Page 32 of Cruel Moon
“Mmmmmrrrrrrahhhh,” I growl out, and try to wrench myself free, but it’s like fighting a fucking mountain. His fingers dig into my arm harder and tears well in my eyes, halfway blinding me.
What is he going to do to me?
I don’t recognize the man, but Rachel, the witch from the tea shop, is right beside him and not at all surprised that he’s taking me hostage.
She points to my wrists behind my back. “That’s her. She’s wearing bond marks.” Rachel looks at me carefully and her eyes widen slightly. “You were in Ash Hollow too. At my shop.”
I growl again on principle, but ice spreads through my veins. There’s no point in denying anything—the marks on my wrists might as well be a signed confession. Even if they don’t know the full scope of my mission yet, Bast will tell them soon. And then what?
Everything I’ve witnessed or observed about the pack and their witch allies, all of it will paint me as exactly what I am—a spy, an assassin, a traitor to the mate bond itself.
And I’d do it all again to save Brianna.
The angry male witch’s eyes flash dangerously. “I know exactly who you are, why you’re here, and what you’re capable of. Don’t think for a second I’m going to give you the chance to hurt anyone here.”
Anyone?My chest tightens at the accusation. I had one target—Meredith. Clean, quick, and then home to my sister. Butlooking at this man’s face, twisted with protective fury, I realize how naive that sounds even in my own head. Of course they’d assume I’m here to destroy their whole community.
TheMathairsare defenders and protectors of witches, but standing here now, I’m the monster in their story. The assassin sent to murder their friend and their neighbor. Still, theMathairsknow best. They keep the witch community safe as a whole. There has to be a reason they felt like Meredith was a threat.
Rachel places a hand on his arm, a gesture meant to calm, but her own posture is tense, ready for action. “Lawrence, not here—”
“Shut up,” he cuts her off, his gaze never leaving mine.
Lawrence… Holy shit. In Meredith’s file, it’d said she was married to a male witch named Lawrence. Of course I fucking stumble not only into a male witch unaware, but to my target’s husband.
Everything I’ve been told my whole life is coming apart at the seams. I’ve never seen a werewolf. Never seen a male witch. Male babies are not allowed in covens. The boys are taken and eliminated by theMathairsfor everyone’s safety. But was that a lie too?
The hatred in Lawrence’s eyes is so strong it almost physically hurts to look at him. The spells he’s used to bind my wrists, my voice. They’re strong. His magick is so powerful.
I don’t want to die.The thought flashes through me and I struggle again to get away from his bruising grip on my upper arm. But just like the spells, he digs in harder every time I move.
“TheMathairsthink they can threaten our people without consequences?” He’s saying another spell now. I don’t recognize it, but I cough, gasping for air. My chest burns. My ribs hurt. Tears blind me completely now.
I can’t die. I can’t die. I have to save my sister. Please.
But he can’t hear me. No one can.
The pain in my chest intensifies, and dark spots dance at the edges of my vision. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. All I know is the burning in my lungs and the terror coursing through my veins and the blurring of voices arguing around me.
Suddenly, a blur of reddish-gray fur barrels into Lawrence, knocking him several yards away from me. The choking spell breaks instantly, and I collapse to the ground on my side, gulping in desperate breaths of air. Through watery eyes, I see a massive wolf—Bast—standing over me, his hackles raised and teeth bared in a fearsome snarl.
Lawrence scrambles to his feet. “Bast, what the hell are you doing?”
The wolf’s growl deepens, the sound reverberating through my body. For a moment, no one moves. Then, in a blur of motion almost too fast to follow, the wolf transforms. Where the beast stood, Bast now crouches over my body, naked and covered in soot.
“Don’t fucking touch her again.” He gently lifts me into his arms, cradling me against his chest. The contact sends a jolt through me and it’s strangely comforting.
I try to tell him thank you, but it comes out “Mmmmuuuuu.”
“Why can’t she talk? What did you do to my mate?”
“Mate?” Lawrence sneers. “She’s a fuckingMathairassassin.”
Rachel steps closer, but Bast just backs off a step or two more. “We need to secure her. If she’s who we think she is—”
“She’s my mate, Rachel,” Bast cuts her off. “Take these bindings off. Now. You’re hurting her. You’re hurting me and my wolf is pissed.”
He feels everything? The crushing pressure of the ropes. The pain of not being able to breathe. Guilt twists in my chest, sharp and unexpected. What kind of cruel magick is this, that bindstwo people so completely? That forces him to share in pain meant only for me?
