Page 11 of Cruel Moon
Marion waves a hand dismissively, but I catch the pleased smile she tries to hide. “Off with you now. You’ve got a dueling arena to set up, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Duty calls.” I stand, surprised by how steady I feel. My body feels lighter somehow, more in tune with itself. My wolf, so restless before, now hums contentedly beneath my skin. For the first time in days, I feel a genuine smile tugging at my lips.
I give Rachel and Marion a mock salute. The Faire is coming to life around me, full of color and noise and possibility. And for the first time since Meredith and Jackson died, I feel ready to face it.
Let the games begin.
As if on cue, I spot Alice and her teenage crew heading my way. Most of them are high school students from town, eager faces I’ve known for years. They’re weighed down with prop swords and shields, excitement radiating off them in waves.
“Bast!” Alice calls out, her voice carrying over the growing noise of the Faire. “We’ve got all the gear, but we’re not sure where to start.”
“All right,” I say, clapping my hands together. “Let’s get this arena set up. Jackson would never forgive us if the dueling booth wasn’t up to his standards.”
The words slip out before I can stop them, but to my surprise, they don’t bring the usual stab of pain. Instead, I’m flooded with warm memories of my younger brother, his face flushed with excitement as he showed off his latest sword-fighting move. The image is so vivid I can almost hear his laughter.
“First things first,” I continue, pushing past the lump in my throat. “We need to mark out the arena boundaries. Who’s got the rope?”
A lanky boy with a mop of curly hair holds up a coil of thick rope. “Right here, Mr. O’Connor!”
“Just Bast is fine,” I say with a wink. “Mr. O’Connor was my dad.”
The kids laugh, and I feel something inside me start to unwind. This is familiar. This is good. This is what Jackson would want.
As we set up the arena, I guide the teens through the process, showing them how to secure the rope barriers, arrange the weapon racks, and set up the scoring board. My enhanced strength comes in handy more than once, earning me some wide-eyed looks when I easily lift a heavy wooden stand that took three of them to budge. I’m not going to lie, it’s nice to look impressive to a human now and again.
“Is it true that you and Jackson once beat the entire high school fencing team blindfolded?” one of the girls asks as we’re arranging the prize table.
I chuckle, remembering that day. The shock on the fencing coach’s face, the cheers from the crowd. Jackson’s triumphant grin. “Well, not exactly blindfolded. But we did have our eyes closed.”
“How?” another boy chimes in, his eyes wide with admiration.
I tap an ear. “Excellent hearing.” I can’t exactly tell them that my werewolf senses allow me to pinpoint an opponent’s location with terrifying accuracy.
As the sun climbs higher in the sky, our little corner of the Faire grounds transforms. The dueling arena stands ready, wooden swords gleaming in the morning light, colorful banners fluttering in the breeze. It’s not just a booth anymore: it’s a portal to another time, a place where everyday teens can become knights and warriors.
“It’s perfect,” Alice says softly, coming to stand beside me. Her eyes are misty as she surveys our handiwork. “They would have loved it.”
I nod, unable to speak past the sudden tightness in my throat. She’s right. Jackson would have been bouncing with excitement, eager to show off his skills. Meredith would have been adding little magical touches—a shimmer here, a sparkle there—to bring the fantasy to life as much as possible for the human tourists.
“Yeah,” I manage finally. “They would have.”
Alice squeezes my arm gently. “And they’d be proud of you, Bast. For carrying on. For making it special for these kids.”
“Bast! Alice! This is quite impressive.”
I turn to see Lawrence approaching, a gentle smile on his face despite the worry lines creasing his forehead. He’s accompanied by four individuals I haven’t met—two women and two men.There’s something different about them, a scent that’s neither fully witch nor fully wolf.
More hybrids.
“Lawrence,” I greet him, nodding respectfully. “Didn’t expect to see you here so early.”
He chuckles softly. “Well, I couldn’t very well let you two handle all this on your own…” He trails off, his eyes clouding briefly with shared grief.
I swallow hard, pushing back the wave of shared sadness. “We’re managing,” I say, my voice gruffer than I intended.
Lawrence nods, understanding in his eyes. “I can see that. And to help you manage better, I’ve brought some friends I’d like you to meet.”
He gestures to the four people beside him. “Bast, Alice,” Lawrence says, his voice warm, “I’d like you to meet Lyra, Caden, Nora, and Alexander.”
