Chapter Seven
Bast O’Connor
Just One Drink
The crowd roars, a wave of sound washing over me as I take my final bow.
Adrenaline sings in my veins, a familiar high that usually leaves me grinning like an idiot.
For a heartbeat, I expect to hear Jackson’s voice calling out some smart-ass critique of my form, like he always did.
The silence where his voice should be hits harder than I expect.
But then I catch myself staring at these intense green eyes in the crowd and something shifts in my chest.
I know in that instant. Mate.
And I smile.
Jackson would’ve been the first to tell me congratulations. The first to tell me to chase that woman, woo her, and never let her go. And that’s what I’m going to do. My wolf wouldn’t have it any other way.
Find her. Find her. Mate.
My wolf’s chant drowns out everything else. Those eyes haunt me. Vivid green. Glowing with an otherworldly light. A shimmer of magick around her body like heat waves on a scorching summer day. Petite frame. Dark brown hair flowing down her back. Beautiful doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Mine. The word echoes in my mind, a claim I have no right to make. Not yet. But every fiber of my being knows it’s true.
“Bast! That was amazing!” Alice’s voice cuts through my daze, yanking me back to reality. “The kids loved it. You really outdid yourself this time.”
I blink, forcing myself to focus on her beaming face. The scent of her excitement mingles with the earthy aroma of hay and the sugary sweetness of candied apples from nearby stalls. “Thanks. Well. I—Listen, can you handle things here? I need to…find someone.”
Alice’s brow furrows, concern clouding her features. “Everything okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Yeah, just…” I trail off, scanning the crowd again. The sea of faces blurs together, none of them the one I’m desperate to find. Come on, where are you? My enhanced senses strain against the overwhelm of the Faire, searching for that one unique scent and the telltale shimmer of magick.
Comprehension dawns on Alice’s face, followed by a knowing smirk. “Go,” she says, giving me a playful shove. “I can’t wait to meet her.”
Shit. Am I that obvious? Heat creeps up my neck, but I don’t have time to be embarrassed. I don’t wait for her to change her mind. I’m gone, weaving through the throng, muttering half-assed apologies as I bump into people.
The scents of sweat, excitement, and fried food assault my nose. The energy, the costumes, the way the whole town comes alive. But right now, it’s all just obstacles between me and her.
There—a flash of dark hair and a shimmer. My heart pounds so hard I’m sure even the humans around me must hear it. Found you.
She’s at a crystal stall, leaning in close to the vendor.
Too close. His eyes roam appreciatively over her face as she speaks, and jealousy flares in my chest, hot and irrational.
I want to storm over there, to growl at him to back off.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve never felt this possessive, this out of control.
“Bast! There you are!”
Dammit. Rachel. I inwardly groan. I do not have time for this.
I turn, trying to keep one eye on the crystal stall while facing Rachel. The scent of coffee and herbs clings to her, familiar and usually comforting. Today, it’s just another distraction. “Hey,” I force out, aiming for casual and probably missing by a mile. “Busy day?”
Rachel arches an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a smile that says she sees right through me. “Not too busy to notice you scouting this place like a dog that lost its favorite toy. Someone caught your eye?”
Heat creeps farther up my neck, spreading to my ears. I open my mouth, not even sure what lie I’m about to tell, when movement catches my eye. She’s on the move, slipping away into the crowd.
“Gotta go,” I mutter, already stepping away. “I’ll explain later, I promise.”
“Bast—” Rachel calls, but I’m gone. I’ll apologize later, buy her a drink, endure the teasing. Right now, nothing matters but keeping that shimmer of magick in sight.
I follow at a distance, every sense on high alert. The sounds of the Faire—laughter, music, the clink of swords from the fighting demonstrations—fade into background noise. All I can focus on is her. Stall to stall, her graceful movements drawing my eye like a beacon.
I use my wolf senses to focus in on her voice. Her questions follow a pattern that part of me knows should be concerning. Local history. Old families. But mostly, I just want to know who she is. What’s her story? What brought her here, to my town, on this day of all days?
I’m so focused I almost miss it when she turns, her gaze sweeping the crowd.
I duck behind a tent. The rough canvas brushes my arm, and I catch a whiff of musty fabric and woodsmoke.
Close. Too close. I hold my breath, counting the seconds until I dare to peek out again.
I don’t want her to think I’m some creepy stalker.
I mean… I am stalking her, but not in a creepy way… I don’t think.
When I do finally step around the corner of the tent, she’s moved on, now at a booth selling old maps and books. I edge closer, the scents of aged paper and leather binding mingling with something else. Something uniquely her. I focus in through all the voices and catch a few words.
“…anything about witches in the area?”
The old man behind the table chuckles, the sound warm and gravelly. “Oh, we’ve got all sorts of stories about witches, miss. This whole area’s steeped in folklore.”
