakness.
That depending on anyone else was failure.
But looking into Bast’s eyes now, seeing the tenderness there mixed with something darker, hungrier…
I want to let go. To trust. To let myself be weak, just this once, with someone who won’t use it against me.
“Yes,” I whisper, the word feeling like surrender in the best possible way.
Through our bond, I feel his wolf rise closer to the surface—not with violence or anger, but with an overwhelming need to protect, to cherish.
To claim. The connection between us feels different now, deeper than before.
Each emotion echoes between us with crystal clarity, no walls or hesitation to muddy the waters.
When his fingers find the hem of my ruined shirt, I feel his determination to be gentle warring with his desperate need to touch me.
Blood and dirt streak Bast’s chest where my hands left marks earlier. A deep purple bruise blooms along his ribs, though I watch in fascination as it already starts to fade at the edges. Dirt and blood mat my hair, and angry red welts from the wards wrap around my arms like burning vines.
I lift my arms and he pulls off my shirt. The fabric sticks in places where blood has dried, making me wince. Bast’s jaw tightens at each small sound of pain.
“Those wards really did a number on you,” he says, tracing a finger across my collarbone. The touch sends sparks of electricity dancing across my skin.
“Worth every mark.” I meet his gaze steadily.
Something flashes in his eyes—possession, need, love—and suddenly his mouth claims mine. The kiss ignites something primal inside me, a fierce joy that matches his desperation. Blood and dirt fade beneath the taste that is uniquely Bast, and I surrender to the wild flood of emotion.
My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing him deeper, as if I could crawl inside his soul. Heat builds between us, and for the first time in my life, I feel absolutely, perfectly whole.
“Bridget,” he groans against my lips. “If we don’t stop—”
“Why should we stop?” I nip at his lower lip, drawing a growl from deep in his chest. “I want this. Want you.”
His hands slide down my sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake. “You’re sure? After everything today—”
“I killed for you.” The words come out raw, honest. “I broke through impossible wards for you. I chose you over everything I’ve ever known.” I press my forehead to his, breathing him in. “I’m done fighting this. Fighting us.”
The bond between us pulses with truth and need and something deeper—a recognition of souls finally aligned. Bast’s hands frame my face, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones with infinite tenderness.
“Mine,” he whispers, the word carrying the weight of forever.
“Yours,” I agree, and this time, I mean it with every fiber of my being.
His hands make quick work of the rest of my clothes, and I help him shed his sweatpants.
The sight of him—all lean muscle and tanned skin—makes my mouth go dry, but that flash of desire freezes when I see his chest. Bruises and angry red marks from Elsa’s attack mottle his skin.
My fingers trace each mark, a terrifying reminder of how easily he could have been torn from me.
“Stop.” He catches my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. “I’m here. You saved me. Those will be gone in a day or two.”
“Completely?”
“Oh, yes.” He grabs me, pulling me close to his chest. The shower is barely big enough for both of us, but we make it work.
Hot water sluices over our bodies, turning pink as it washes away blood and grime.
Each rivulet carries away more than just the battle’s remnants—it strips away layers of rigid control, of duty-bound chains, of everything I was taught to be.
With each breath of steam-warmed air, I feel lighter, freer, as if I’m being remade beneath his hands.
Steam rises around us in thick clouds, turning the small shower stall into our own private world.
Water drums against the glass walls, creating a rhythm that matches my thundering heart.
Every drop that hits my skin washes away more of my old life, my old fears.
The heat soothes muscles I didn’t even realize were aching.
Bast’s hands are reverent as they move over my body, cleaning away the evidence of battle.
The bond lets me feel his anger at each mark on my skin, followed immediately by fierce pride that I fought for him, chose him.
His touch alternates between clinical care and barely restrained passion—soap-slick fingers checking for injuries one moment, then lingering on sensitive spots the next.
I watch, mesmerized, as water cascades down his chest, following the curves of muscle and old scars I haven’t had time to learn yet. Want to trace each one with my tongue, learn their stories. Seeing them makes something possessive and fierce rise in my chest. Mine to protect. Mine to love.
The enclosed space amplifies everything—his scent, his heat, the electricity crackling between us.
Our bond thrums with shared desire, each sensation echoing back and forth until I can’t tell where my need ends and his begins.
The steam makes everything dreamlike, surreal, but his hands on my skin anchor me to reality.
When his fingers ghost over a particularly sensitive spot on my neck, I can’t hold back a soft moan.
“Like that?” His voice is rough, hungry. His control is slipping. His wolf is close to the surface, golden eyes fixed on me with predatory intensity. I’m not afraid. I want it.
“Yes.” I arch into his touch, craving more. “Please, Bast.”
He spins us, pressing me against the cool tile wall. His body cages mine, hot and hard and perfect. When he kisses me, it’s like drowning in the best possible way. His tongue traces the seam of my lips and I open for him eagerly, wanting to taste, to feel, to consume.
His hands slide down my sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake. One finds my breast, thumbing my nipple until I gasp into his mouth. The other dips lower, teasing between my thighs until I’m trembling with need.
“Tell me what you want,” he growls against my throat.
“You,” I pant, rocking against his hand. “Just you. Always you.”
The bond between us flares hot and bright as he enters me in one smooth thrust. The world fractures and rebuilds itself in that moment—pleasure crashes through my carefully constructed walls, but it’s the emotions that shatter me completely.
Years of training taught me to guard myself, to stay separate, to never let anyone breach my defenses.
But now his feelings flood through me, joy, love, desire and fierce protectiveness tangling with my own until I can’t distinguish them anymore.
It should terrify me, this loss of control, this complete surrender of self. Instead, I feel like I’ve finally found a piece of my soul I never knew was missing. His pleasure becomes mine, mine becomes his, an endless loop of sensation that builds and builds until I’m dizzy with it.
“Mine,” he snarls, setting a rhythm that has me seeing stars. His teeth graze my neck, making me shiver. “Say it again.”
“Yours,” I gasp, clinging to his shoulders as he drives deeper. “Forever yours.”
My release crashes through me like an out-of-control forest fire and Bast follows right after. The bond pulses between us, stronger but still not complete. There’s still something missing. Something I need.
He knows. He’ll give it to me.
Bast reaches behind me to turn off the shower, then presses his forehead to mine. “Bed,” he growls, his eyes still glowing golden. “Now.” The single word carries so much promise it makes me shiver despite the lingering heat.
He lifts me out of the shower, not bothering with towels. Water drips from our bodies as he carries me toward his bedroom. I never want to be separated again.
The bedroom is a mess of splintered wood and scattered clothes from yesterday morning’s fight.
Morning sunlight streams through the window, painting golden streaks across Bast’s skin as he moves.
His wolf is close to the surface now; I can see it in the predatory grace of his movements, feel it in the way his hands tighten possessively on my flesh.
Water beads roll down my body, and his eyes track their path with hungry intensity.
The bond pulses between us, stronger than ever but still somehow incomplete.
Like a lock waiting for its key. Every touch, every breath, brings us closer to something profound and irreversible.
I can’t explain it, but I know it’s coming.
My back hits the mattress, and Bast follows me down, his body covering mine like he never wants to let me go.
Like he could shield me from everything—my past, the Mathairs, the entire world.
His weight presses down, centering me. The wet sheets cling to my skin, but I barely notice, too focused on the way his hands slide up my sides, the way his mouth claims mine in a kiss that promises everything.
I hope and I pray he never lets me go.