Page 17 of Cruel Moon
Fuck. That didn’t work.My heart sinks, a cold weight settling in my stomach. No. Not yet. I can’t let her walk away. Not when every instinct I have is screaming that she’s important. Special. Mine.
Taking a deep breath, I remove the hat and wig, running a hand through my hair. The facade falls away, leaving just me. Just Bast.
“Look,” I say, dropping the accent. My voice comes out softer than I intended, raw with an emotion I’m not ready to name. “I’m sorry if I came on too strong. The truth is, I’d really like to buy you a drink and talk. No pirate act, no cheesy lines. Just two people getting to know each other. What do you say?”
I hold my breath.Wait.My vulnerability surprises me. I’ve never been one to wear my heart on my sleeve, but somehow, this feels right. This is too important for games or pretenses.
She studies me from behind those dark sunglasses and I see the debate play out on her face, a myriad of emotions flickeringtoo fast for me to read. Hope and fear war in my chest. Finally, miraculously, my green-eyed fated mate gives a small nod.
“All right,” she says softly. “One drink.”
Relief floods through me, so intense it makes me dizzy. Or maybe that’s just her proximity, the bond between us humming like a live wire.
“I’m Bast,” I say, unable to keep the smile off my face. “And you are…?”
She hesitates, just long enough to make me wonder if she’ll give me a fake name. “Bridget.”
“Bridget,” I repeat. It feels right on my tongue, like I’ve been waiting my whole life to say it. “Beautiful name. Now let’s get you that drink.” I offer my arm, half expecting her to refuse. But she takes it, her touch sending electricity skittering across my skin even through layers of fabric.
I lead her into the pub, hyperaware of her every movement. One drink. It’s a start. And I’m not letting her slip away again. Whatever brought her here, whoever she is… I’m going to find out. Because somehow, I know that my entire future has just shifted on its axis.
Chapter Eight
Bridget Winslow
A Witch Walks Into a Bar…
The pub’s warmth envelops me as we step inside. The Frosty Pine, despite its name, is anything but cold. The noise of raucous laughter and the clinking of steins assaults my ears. The scent of beer and hearty stew mingles with the earthy aroma of hay strewn across the floor.Interesting décor choice.
My hand is wrapped around his arm as he guides me through the crowd. Even through the sleeve of his shirt, touching him sends whispers of excitement through me. Excitement that has no place in my thoughts. I clench my jaw, fighting to maintain composure.
I’m here on a mission, I remind myself sternly. This man, no matter how intriguing, no matter how he makes my insides feel, is just a means to an end.
“Over here,” Bast says, nodding toward a secluded booth in the corner. “It’s a bit quieter.”
I slide into the booth, the worn leather seat creaking beneath me. Bast settles across from me, his dark eyes never leaving my face. The intensity of his gaze unnerves me. It’s as if he can see right through me, past the carefully constructed facade I’ve built.
“So.” A hint of a smile plays at his lips. “Are you going to keep those on while we have a drink?” He gestures to my sunglasses.
My heart rate quickens.Crap on a cracker. Please be normal again. Please be normal again.I’m wishing for the green glow to be gone, but I still feel the magick. I know it’s still there and I have no idea how to explain it. And I can’t tell him I’m a witch.
With a deep breath, I reach up and slowly remove the sunglasses. I keep my eyes lowered for a moment, steeling myself, before finally meeting Bast’s gaze.
His sharp intake of breath tells me what I already know—my eyes are still glowing that unnatural green. I brace myself for his reaction, ready with a flimsy excuse about costume contacts.
But Bast surprises me. He leans in, his expression one of wonder rather than fear or disgust. “I’ve never seen eyes like yours before,” he says softly. “They’re beautiful.”
I feel heat rise to my cheeks, and I curse inwardly at my body’s betrayal. “They’re…not usually like this,” I manage, my voice tense. “It’s complicated.”
Bast’s hand moves as if to reach for mine, but he stops himself.
A mix of relief and disappointment washes over me. I’m grateful for the distance, yet a part of me also desires the connection he offers.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he says, his tone reassuring. “I’m used to unusual things.”
My mind races.Does he know about witches? Is it safe to ask?The pub is too public, too noisy. I can’t risk exposure, not when I’m so close to finding Meredith Banfield. He has to know something. He’s friends with the witch from Ash Hollow. At least I’m ninety-five percent sure she’s a witch…
“Well,” I say, forcing a light laugh, “I suppose that’s a relief. I was worried you might think I was some kind of monster.”
