Page 43 of Cruel Moon
I sprint back through the wreckage, leaping over the remains of the bedroom door. A jagged piece of frame catches my ankle, but I barely feel it. The gun stays clutched in my sweating palms as I reach the front door. The bolt slides free under my fingers, and I throw the door open—
Only to freeze at the threshold, the wards burning against my skin like invisible flames. Beyond them, a scene from my nightmares unfolds.
Bast lies crumpled on the ground, his wolf body contorted in agony. And standing over him, power crackling around her hands like barely contained lightning, is Elsa.
My trainer. My tormentor. The woman who helped shape me into theMathairs’perfect weapon. Bile rises in my throat as memories flood back—her fingers digging into my shoulders, correcting my posture during endless drills, her voice a constant whisper ofnot good enough, never good enough. Even now, years later, my muscles remember to flinch.
How did she find me so quickly?
Her lip curls as she sees me, disgust written across her familiar features. “Well, well. Look what you’ve become, little dove.” Her gaze drops to my wrists. “A traitor.”
Elsa stalks closer, each step precise and measured—the same predatory grace she used in training rings. “I knew you were weak, but this?” Her boot nudges one of Bast’s tattooed wrists, and my stomach lurches at his whimper. “Mating with an animal?”
I raise the gun, trying to steady my shaking hands. Through our bond, I feel Bast’s pain, his struggle to move. The two guards who were supposed to be watching the cabin lie motionless in the gravel, their bodies twisted at unnatural angles.
“Let him go.” The words rise from somewhere deeper than fear. I won’t watch another person be broken by Salem’s cruelty. Won’t stand helpless while they destroy Bast like they destroyed the man Brianna loved—his body left to rot in the cell next to hers. I don’t want to lose him.
My fingers tighten on the gun.
Elsa laughs, the sound like breaking glass. “Or what? You’ll shoot me?” Her fingers twist in a familiar pattern, and Bast convulses, a howl of agony tearing from his throat. My knees buckle as his pain crashes through me. “You can barely stand, little dove. TheMathairs’prize student, brought low by a mongrel’s bond.”
She knows about wolves. About their magick.
“Stop it!” I try to aim, to find a clear shot, but Elsa stands too close to Bast. My first bullet goes wide, kicking up gravel. The second hits a tree. Each shot makes me flinch, the recoil jarring up my arms.
“Pathetic.” Elsa shakes her head, disappointed as ever. “All that training, all that potential, wasted. Do you know how much time I invested in you? How many hours I spent molding you into something worthwhile?”
Another spell hits Bast, and this time I taste blood in my mouth from biting back a scream. The gun trembles in my grip.
“TheMathairswill be pleased, though.” Her smile turns cruel. “A wolf slave will make a fine consolation prize. Once we break him properly, of course. Strip away his autonomy, teach him his proper place—serving witches, as nature intended. He’ll be the first of many for the Salem Court.”
No. The thought of Bast in chains, of theMathairsbreaking his spirit like they broke mine. My sister’s… “I won’t let you take him.”
“You don’t have a choice, little dove. You never did.” Elsa’s eyes narrow. “Just like you couldn’t save that human of your sister’s. Poor, foolish Brianna. When I get back, I’ll take great pleasure in making her suffer for your failures. Both of them.”
Something snaps inside me. The wards burn against my skin as I push forward, each step is like walking through fire. But Brianna’s face fills my mind—bloody, defiant, refusing to break. And Bast, my mate, writhing under Elsa’s cruel magick.
I won’t fail them. I don’t fail. Not ever.
“You’re right,” I grit out, forcing another step. The pain is excruciating, but I keep moving. I have to get free of the wards to use my magick. “I was your perfect student.” Another step. The gun clatters from my nerveless fingers. “I learned everything you taught me.”
Elsa’s eyes widen as I breach the threshold. “Impossible—”
“Except one thing.” The magick burns hotter, but I don’t stop. Can’t stop. “I have people I love who are worth fighting for and dying for.”
Lila and Rachel’s wards shatter around me like glass, and power—raw, wild, untamed—surges through my body. Primal.
Elsa’s spell flies at me, but I’m already moving. My fist connects with her jaw, channeling every lesson she ever taught me about fighting. She staggers back, surprise turning to fury. “You dare—”
Her spell catches me in the chest, sending me sprawling. The gravel bites into my palms as I roll, barely avoiding another blast of magick. Elsa was always the best fighter in the Salem Court—ruthless, precise, lethal.
But she never fought for something she loved.
I launch myself at her legs, tackling her to the ground. We grapple in the dirt, her elbow catching my temple as magick crackles between us. Every hit echoes with years of training sessions, of punishment disguised as lessons.
“I made you,” she snarls, fingers clawing for my throat. “Everything you are—”
“You made me a weapon.” I slam my forehead into her nose, feeling cartilage crunch. “And better than you.”
