Page 41 of Cruel Moon
I push away from the wall, putting space between us before I lose my resolve. “You’re my mate. Everything in me wants to trust you, to believe that’s enough. But until you decide—really decide—that you’re on our side, my side, I can’t…”
Can’t what? Can’t trust her? Can’t love her?Too fucking late for the latter. I already love her like she’s part of me.
“I don’t know how to be on anyone’s side but my sister’s.” The raw honesty in her voice cuts deeper than any lie could have.
“Then let me help you save her.” I turn back to face her, needing her to see the truth in my eyes. “We can find a way to get her out that doesn’t involve killing an innocent. The pack, the coven—we have resources. Connections. Let us help.”
Hope flickers across her face, quickly replaced by fear. “They’ll kill Brianna if I don’t follow through. They’ll know—”
“They’ll know what we want them to know.” A plan starts forming in my mind. “But first, you have to trust us. Trust me.”
She slides down the wall until she’s sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees. Looking at her like this—small, vulnerable, so different from the confident woman who walked into my life yesterday—makes my chest ache.
“I want to,” she whispers. “God help me, Bast, I want to trust you. But I’ve never…” She swallows hard. “I’ve never trusted anyone but Brianna.”
I crouch down in front of her, careful to maintain some distance even though every instinct screams at me to gather her close. “I know. But you’re not alone anymore. Whether you want it or not, you’re tied to me now. To all of us. Let that be a strength instead of a cage.”
Her eyes meet mine, and I see the war raging behind them. Part of me wants to push harder, to demand an answer now. But I know I can’t. This has to be her choice.
“Think about it,” I say softly, standing up. “I’ll make us some coffee. We’ve got time.”
It’s a lie, and we both know it. Time is the one thing we don’t have. Not with theMathairswaiting for an answer and obedience. Not with Emma’s life hanging in the balance. Not with Bridget’s sister being used as leverage.
But right now, this is all I can offer. She has to take the next step.
I head to the kitchen, needing the distance to clear my head. Every step away from her feels wrong, my wolf straining againstthe separation. The coffee routine gives my hands something to do besides reaching for her—measuring grounds, adding water, hitting brew.
The rich aroma starts to fill the kitchen, but it can’t mask her scent. Wild herbs crushed beneath summer rain. Sweet and dangerous, like lightning about to strike. It’s everywhere now, woven into the fabric of my home just like she’s woven into my life. Twenty-four hours. It took less than a day for her to completely upend everything I thought I knew.
A soft sound from the living room catches my attention. Through our bond, I feel a spike of…something.Pain? Fear?The emotions are too tangled to separate.
“Bridget?”
“I’m fine.” She offers the words like a shield. But I know better. Bonds don’t lie.
I lean against the counter. “No, you’re not.”
She doesn’t respond, but I hear her shift, probably pulling her knees tighter to her chest. The coffeemaker gurgles its last drops into the pot.
“How do you do it?” She breathes the question into existence, so soft I have to lean closer to catch it.
“Do what?”
“Trust people. Let them in. I feel everything you’re feeling, Bast. Even now, after everything you’ve learned about me, there’s no hate. No real anger. Just…concern. Worry. This need to protect that’s so strong it almost hurts.”
I pour two mugs of coffee, buying time as I consider her words. “Pack mentality, maybe. Wolves aren’t meant to be alone. We’re stronger together.” I pause, adding cream to her cup.
I carry the mugs back to the living room, offering her one before settling on the floor across from her. Close enough to reach out and touch, but far enough to resist the temptation.
“Tell me about her,” I say softly. “About Brianna.”
Bridget’s hands tighten around the mug. “She’s…she’s everything I’m not. Brave. Rebellious. She always questioned things, even when we were kids. Why can’t we leave Salem? Why do theMathairsget to make all the rules?” A ghost of a smile touches her lips. “She fell in love with a human boy when she was eighteen. Started sneaking out to meet him.”
“What happened?”
“They caught her. Punished her. But she didn’t stop. She said love was worth any price.” Bridget takes a shaky breath.
My wolf bristles at the wordpunished, imagining what that might mean to women who murder for disobedience. Through our bond, I catch flickers of Bridget’s memory—her sister’s screams, the metallic scent of blood.
