Cruel Moon (Colorado Pack Wars #2)

Chapter One

Bridget Winslow

The Hunt Begins

The bell above the door chimes as I step into the Bear Den Diner, and I nearly stumble backward. A massive taxidermied bear stands about ten feet tall in the corner of the foyer, its glass eyes seeming to follow me. I swallow hard, forcing my face into a mask of calm.

This is nothing like Salem.

The diner’s interior is all rough-hewn wood and warm, golden lighting.

Antlers and old mining equipment adorn the walls, and the air is thick with the scent of coffee and something spicy I can’t quite place.

It’s rustic and quaint—so different from the stark Federal and Greek Revival style of most of Salem.

I slide into a worn vinyl booth, my fingers tracing the cracks in the leather. Everything here feels…lived-in. Used. Loved, even.

A tired-looking waitress approaches, notepad in hand. Her name tag reads Doreen.

“What can I get you, hon?” she asks, her western drawl so different from the clipped New England accents I’m used to.

I smile, channeling the warmth and charm I’ve been trained to exude. “I’m new in town. Do you have any specialties? Something with french fries, maybe?”

Doreen’s face lights up. “Oh, you’re in for a treat, sweetheart. How about our Rocky Mountain Loaded Fries? It’s a local favorite.”

“Sounds perfect,” I say, though I have no idea what to expect. I lean in, lowering my voice. “And maybe you can help me with something else. I’m looking for an old friend—Meredith Banfield.”

Doreen’s pen hovers over her notepad, her smile faltering for a heartbeat. My muscles tense, ready to backpedal if needed. “Meredith Banfield, you say?” She taps the pen against her chin, brow furrowing. “Can’t say I know her personally, but I’ve heard the name.”

I force my shoulders to relax, keeping my expression open and earnest. This dance of half-truths requires a delicate touch. I nod, unsurprised.

I’d expected this to take some finessing.

As Doreen turns to put in my order, my fingers twitch beneath the table, a subtle gesture accompanied by a whispered word.

A faint shimmer passes over the diner, unnoticed by its occupants.

Just a little charm to loosen tongues and bring information to light that might have otherwise been forgotten.

When Doreen returns, she’s carrying a massive plate that she sets down with a flourish. “Here you go, hon. Enjoy!”

I stare at the mountain of food. Golden, crispy fries are barely visible beneath a blanket of vibrant green sauce, melted cheese, and an array of other toppings. The scent is intoxicating—spicy, savory, and utterly foreign.

“This looks…incredible,” I manage, genuinely impressed. “What exactly am I looking at?”

Doreen beams. “That’s our Colorado green chile sauce on top, made with roasted chiles, tomatoes, and a blend of spices. Then we’ve got cheddar cheese, diced tomatoes, avocado, sour cream, and green onions. And those crispy bits? That’s elk bacon. A local specialty.”

I take a tentative bite. The flavors explode on my tongue—spicy, creamy, crunchy, and utterly delicious. It’s like nothing I’ve ever tasted before.

“This is fantastic,” I say, and for once, I don’t have to fake my enthusiasm. I gesture for Doreen to sit. “You must know all the local gossip, working here.”

Doreen hesitates, then slides into the booth across from me.

The charm spell does its work. “Well, I wouldn’t say all of it, but I hear things here and there.

” She leans in, lowering her voice. “You should try the coffee shop down on Main Street—the Steeping Cauldron. The owner, Rachel, lives out near White Fork and I think she knows the lady you’re looking for. ”

I arch an eyebrow, feigning casual interest while my mind races. White Fork—not Ash Hollow. It’s not much, but it’s a lead. “White Fork? That’s not too far from here, is it?”

Doreen shakes her head. “Nope, about thirty minutes down the river. Lot of folks like their privacy up there, if you know what I mean.”

I do know. It sounds exactly like the kind of place a fugitive witch might hide. “Thanks, Doreen. You’ve been incredibly helpful.”

I finish my fries, savoring each bite. I leave a generous tip, more than enough to ensure Doreen remembers me fondly in case I need to come back and play nice for more information.

As I step out onto the sunbaked sidewalk, I take a deep breath of the crisp mountain air.

Despite myself, I’m exhilarated. The hunt is on, and Meredith Banfield’s days are numbered.

The Mathairs’ justice will be served, no matter how far she’s run or how many mountain towns I have to scour. I won’t fail my Court.

Main Street isn’t hard to find in a town this size.

The afternoon sun casts long shadows as I make my way down the quaint thoroughfare, my eyes scanning the storefronts.

Ash Hollow is picturesque in a way that almost seems unreal—like something out of a postcard or a movie set.

It’s beautiful, but I can’t let my guard down.

I can’t afford to make a mistake. This is the first time the Mathairs have sent me on a mission.

The first time I’ve stepped foot farther than the town of Salem.

I don’t want to lose that freedom. The freedom to move about more of the world than the eighteen square miles of Salem, Massachusetts.

I spot the Steeping Cauldron before I reach it, the name sending a jolt through me. It’s an odd choice for a coffee shop, unless… No, it couldn’t be. Surely a witch wouldn’t be so brazen.