I lean in, completely taken in by her scent now that I’m close enough to isolate it. Lavender, sweet and soothing. But underneath, something wild. Storm clouds and ozone, the scent of magick itself. I could lose myself in it forever.
She turns suddenly, as if sensing my presence.
Our eyes lock. Even through her dark sunglasses, I see that faint green glow. The world stops spinning. I’m falling. Drowning. Burning. Every cliché I’ve ever heard about love at first sight crashes over me at once, and none of them do this feeling justice.
A hint of a smile curves her lips, there and gone so fast I might have imagined it. Then she’s moving, disappearing into the crowd with a grace that makes my wolf whine with longing.
Fuck. Not again.
I push through bodies, trying to keep sight of that silky brown hair.
There are too many people, the press of bodies and the mingling scents threatening to overwhelm me.
But her scent… I’ve got that now. Thunderstorms and lavender.
I lock onto it, filtering through the mess of other smells.
Greasy food. Animals from the petting zoo. Sweaty, excited people.
Step by step. Booth by booth. Her scent gets stronger, pulling me through the Faire like a lodestone. The sun beats down, unusually warm for this time of year, and sweat trickles down my back beneath the heavy pirate costume. I barely notice, too focused on my quarry.
Finally, I find myself outside the Frosty Pine. It’s decked out in Faire gear, strings of colorful flags and fake ivy wrapped around the porch posts, but it’s still unmistakably Pat’s place. The familiar scent of beer and decades of spilled drinks mingles with the aroma of Pat’s famous chili.
She’s there. Paused at the door like she can’t decide whether to enter or bolt. This is my chance. Maybe my only chance. I can’t mess this up.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. Straighten my hat. Twirl the ridiculous fake mustache that’s starting to itch in the heat. Showtime, O’Connor. Don’t fuck this up.
“Ahoy there, fair maiden,” I call out, swaggering over with my best Jack Sparrow impression.
I clear my throat, pressing on. “Ye seem a mite lost in our humble port. First time at our grand gathering of pirates and scallywags, aye?” I lean into the character, letting Jack’s cocky assurance mask my own nervousness.
It’s armor. Protection against the terror of scaring her away.
She turns, those incredible eyes wide behind dark lenses. Up close, the shimmer of magick around her is even more pronounced, like she’s wrapped in her own personal aurora.
“I’m quite all right, thank you,” she says.
Her voice is cool, controlled, but I see the way her hands clench at her sides.
Her breath quickens, chest rising and falling a bit faster than normal.
She feels it too—the bond. It’s pulling and connecting us even now, an invisible thread tying us together.
“I find meself in a rather fortuitous position to offer you, fair lady, a proposition.” I sway closer, channeling Jack Sparrow for all I’m worth.
Her scent floods my senses, even stronger now.
Lavender and storms and something uniquely her.
My wolf howls, clawing at my insides, desperate to claim her here and now.
I grit my teeth. Maintain control. “What say you to joining me for a spot of grog? I assure you, the company will be…intriguing.” I wink, pouring on the charm, praying to any god who might be listening that this works.
She takes a step back, wariness flashing across her beautiful face. “I appreciate the offer, but I really should be going.”
Fuck. That didn’t work. My heart sinks, a cold weight settling in my stomach. No. Not yet. I can’t let her walk away. Not when every instinct I have is screaming that she’s important. Special. Mine.
Taking a deep breath, I remove the hat and wig, running a hand through my hair. The facade falls away, leaving just me. Just Bast.
“Look,” I say, dropping the accent. My voice comes out softer than I intended, raw with an emotion I’m not ready to name.
“I’m sorry if I came on too strong. The truth is, I’d really like to buy you a drink and talk.
No pirate act, no cheesy lines. Just two people getting to know each other. What do you say?”
I hold my breath. Wait. My vulnerability surprises me. I’ve never been one to wear my heart on my sleeve, but somehow, this feels right. This is too important for games or pretenses.
She studies me from behind those dark sunglasses and I see the debate play out on her face, a myriad of emotions flickering too fast for me to read. Hope and fear war in my chest. Finally, miraculously, my green-eyed fated mate gives a small nod.
“All right,” she says softly. “One drink.”
Relief floods through me, so intense it makes me dizzy. Or maybe that’s just her proximity, the bond between us humming like a live wire.
“I’m Bast,” I say, unable to keep the smile off my face. “And you are…?”
She hesitates, just long enough to make me wonder if she’ll give me a fake name. “Bridget.”
“Bridget,” I repeat. It feels right on my tongue, like I’ve been waiting my whole life to say it. “Beautiful name. Now let’s get you that drink.” I offer my arm, half expecting her to refuse. But she takes it, her touch sending electricity skittering across my skin even through layers of fabric.
I lead her into the pub, hyperaware of her every movement. One drink. It’s a start. And I’m not letting her slip away again. Whatever brought her here, whoever she is… I’m going to find out. Because somehow, I know that my entire future has just shifted on its axis.