Chapter Twenty-Four
Bast O’Connor
Brother Against Brother
The first scream hits like a bucket of ice water to the face. More follow, high and terrified, and my wolf surges forward with a snarl. The scent of blood hits my nostrils, mixed with the unmistakable stink of unfamiliar, unwelcome wolves.
Fuck.
“It’s wolves, not witches,” Lila shouts from the window.
Good. Fighting Oliver won’t be a picnic, but at least it’s not Bridget’s dreaded Delta Team wreaking havoc yet. We still have time to prepare for that shit show.
We burst out of Aiden’s house onto the porch, and the scene below turns my blood to ice. The white refugee tents are being shredded like paper, massive gray wolves tearing through them with savage efficiency.
How dare they come on our land? To our home.
There are so many people, so many innocent lives caught in this bullshit territorial pissing match between Dave and his brother Oliver.
Beside me, Bridget’s magick crackles to life, raising the hair on my arms. Her rage at the attackers, fear for the children, determination to protect are shared between us. I can barely hold back my wolf from taking over.
“Stay close,” I growl, already moving. She falls in step beside me as we take the porch stairs two at a time. More of Oliver’s wolves pour from the tree line—fifteen at least. Dave’s voice rises over the chaos, organizing his people, but there are too many targets, too much ground to cover.
A woman stumbles nearby, clutching a screaming toddler as one of Oliver’s wolves closes in. Before I can move, Bridget’s hand shoots out. The attacking wolf flies backward like a car slamming into a concrete wall.
“Run!” she shouts to the woman. “Get inside!”
Fuck, my mate is magnificent. Around us, more of our pack shifts, meeting Oliver’s forces head-on. Snarls and snapping jaws fill the air as bodies collide.
“Bast!” Liam’s shout cuts through the chaos. My brother’s wolf is tangled with two gray wolves by the main cooking station, coffee and breakfast debris scattered everywhere. My wolf surges and roars to the surface at the sight of him in danger.
“Go,” Bridget says, already moving to shield another fleeing family. “I’ve got this.”
I hesitate for a split second, every instinct screaming to stay with her. But I know she can handle herself, and right now, my brother needs me.
The shift rips through me between one breath and the next, reforming my body in the span of a second. My wolf knows only one thing—protect pack. I launch myself toward Liam just as one of the gray wolves lunges for his throat.
My jaws snap shut inches from the bastard’s spine as he dodges. But I’m faster, stronger, driven by the need to keep my brother alive. The gray wolf’s teeth catch empty air as I slam into him full force. The impact sends us both rolling, a tangle of fur and fangs and fury.
Bridget’s magick flares—she’s fighting, but she’s unhurt. Her power feeds my own strength.
Blood fills my mouth as I rip into my opponent’s shoulder. He howls, twisting to snap at my face, but I’m already moving. Fighting comes as natural as breathing—every lesson our father taught us flowing through muscle and bone. Duck. Slash. Bite. Never let them get behind you.
But the second gray wolf is already coming at me, and Liam needs backup. There’s another wolf headed straight at him. Fuck. Bridget’s power surges again. She’s holding her own, protecting the fleeing families. Pride and worry war in my chest.
I throw everything I have into taking down the wolf in front of me. My teeth find his throat, tasting victory as I clamp down hard. A quick, savage shake and he goes limp. One down.
A magickal blast from Bridget explodes across the field. The force of it is staggering. A wolf flies backward. His massive body hits the ground with a heavy thud and he shifts back into his human form.
The sight of his human form makes my blood boil. Noah—the same bastard that killed Meredith.
Rage floods our bond from both sides—mine at seeing the murderer of our pack’s beloved witchy aunt, Bridget’s fierce protectiveness of her new family.
But Lawrence’s fury? That’s something else entirely. Twenty years of grief crystallizes into pure vengeance as he channels everything he has into a single, lethal strike. Noah’s body jerks and snaps in ways a body should never move.
Then he’s still. Permanently.
Liam’s finally got his last opponent pinned, ending the fight with brutal efficiency. He flashes me a look that says he’s good, and I’m already running, my paws eating up the ground between me and my mate.
