Page 16 of Snag (Conduit #2)

“If you were doing your universe-decreed duty,” I say, speaking without really thinking, “I never would have been put in the position of choosing between your unhinged brother nearly murdering dozens of souls, or trusting Presh and her destined mate for five minutes on a clearly defined path to fucking safety!”

Rath reels back, nearly knocking DeVille across the hall. The younger shifter catches his balance, favoring his still healing leg.

“Wait … my mate?” Presh squeaks. “What?”

“Just go, Zaya,” Rath snaps, hands fisted at his sides. “That’s what you’re good at. Doing whatever you fucking want no matter the fucking cost.”

“You’re such a blind fucking fool, Rath.

” I sneer his biker name because I don’t know his real fucking name.

I don’t even know if he uses the surname he shares with his siblings— Guerra.

And that pisses me off. All of this, with him, pisses me off.

And I’d rather be pissed than numb and overwhelmed right now.

“There aren’t any choices for me. Whatever illusion I had of choosing anything was always just that— wishful thinking. All I have is duty and destiny.”

Presh grabs hold of my arm, forcing my gaze to her. “What are you saying? Was Kris my mate?! Is my mate dead?”

I blink at her, unclear about what she’s asking.

Then I recall my slip.

In the incendiary exchange with her brother, I’ve inadvertently revealed information that isn’t mine to reveal. Nor is it something I even consciously discerned.

Rath chuckles darkly, presumably at me getting derailed.

“Get the fuck out of my house,” I snarl at him over Presh’s shoulder.

“Still such a child.”

Something goes dark and dead inside me. All my energy contracts, then practically explodes through the hallway and down the stairs.

“Oh no. Oh no! Zaya …” Presh whispers, her own concerns set aside as she clings to my arm.

Rath takes another step back from me, all the anger and frustration draining from him.

“I was still a child when you knew me,” I whisper. “Privileged and protected. Until I wasn’t. I haven’t been since I died for the first time.”

“Zaya …” Rath whispers, raising his hands to me, placating me. And not for the first time.

“You have no right to be angry at me,” I say dully, my essence tightening all around me as if trying to protect me, as if prepared to defend me. “You have no say in how I choose to fulfill my fucking duty to the fucking universe.”

The intersection point shudders beneath me, reacting to … well, me. To me reacting to Rath clawing at the soul-deep wound I didn’t even know I was suffering from.

I want to press my hand against my chest. It hurts. It hurts. That soul-based wound radiates agony through my system, as if it was cauterized once but is now raw and bleeding.

But I don’t. I don’t press my hand to that wound. I don’t stumble or sway under the onslaught. I stand tall and strong. I face my so-called soul-bound mate, and I don’t allow any of that weakness to show.

Rath shifts, reacting to the energy practically boiling around us now — a combination of me, the intersection point, and darling Presh, who feels as though she’s trying to calm me, calm both of us.

But her sweet, gentle healing energy is no match for my own power.

Shouts sound out from below. In the kitchen, then the entranceway.

“You have no right to walk around my property, my home, as if you own it,” I say, still steadily holding Rath’s wild-eyed gaze. There’s no hint of his beast in his eyes.

“You’re overreacting,” he says. “You’re tired and —”

“You have no position here,” I say. “We do not know each other. We are not soul bound.”

Rath grabs his chest as if I’ve knifed him, clenching his T-shirt as if trying to yank a sharp blade from his heart. “Tempest … please …”

I open my mouth to banish him from the property. I can feel the firmer connection I have to the intersection point now, and I have no doubt it would actually work this time. I could eject him. I could protect myself from —

“What the fuck is going on here?” Rought shouts as he charges up the stairs, heedless of the energy writhing all around me and Rath.

DeVille is behind him, stopping to hover halfway up, his skin ashy with concern … or maybe terror? I didn’t see or feel him descend past me. Gigi and Coda peer up from the base of the stairs, wide-eyed and clearly overwhelmed.

By me.

I consider ejecting all of them from the property.

I am the fucking Conduit. I don’t answer to —

Presh wraps her arms around me, hugging me tightly.

Rought steps between me and his brother in the hall, snarling at Rath. “Step back, step away.”

