Chapter Twenty-Three
Bridget Winslow
Before the Storm
I glance down at the extra tattooed band on my wrists as we pull up to Bast’s mother’s house. Each reminds me of the profound connection between us—a bond so deep I can feel his heartbeat alongside my own. His steady presence fills a space in my soul I never knew was empty.
“Ready?” Bast’s hand finds mine, squeezing gently.
“As I’ll ever be.” I try for a smile, but my stomach churns.
These people have every reason to hate me.
I was sent here to kill one of their own.
Every scenario I’ve imagined ends in snarling wolves and raised voices—if I’m lucky.
Part of me wants to throw up a magical shield, to protect us both from whatever’s waiting behind that door.
But that would only prove their worst fears about me.
No, I’ll face this with my hands empty and my heart open, even if it means standing there while they tear into me with words sharper than claws.
The front door opens before we reach it, and a woman who can only be Bast’s mother emerges. She has his eyes—warm brown with flecks of gold—and they fix on me with unnerving intensity.
“So.” She steps forward, her gaze dropping to our joined hands, to the matching marks on our wrists. “It’s done then?”
Bast’s grip tightens. “Yes.”
I hold my breath, waiting for rejection. For accusations. Instead, his mother’s face softens into something that looks dangerously like understanding.
“Welcome to the family, dear.” She pulls me into a hug before I can react.
The gesture is so unexpected, so maternal, that my eyes burn with tears I fight to keep from falling.
When was the last time someone hugged me like this?
Maybe my mother. My memories of her are so distant now.
She died in a training accident when I was only seven. I can’t remember much about it.
Inside, the atmosphere shifts dramatically. Liam and Gen sit at the kitchen table, their postures tense. A man I don’t recognize—tall, broad-shouldered, with Gen’s same golden hair—leans against the counter. Bast mentioned Gen’s brother was mated to Emma—Finn Gallagher. This has to be him.
Then I see her—Emma Banfield.
My breath catches. The woman I’d studied in photographs, the target I’d been ordered to eliminate, stands before me in the flesh.
She’s small, redheaded, looking so much like the young Meredith Banfield from my dossier that it makes my chest tight.
Relief floods through me at seeing her alive and whole, followed immediately by crushing guilt.
I could have been the one to snuff out that life, to end her story before she had the chance to write it. The weight of what I almost did—what I was trained to do—sits like lead in my stomach.
My self-recrimination shatters, though, as the man I assume to be Finn pushes off from the counter beside her. His attention fixes on me with the kind of hatred that makes my magick spark defensively beneath my skin. “The Salem witch. What the fuck is she doing here, O’Connor?” he spits at Liam.
“Shut up, brother.” Gen stands up from her seat, her lip curling up angrily. Her hands tremble slightly, betraying some deeper emotion. “That’s Bast’s mate. We tolerate your unpleasant personality for Emma’s sake.”
Yep. Definitely Finn. I make a mental note to give him a wide berth.
“They fucking killed Lucas!”
“Our brother is dead, yes.” Gen flinches, pain flashing across her face before hardening into anger.
“And maybe that should hurt more than it does. But Lucas made his choice. He didn’t care about his family—he just wanted Dad’s business.
That’s the only reason he was helping you in New York and you know it. ”
“Bullshit. Our brother is dead because of them.” He jabs a finger in my direction.
The raw grief in his voice makes me wish I could sink into the floor, but instead, I force myself to meet his hate-filled gaze.
“And there are more coming,” I say softly.
“I won’t pretend I wasn’t a part of this in the beginning, but you should know—a whole team is on their way.
Delta Team. The Court’s most skilled team of assassin witches. ”
The silence that follows feels like drowning. Emma’s face drains of color, her hand finding Finn’s for support.
“They won’t stop,” I continue, hating the fear that crosses her face. “I’m sorry.”
Emma steps forward, toward me, her green eyes—so like her mother’s from the photo—studying me intently. “You were sent to kill me, weren’t you?”
The directness of her question steals my breath. Through our bond, I feel Bast’s protective instincts surge, but I squeeze his hand. “No,” I admit. “I was sent for your mother. When I reported that she was already gone, they told me you were the next target.”
Emma nods. “And now?”
“Now I have a mate and I know things the Mathairs never told me. I was lied to my entire life. I want nothing to do with them ever again.”
“Why should we believe—” Finn starts, but Emma cuts him off with a sharp gesture.