A small bell tinkles as I push open the door, and I’m immediately enveloped by a cloud of fragrant steam. The shop is cozy, with mismatched armchairs and low tables scattered about. Dried herbs hang from the ceiling behind the counter, and shelves lined with jars of loose tea cover the walls.

I scan the labels, my heart quickening with each one I read: chamomile, lavender, damiana… My breath catches. Is that blue lotus? The rare Egyptian flower, known for its euphoric and aphrodisiac properties, has no place in a kitschy mountain town tea shop.

As I approach the counter, movement in the back of the shop catches my eye.

A young woman emerges from what must be a storage room or office.

She’s strikingly beautiful, with long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders.

What catches my attention most, however, is her attire—she’s dressed in elaborate fantasy garb, like something straight out of a Renaissance faire.

A corset cinches her waist, and layers of rich, colorful fabric swirl around her legs.

Her eyes lock onto mine, and I feel a jolt of…something. Her gaze is penetrating, assessing, and I fight the urge to look away. Without a word, she turns and disappears through a back door.

Before I can process this strange encounter, another woman steps up to the counter, wiping her hands on an apron. She looks surprised to see me. “Oh! I’m sorry, I was just about to close up shop.”

I force a warm smile, though inside I’m seething at the blatant display of magickal items in this supposed coffee shop. “I only just arrived in town. I was hoping to grab a quick cup before heading back out.”

The woman hesitates, then smiles back. “I could whip up one last brew. What would you like?”

I approach the counter. “You have quite the…unique selection here. Is this your shop?”

The woman beams, clearly proud. “Yes, I opened it several years ago.” She extends her hand. “Rachel Mason. I specialize in herbal blends for every need. And our coffee selection is hand-picked from around the world.”

I shake her hand and then consider the menu again. “How about the Serenity Blend? It’s been a long day of travel.”

“Good choice.” Rachel busies herself with preparing the tea and I watch her every move. She reaches for chamomile, lavender, and lemon balm.

“I’m surprised you’re closing so early,” I say, keeping my tone light. “Seems like the kind of place that would have a lively evening crowd.”

Rachel laughs, stirring the brew. The scent of magick rises with the steam. “Usually, yes. But I’m headed out to White Fork tonight. The annual Renaissance Faire starts up there tomorrow. It’s a huge event for the area. Most of Ash Hollow will be there.”

That explains her friend’s costume.

My pulse quickens. White Fork—exactly where I need to go, especially if this young witch is going. It’s likely there will be more witches there—and maybe even Meredith Banfield—or at least someone who knows where she might be. The thing about witches is that they don’t usually operate alone.

“A Renaissance Faire? That sounds delightful.” I take the steaming cup of tea from Rachel and ask, “Was that your friend leaving? Her costume was quite elaborate.”

Rachel’s smile falters for just a moment before she waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, yes, she’s helping with the Renaissance Faire.”

“I don’t suppose you know of any lodgings out that way? I was thinking of exploring the area tomorrow.”

“Oh, sure,” Rachel says. “There’s a lovely little inn called Whispering Pines. It’s just on the outskirts of White Fork. Can’t miss it.”

I take a sip of the tea, and it takes all my self-control not to react to the potent blend of magical herbs. The aroma is intoxicating, and I can feel the subtly added magick humming just beneath the surface.

“This is wonderful,” I say, and I don’t have to fake my appreciation. She really is quite talented. “Thank you so much, Rachel.”

Rachel leans on the counter, her curiosity evident. “So, where are you from? I detect a bit of a New England accent. We don’t get many travelers this time of year that aren’t here specifically for the Faire.”

The question catches me off guard, but I don’t let it show. I’ve been trained for this. “Oh, I’m from Pennsylvania,” I lie smoothly, the false backstory I’ve prepared rolling off my tongue. “Just taking a bit of a road trip, exploring the mountains.”

Rachel’s eyes light up. “Pennsylvania? I have a cousin in Philadelphia. Whereabouts are you from?”

“A small town outside of Pittsburgh,” I say, the details of my fabricated life flowing effortlessly. “Nothing as charming as this place, though.”

Rachel flashes me a wide smile. “Well, I hope you enjoy your stay in our little corner of Colorado. Perhaps I’ll see you at the Faire tomorrow.” She starts to pack away a few more things from the back counter—jars of herbs, some commonplace, others decidedly not. “Safe travels!”

“Thank you,” I say, exiting the shop. Standing on the Main Street sidewalk, the warm cup of tea cradled in my hands, I allow myself a small, satisfied smile. White Fork. The Renaissance Faire. The Whispering Pines Inn. I have more than enough to go on now.

Meredith Banfield might think she’s hidden herself away in these mountains, but she can’t hide from the Salem Court forever.

And with witches like Rachel carelessly flaunting their abilities, brewing potion teas with special rare ingredients for any human to stumble upon, it’s clear that this area needs the firm hand of the Mathairs more than ever.

I take another sip of the tea, appreciating its potency even as I reaffirm my mission. The Serenity Blend works its spell, calming my nerves but sharpening my resolve.

Tomorrow, I hunt in earnest.