Page 28 of Cruel Moon
Flowers blanket the base of the memorial, a riot of colors and fragrances. Roses, lilies, daisies. Handwritten notes peek out between the blooms, messages of love and gratitude. My throat tightens as I read a few.
Thank you for always believing in me.
You made White Fork feel like a magical place.
We’ll miss your kindness and your apple pies.
A framed news article catches my eye. The headline reads:Meredith Banfield: Beloved Founder of White ForkRenaissance Faire Will Be Missed. I scan the text, learning how she started this event over two decades ago, how it grew from a small local gathering to a major attraction that brings life and prosperity to the town.
Is this the dangerous witch I was sent to neutralize? This woman who baked pies and built a community?
The two versions of Meredith clash in my thoughts like warring spells—the powerful rogue witch who supposedly threatened our society, and this beloved figure whose memorial tells such a different story.
Meredith Banfield is a traitor to our kind. She must be eliminated for the good of all witches.That’s what I’ve been told. That she is dangerous. Evil. And I believed them. God help me, I believed every word.
But standing here, surrounded by evidence of a life well-lived, a life dedicated to bringing joy and unity to others, doubt gnaws at me.What if they’re wrong? Could she have changed that much?
My hands shake as I pull out my phone. I have to report this. I have to tell them Meredith is dead. That I have no way of providing proof.But what will they do when they find out? Will they believe me? Or will they think I’ve failed in my mission?
My sister’s face flashes in my mind. Brianna, trapped in that cold, dark cell. What will happen to her if I can’t complete my mission? Will theMathairsmake good on their threats to kill my sister? To make me watch as they torture her?
I start typing, delete it, start again. Finally, I manage a brief message:
Bridget: Meredith Banfield is deceased. No physical proof available. Awaiting further instructions.
I snap a picture of the memorial and the news article as well.
My thumb hovers over the send button. Once I do this, there’s no going back. But I can’t lie. I can’t fake that I completed the mission. I take a deep breath and press send.
The wait for a response is excruciating. Seconds feel like hours as I stare at my phone, willing it to buzz with a reply. My mind races through possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. But the very worst thought of all—will they decide that my failure means my sister’s life is forfeit?
“You believe me now?”
I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of Bast’s voice. I shove my phone into my pocket, my heart racing.
He stands beside me, his presence both comforting and terrifying. I want to lean into him, to feel the safety of his arms around me. And I want to run as far and as fast as I can.
“Bridget,” he says, his voice nearly a growl.
I stare at his eyes and see the flicker of gold in the irises.His wolf.Remembering how angry he was, how he practically tore his bedroom door apart to get free, I take a step back, desperately looking around for an escape route. “Stay away from me, Bast. I don’t want to hurt you.”
A humorless laugh escapes him. “Hurt me? Bridget, you’re my mate. Don’t you understand what that means?”
“It can’t be. Whatever this is, it can’t. I can’t—” I cut myself off, biting my bottom lip. I can’t explain. He’d never understand. And I’d never be able to save my sister.
I feel him before I see him—each step he takes echoes through our bond like a second heartbeat. Still, when his fingers circle my wrist, my pulse jumps beneath his touch like a trapped bird.
“Too late for running. We’re stuck with each other now until death do us part.”
“No,” I whisper. “Let me go. You have to let me go. You don’t understand.”
The bond thrums between us, an unwanted symphony of sensation. Every breath he takes, every shift of his muscles—it all ripples through me. But it doesn’t matter. Even if I have to live with this connection forever, I will do whatever it takes to save my sister’s life.
“We’re mates, Bridget.” The muscles in his jaw work as he forces the words out, golden anger flickering in his eyes. “This isn’t something you just walk away—”
A scream pierces the air, cutting him off mid-sentence.
My head whips around, searching for the source. More screams follow, and the peaceful morning erupts into chaos. Tourists in their plastic crowns and velvet capes scatter like startled birds, abandoning turkey legs and souvenir mugs. The crash of splintering wood echoes through the festival as something large and furry tears through the stalls, sending merchant carts flying.
