Page 26 of Cruel Moon
An inhuman roar erupts from the bedroom, primal and terrifying. My blood turns to ice. Something massive slams against the door, wood creaking in protest.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.The sound of nails—no, claws—raking down the other side.
I back away, unable to tear my eyes from the door. A splintering crack, and then…oh god.
A massive paw, covered in dark fur, punches through one of the wood panels. Claws as thick around as my fingers flex, gouging deep furrows in the wood.
The paw withdraws, only to be replaced by a muzzle. Jaws part, revealing rows of gleaming teeth, each as long as my thumb. They snap at the wood, tearing away splinters like tissue paper.
Then I see the eyes.
Golden, feral, and unmistakably Bast’s. But now they’re set in the face of a monster, burning with a hunger that makes my skin crawl. Those eyes lock onto mine, filled with a rage that promises retaliation.
The air leaves my lungs in a strangled whimper. This isn’t happening. It can’t be real. But the snarls coming from that impossible creature, the way it throws itself against the door with bone-jarring force—it’s all horribly, terrifyingly real.
Werewolves are real.
I scramble to the front door. I have to run. Now. Before that thing—before Bast—breaks through.
His truck keys glint on a hook by the door. I take those because my car, still parked at the inn in town, might as well be on the moon. Then I run down the rough wooden steps and wince when my feet hit the rock driveway.
The pain doesn’t matter. I have to get away from Bast—from the beast.
I climb into the truck, but my hands shake so badly I can barely get the key in the ignition. Finally I manage and the engine roars to life.
A movement catches my eye. The front door of Bast’s cabin explodes outward in a shower of splinters.
Time slows to a crawl.
A massive reddish-gray wolf emerges from the wreckage, easily the size of a fucking bear. Muscles ripple beneath dark fur as it bounds down the porch steps.
I slam on the gas, the truck fishtailing a little before it grips and shoots forward. In the rearview mirror, the wolf grows larger, closing the distance with impossible speed.
My heart pounds against my ribs. Werewolves are real. I’m bonded to one. And Meredith—my one chance at saving my sister—is likely out of my reach. I have to find out if he was lying about her death.
I hazard one last glance in the mirror as I reach the main road. The wolf—Bast—stands at the end of the driveway, that haunting golden gaze drilling into mine, even from this distance.
A shudder runs through me as I floor the accelerator, putting as much distance between us as possible. My glowing green eyes stare back at me in the mirror, mocking me for the mess I’ve created.
Chapter Twelve
Bast O’Connor
Scent of Panic
Bridget’s scent lingers in my nostrils as I watch my truck disappear down the gravel road, kicking up dust. My wolf howls desperately.Chase her. Run after our mate.
But the man in me knows better. We’ve been betrayed.
I shift back to human form, grinding my teeth. The cool mountain air raises goose bumps on my bare skin. I barely notice. My mind races, trying to make sense of what just happened.
Bridget. A witch. My mate. Here for Meredith.
Last night…was it all a lie?The connection I felt, the way she looked at me with those glowing green eyes—was it just part of her mission? Was any of it real?
I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of confusion and hurt.No time for self-pity. Warn the others.
I dash back into the cabin. Bridget’s scent is everywhere—on the couch where we first kissed, in the bedroom where we… My wolf snarls, dragging me back to the mission.Later. Hunt now.