Bridget turns at my approach, relief flooding our bond. But her eyes fix on something behind me, and fresh horror crashes through our connection like ice water in my veins.
I spin around, herding her behind me with my lupine body.
Oliver. His white fur is stained red, but there’s no mistaking the monster. He’s huge, even for an alpha, muscles rippling under his blood-spattered coat as he squares off against Dave.
My hackles rise.
This is it. Brother against brother. Alpha against alpha. The fight that’s been brewing for decades, ever since Oliver murdered Dave’s mate, then stole half the Gallagher pack.
My mate’s fingers find my fur as we watch Dave face down the beast who destroyed so many lives. The other wolves have all stopped fighting, forming a ring around the alphas.
Dave and Oliver circle each other, and fuck if it isn’t like watching a scene from some ancient legend playing out. Every wolf present—friend or foe—feels the weight of what’s about to happen. This isn’t just a fight. It’s justice. It’s vengeance. It’s fucking destiny.
Bridget’s hand tightens in my fur as Oliver lunges first. His white coat bristles as he snaps at Dave’s throat, but Dave’s ready.
Years of leading his pack, of protecting his people, have made him stronger than his psychotic brother.
He twists away, teeth catching Oliver’s shoulder and tearing deep.
Blood sprays across the ground, turning the green meadow into a crimson canvas.
The sound when they clash makes me wince. Raw power meets raw power as they tear into each other. I hear Bridget’s sharp intake of breath each time fangs connect with flesh. But she doesn’t look away. Neither of us can.
The circle of wolves tightens around the fighting alphas.
This is pack law—ancient and absolute. No interference allowed, no matter how brutal it gets. Even Oliver’s remaining wolves stand frozen, watching their alpha fight for his life. The only sounds are snarls, the wet impact of teeth in flesh, and the thundering of my own heart.
Dave’s fighting with decades of rage behind each attack.
Every lunge, every snap of his powerful jaws carries the weight of loss.
This is for his mate, the woman Oliver murdered in cold blood.
For every life his brother’s destroyed. For every family terrorized, every child orphaned, every wrong that needs to be made right.
Through our bond, I feel Bridget processing what she’s witnessing. Her horror at the violence mingles with understanding—this is justice served raw and real.
Oliver gets in a lucky shot, his teeth finding Dave’s hind leg, but Dave doesn’t even flinch. He uses the momentum to twist, bringing his full weight down on Oliver’s exposed side. The crack of ribs is audible even over the snarling. The sound echoes across the suddenly silent field.
“Almost,” Bridget whispers, her fingers trembling against my fur. I press closer to comfort her.
The fight shifts in an instant. Oliver stumbles, just slightly—maybe from blood loss, maybe from the broken ribs.
But it’s enough. Dave’s teeth find his brother’s throat, and this time, he doesn’t let go.
Oliver thrashes, his white fur now completely red.
But Dave’s grip is iron, fueled by righteous fury and alpha power.
Blood flows freely now, soaking into the grass beneath them.
One last violent shake, and it’s over. Oliver’s massive white body goes limp, the light fading from his eyes.
Dave stands over him, blood dripping from his muzzle, his eyes burning molten gold as he surveys the remaining gray wolves.
His victory isn’t just physical—the raw alpha power rolling off him makes even my knees weak.
Dave shifts back to human form, naked and bloody but radiating authority.
The message is clear—choose.
One by one, Oliver’s surviving wolves lower themselves to the ground, throats bared in submission. All except two, who back away, tails low.
They’ve made their choice. Exile.
Bridget’s fingers relax in my fur, but her heartbeat pounds against my side. The taste of victory mingles with something sharper—fear of what’s still coming. Oliver might be dead, but we all know the real threat is still on its way.
The Salem Court won’t care about pack politics or territory disputes. They’re coming for her, for Emma, for all of us.
I press closer to my mate, drinking in her scent as her fingers scratch deep into my fur. We’ve won this battle, but the real war?
That’s just beginning.