Page 48 of Cruel Moon
“Those wards really did a number on you,” he says, tracing a finger across my collarbone. The touch sends sparks of electricity dancing across my skin.
“Worth every mark.” I meet his gaze steadily.
Something flashes in his eyes—possession, need, love—and suddenly his mouth claims mine. The kiss ignites something primal inside me, a fierce joy that matches his desperation. Blood and dirt fade beneath the taste that is uniquely Bast, and I surrender to the wild flood of emotion.
My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing him deeper, as if I could crawl inside his soul. Heat builds between us, and for the first time in my life, I feel absolutely, perfectly whole.
“Bridget,” he groans against my lips. “If we don’t stop—”
“Why should we stop?” I nip at his lower lip, drawing a growl from deep in his chest. “I want this. Want you.”
His hands slide down my sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake. “You’re sure? After everything today—”
“I killed for you.” The words come out raw, honest. “I broke through impossible wards for you. I chose you over everything I’ve ever known.” I press my forehead to his, breathing him in. “I’m done fighting this. Fighting us.”
The bond between us pulses with truth and need and something deeper—a recognition of souls finally aligned. Bast’s hands frame my face, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones with infinite tenderness.
“Mine,” he whispers, the word carrying the weight of forever.
“Yours,” I agree, and this time, I mean it with every fiber of my being.
His hands make quick work of the rest of my clothes, and I help him shed his sweatpants. The sight of him—all lean muscle and tanned skin—makes my mouth go dry, but that flash of desire freezes when I see his chest. Bruises and angry red marks from Elsa’s attack mottle his skin. My fingers trace each mark, a terrifying reminder of how easily he could have been torn from me.
“Stop.” He catches my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. “I’m here. You saved me. Those will be gone in a day or two.”
“Completely?”
“Oh, yes.” He grabs me, pulling me close to his chest. The shower is barely big enough for both of us, but we make it work. Hot water sluices over our bodies, turning pink as it washes away blood and grime. Each rivulet carries away more than just the battle’s remnants—it strips away layers of rigid control, of duty-bound chains, of everything I was taught to be. With eachbreath of steam-warmed air, I feel lighter, freer, as if I’m being remade beneath his hands.
Steam rises around us in thick clouds, turning the small shower stall into our own private world. Water drums against the glass walls, creating a rhythm that matches my thundering heart. Every drop that hits my skin washes away more of my old life, my old fears. The heat soothes muscles I didn’t even realize were aching.
Bast’s hands are reverent as they move over my body, cleaning away the evidence of battle. The bond lets me feel his anger at each mark on my skin, followed immediately by fierce pride that I fought for him, chose him. His touch alternates between clinical care and barely restrained passion—soap-slick fingers checking for injuries one moment, then lingering on sensitive spots the next.
I watch, mesmerized, as water cascades down his chest, following the curves of muscle and old scars I haven’t had time to learn yet. Want to trace each one with my tongue, learn their stories. Seeing them makes something possessive and fierce rise in my chest. Mine to protect. Mine to love.
The enclosed space amplifies everything—his scent, his heat, the electricity crackling between us. Our bond thrums with shared desire, each sensation echoing back and forth until I can’t tell where my need ends and his begins. The steam makes everything dreamlike, surreal, but his hands on my skin anchor me to reality. When his fingers ghost over a particularly sensitive spot on my neck, I can’t hold back a soft moan.
“Like that?” His voice is rough, hungry. His control is slipping. His wolf is close to the surface, golden eyes fixed on me with predatory intensity. I’m not afraid. I want it.
“Yes.” I arch into his touch, craving more. “Please, Bast.”
He spins us, pressing me against the cool tile wall. His body cages mine, hot and hard and perfect. When he kisses me, it’slike drowning in the best possible way. His tongue traces the seam of my lips and I open for him eagerly, wanting to taste, to feel, to consume.
His hands slide down my sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake. One finds my breast, thumbing my nipple until I gasp into his mouth. The other dips lower, teasing between my thighs until I’m trembling with need.
“Tell me what you want,” he growls against my throat.
“You,” I pant, rocking against his hand. “Just you. Always you.”
The bond between us flares hot and bright as he enters me in one smooth thrust. The world fractures and rebuilds itself in that moment—pleasure crashes through my carefully constructed walls, but it’s the emotions that shatter me completely. Years of training taught me to guard myself, to stay separate, to never let anyone breach my defenses. But now his feelings flood through me, joy, love, desire and fierce protectiveness tangling with my own until I can’t distinguish them anymore.
It should terrify me, this loss of control, this complete surrender of self. Instead, I feel like I’ve finally found a piece of my soul I never knew was missing. His pleasure becomes mine, mine becomes his, an endless loop of sensation that builds and builds until I’m dizzy with it.
“Mine,” he snarls, setting a rhythm that has me seeing stars. His teeth graze my neck, making me shiver. “Say it again.”
“Yours,” I gasp, clinging to his shoulders as he drives deeper. “Forever yours.”
My release crashes through me like an out-of-control forest fire and Bast follows right after. The bond pulses between us, stronger but still not complete. There’s still something missing. Something I need.