“Because she’s telling the truth. I can feel it.” She touches her stomach, an unconscious gesture that makes my eyes widen. “I just know.”
Before I can process that statement, Bast tugs me toward the door. “We can discuss this at Aiden’s. Right now, we need to move.”
A buzz of a cell phone catches my attention. Bast’s mother pulls a phone from her pocket. “Lila and Rachel are at the Alpha’s house with several of the other witches. Dave is there. We need to go now.”
“We’ll take separate cars,” Liam says, already reaching for his keys. “Faster that way.”
* * *
The drive to Aiden’s property takes us along the river, morning sun glinting off the water. Under different circumstances, it would be beautiful. Now, every shadow between the trees could hide a Salem Court assassin. Every bend in the road could lead to an ambush.
Bast’s hand finds mine across the console. “You’re making my wolf anxious.”
“Sorry.” I try to relax, but years of training don’t fade overnight. “I just… I know what they’re capable of. What I’m capable of.”
“And that’s going to work in our favor,” he emphasizes.
We round a final curve and my mouth drops open.
The property looks like something between a refugee camp and a military base.
Large white tents dot the sprawling lawn.
Smoke rises from outdoor cooking stations where women distribute coffee and breakfast to the displaced families.
Children dart between the tents, somehow maintaining their ability to play despite the circumstances.
But there’s an undercurrent of tension. Armed men and women patrol the perimeter. Wolves in both human and animal form move with purpose through the crowd.
“I did this,” I whisper. “By coming here, I brought so much danger to your door.”
“No.” Bast’s voice is firm as he parks. “Oliver, Gen’s father, did this. The Mathairs sent you. And now you’re helping us fight it. You’re going to be why we can beat them. And with us, we’ll be able to get your sister out of there once and for all.”
I hope so.
We’re barely out of the truck when a massive man with silver-streaked hair strides toward us. Dave Gallagher, a man I’d first seen in the inn lobby in town. His presence commands attention—the kind of raw power that practically vibrates.
I pause, pulling Bast to an abrupt stop.
“What the hell is she doing here?” Dave demands, several of his men falling in behind him. “Have you lost your mind, O’Connor?”
“Mine!” Bast moves in front of me, his voice carrying the kind of authority that makes everyone, even Dave, pause.
The word reverberates through our bond, and something wild and possessive unfurls in my chest. All my life I’ve belonged to the Mathairs, been their weapon, their tool.
But this—this is different. This claiming comes with protection, with acceptance.
The fierce pride in Bast’s voice makes me want to stand taller, makes me feel like someone worth defending rather than a thing to be used.
“Your mate?” One of Dave’s men spits on the ground. “She’s a fucking assassin—”
Bast’s growl cuts through the air like a blade. “Choose your next words carefully. Anyone who disrespects Bridget answers to me.”
“Bast.” I touch his arm. “It’s okay. They have every right to—”
“No.” He turns to face me, his eyes blazing gold. “They don’t. You’re pack now. Mine. And they will show you respect or deal with the consequences.”
His conviction floods our connection, a tide of certainty that nearly overwhelms me. This unflinching support, this absolute acceptance—I’ve never had anyone stand up for me like this except my sister.
My throat tightens thinking of Brianna, still trapped in Salem.
The standoff breaks as more vehicles arrive.
Liam and Gen pull up, followed by Finn and Emma.
More familiar faces emerge next—Lila and Rachel.
Then Lawrence, his presence carrying its own weight of complications.
More cars roll in behind them, filled with faces I don’t recognize.
Each new arrival makes me want to shrink closer to Bast.
He hugs me closer a second later like he read my mind. “This is the first time Lawrence will have met his daughter, Emma,” Bast whispers into my ear.
Oh. Wow.
The next few minutes are chaos as everyone converges on Aiden’s front porch. Rachel and Lila rush to embrace Emma, but I’m transfixed by Lawrence’s reaction. He stands frozen, staring at Emma with an intensity that makes my chest ache.
“Emma.” Lawrence takes a hesitant step forward, then stops, as if afraid she might disappear. His hands clench and unclench at his sides.
Emma pulls away from Rachel and Lila, turning to face her father. Complete silence falls on the entire group.
“I…” Lawrence swallows hard. “You look just like your mother.”
Tears well in Emma’s eyes. “She told me about you. Stories, when I was little. Before…”
“I should have been here. Should have protected you both.”