Page 27 of Cruel Moon
I grab jeans, a T-shirt, shove my cell phone into the pocket, and bolt out the door. Outside, I shift back into my wolf, clothesin mouth, and take off. The forest blurs as I run toward my mother’s house.
My mind races faster than my paws.How could I have been so blind? So stupid?The signs were there—if I had slowed down for half a second. But I was too caught up in the intoxicating reality of finding my mate to see anything else.
I burst into the clearing where my mother’s house stands. She’s on the porch before I reach the steps, somehow alerted by that supernatural maternal instinct.
“Bast? What’s wrong?”
I turn away, shift, and frantically yank on my clothes. “Mom, I screwed up.” I climb the porch steps. “I brought a woman home last night from the Faire—Bridget—she’s a witch from the New England Court. She’s here looking for Meredith.”
Mom’s face pales. “Oh, Bast…”
“There’s more,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “She’s my mate. I made some assumptions that she knew more than she did.” I hold out my wrist, showing off the telltale tattoo. “I really screwed up.”
Mom’s eyes soften. She reaches out, cupping my cheek. “Oh, my boy. I’m so sorry. We’ll figure it out. Where is she?” The tenderness in her touch breaks something loose in my chest. Makes the betrayal sharper, realer.
I step back, jaw tight. “She took my truck and headed back to town. I need to go after her. Warn Rachel and the others.”
Mom disappears inside, returning with a set of keys. “Take my truck. And Bast?” Her eyes lock with mine, fierce and protective. “Be careful. Mate or not, we don’t know what she’s capable of.”
I take the keys, squeezing her hand in silent thanks. As I slide behind the wheel of her old pickup, I pull out my phone and dial Rachel’s number. She picks up on the second ring.
“Bast? What’s up?”
“The witch from last night,” I say as I peel out of the driveway. “She’s from the New England Court. She came here looking for Meredith.”
Rachel’s sharp intake of breath is audible even over the phone. “Shit. Where is she now?”
“Headed into town in my truck. Rachel, there’s more.” I swallow hard, the words sticking in my throat. “We’re halfway bonded.”
A beat of silence. Then, “Fuck. Okay.”
“Don’t hurt her.” My wolf claws at my insides, desperate and furious all at once. “She…she’s mine. The thought of her—” My fingers tighten around the phone and I feel the case crack under the pressure. “I don’t know how this is going to work, but if anything happens to her, I—”
“I get it. But I’ll do what I have to to protect our people,” Rachel says firmly. “I’ll be careful. Just get here fast. I won’t be able to control everyone if she gets aggressive.”
I end the call, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat as I push the old truck to its limits. The forest flies by in a green blur.
Memories of last night flood my mind—Bridget’s soft skin under my hands, the taste of her lips, the way she gasped my name.Was it all an act?No. The mate bond can’t be faked. Whatever her mission is, whatever she thought she was doing, what we shared was real. The connection was…is real.
I squeeze the steering wheel tighter.I’ll find her. I’ll make her understand. She belongs here, with me, with our pack.Whatever she was sent here to do, we can figure it out together.
The first buildings of White Fork come into view, the town bustling with activity as people prepare for the second day of the Faire. I scan the streets, searching for my truck, for any sign of Bridget. Her scent is faint but detectable and now tinged with panic.
My wolf rises at that fear-scent, instincts warring—chase her down, pin her close, or guard against her escape route? The mate bond pulls tight in my chest. If she runs, I’ll follow. To hell with pack politics and witch courts—I’ll track her across the entire country if I have to.
I finally spot my truck parked haphazardly near the inn, but there’s no sign of Bridget. She has to have already made her way into the Faire.
Chapter Thirteen
Bridget Winslow
Where the Lies Begin to Rot
He wasn’t lying.
I stand before Meredith’s memorial, my heart a leaden weight in my chest. The center of the Faire has been transformed into a shrine to the woman I was sent here to kill. A woman who, by all accounts, was beloved by this community.
Meredith’s face smiles at me from a large, framed photograph. She looks older than the picture I was given, laugh lines crinkling the corners of her eyes, her hair streaked with silver. But there’s no mistaking that it’s her. The same bright eyes, the same warm smile that I’ve studied for months.
