Page 18 of Cruel Moon
Bast’s eyes darken for a moment, and something flashes across his face—an emotion I can’t quite place. “Trust me,” he says, “you’re no monster.”
A server approaches, breaking the tension that has built between us. “What can I get for you folks?” she asks, her cheery tone at odds with the medieval costume she wears.
“I’ll have a pint of the house ale,” Bast says, not taking his eyes off me. “And for the lady…?”
I consider for a moment. I need to keep my wits about me, but I also need to blend in. “The same,” I say, keeping my eyes downcast toward the menu.
As the server leaves, I seize the opportunity to steer the conversation where I need it to go. “So, Bast,” I begin, “you must know all about the local history, working at the Faire. Any interesting…folklore in these parts?”
I glance up at Bast through my lashes, a small smile playing on my lips. His eyes are fixed on me and I feel a flutter in my stomach that I quickly suppress.Focus, Bridget.
“Not really. This is ranch country. I mean, there’s some Bigfoot stories. But every small town has ghost stories, you know.”
I nod, a flicker of frustration igniting in my chest. His evasiveness only confirms my suspicions—there’s something here, buried beneath casual deflections and charming smiles.
“Oh, of course,” I say, keeping my tone purposefully light and cheerful. Clearly, Bast isn’t going to volunteer information easily, but that only makes me more determined to uncover the truth.
Shifting tactics, I lean in slightly, my eyes never leaving his face. “What about the Faire itself?” I ask. “It seems like such a big event for a small town.” I watch him closely, searching for any hint of unease or hesitation that might betray the secrets I’m quite sure he’s guarding.
Bast lights up at this, his earlier reticence fading. “The Faire’s been a tradition here for about two decades now. It started small, just a handful of locals putting on a show, but it’s grown into something pretty special.”
“It must take a lot of work to put together something like this. Are you involved in the planning?”
“I help out where I can,” Bast says with a modest shrug. “Mostly with the sword-fighting demonstrations and the dueling arena. It’s a community effort, really. Everyone chips in.”
“That’s impressive,” I say, my voice warm with admiration that’s not entirely feigned. “It must bring the whole town together.”
Bast nods, a fond smile playing on his lips. “It does. For a few days each year, we all get to step out of our normal lives and into this magickal world we’ve created.”
Magickal.That’s what I need to hear more about.“It certainly feels magickal here. Like anything could happen.”
Bast’s eyes meet mine. In the warm light of the pub, I can see flecks of gold in his deep brown irises. “Anything just might,” he says, his voice a low rumble that sends very real shivers down my spine.
For a moment, we just stare at each other, the air between us charged with an energy I can’t quite explain. I’m acutely aware of how close we are, of the warmth radiating from him. His presence is magnetic, drawing me in despite my best efforts to maintain distance.
My gaze travels over his features, taking in the strong line of his jaw, the curve of his lips. He’s undeniably handsome. A lock of dark hair falls across his forehead, and I have to resist the urge to reach out and brush it back.
The scent of him too—a heady mix of pine, leather, and something wild and untamed—fills my senses. It’s intoxicating. Heat creeps up my neck. My skin tingles with awareness.
My heart pounds in my chest, so loud I can’t hear anything else. This attraction, this pull toward him, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s dangerous, distracting. Everything I’ve been taught to avoid.
Beingwitha man steals a witch’s magick.
And yet I can’t look away from him. Can’t pull back. The rational part of my brain screams at me to focus on the mission, to remember why I’m here. But for this moment, suspended in time, all I can think about is the way Bast’s eyes seem to see right past all my carefully constructed walls.
I wet my lips nervously, watching as Bast’s gaze flicks down to follow the movement. And then I clear my throat, pulling back slightly.Stay on task, Bridget.“So, um, what else can you tell me about the town? Any favorite spots or hidden gems a tourist like me should know about?”
The server returns with our drinks, and I use the interruption to gather my screaming hormones back into the box where they belong. As she sets down the mugs, I catch Bast watching me, his gaze intense. I wrap my fingers around the cool glass, using it as an anchor.
Bast takes a sip of his ale, considering my question. “Well, if you’re looking for hidden gems, you can’t miss Mystic Brew. It’s this little tea/coffee shop just off Main Street. Marion, the owner, makes the best drinks you’ve ever had. Some folks even swear they’re magick.”
Marion. Another tea shop. Maybe another witch?
“And does she really believe in magick? Or is it just good marketing?”
Bast chuckles, but there’s a guarded look in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “You’d have to ask her that. I just know people always find what they’re looking for when they visit.”
Cryptic. Excellent way to avoid answering my question directly.