“Don’t get between us,” Rath snarls back. “It’s not your place to —”

“I’m Zaya’s fucking guardian,” Rought declares. “I step between her and anything or anyone with ill intent. Especially you, brother. Not only should you know better, but it should be impossible for you to hurt her.”

“That’s not … I would never …” Rath cuts himself off with a noise, a moan, that I can’t easily identify. Anguish?

The pain in my chest eases just a bit.

Rought steps closer to Rath, lowering his voice to a murmur. “I think you need to take some time and figure out what the fuck you want.”

Presh blinks up at me, and I rub my hand down her back. My essence and the energy from the intersection point both ebb, though they don’t completely dissipate.

“I don’t need time,” Rath quietly insists. “I’m just —”

“Take it anyway.” Rought pivots to me and his baby sister, stepping close enough to block our sight of Rath. Taking in our hug, he smiles warmly. “I hear there’s a dire mage wandering around Newport, looking to stir up shit.”

I meet his steady gaze, then glance down at Presh. “ Seems like the perfect opportunity for an essence training session.”

“Really?” Presh asks.

I glance at DeVille.

The younger shifter looks away from Presh just long enough to nod at me, steady and sure now. “I’m up for it.”

Rought presses a kiss to Presh’s head, holding my gaze. “I’ll come with you three.”

“I’d like that,” I say, just a bit stiffly. Because I can feel Rath looking at me, and I’m not interested in seeing his judgement. Again.

Presh slips away from my hold. But instead of following Rought and me as we head to the stairs, she turns and hugs Rath.

He holds her gently, inhaling deeply and closing his eyes.

I look away. I walk away.

Doing whatever the fuck I want.

According to Rath, that’s what I’m good at, after all. I might as well fulfill his expectations.

The quaint streets of Newport around the Nail Bar salon are quiet, making me realize I don’t actually know what day of the week it is. Though that isn’t completely unusual for me, especially when I’m traveling internationally, it feels like another symptom of the disconnect I’m still —

Rought, talking quietly on his phone while continually surveying the immediate area, slides his warm, large hand across my lower back.

And just like that, my surroundings solidify around me.

As if I had actually been drifting partially in the aether.

I understand that just because I’m the Conduit now, that doesn’t mean my physical body is up for containing all that power yet.

Especially given that I was dead only a couple of days ago.

Still, the drift is annoying.

“Good,” Rought says into the phone. “Just waiting on Grinder. If we’re in town long enough, we’ll grab dinner for everyone on our way back. Who have you got tailing the Authority assholes?”

The two agents weren’t staked out at the entrance as we left the estate.

Of course, had they been there but the universe didn’t want them to see me — as when I left to pick up Presh at the rave — then they somehow wouldn’t have noticed when we left.

I’m not surprised that the Outcast MC has one or more members tailing them.

Despite the agents’ ties to Reck and his ties to the motorcycle club, the Authority isn’t exactly welcome to wander around claimed territory.

“Have her send me updates every thirty minutes until we get back? Good.” Rought listens for a beat, his gaze sliding to me. “Yep, the Nail Bar. Ask Cay if she needs … no? Okay.”

Presh rocks on her feet just a little, pulling my attention to her. Then she smiles at me, gently.

Right. Training.

DeVille leans back against the huge crew-cab pickup Rought commandeered to take us into town, pulling a crushed pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his faded black hoodie and sticking one in his mouth as he searches his pockets for matches or a lighter.

DeVille technically isn’t patched into the club yet, presumably having to wait until his beast form is revealed.

Or maybe there’s an age requirement? But his oversized hoodie has the Outcast emblem emblazoned across the back.

A hand-me-down, maybe. Or stolen from his brother Rought’s closet.

Presh follows my gaze, curling her lip at her self-appointed bodyguard. DeVille flashes her a cocky grin. His natural dark gray hair falls around his cheekbones, artfully framing his green eyes.

In a few more years, the teen is going to be a heartbreaker— and he won’t even notice his effect on people. Because his fixation with Presh will only deepen as the bond between them strengthens.

Presh snaps her gaze back to me. Deliberately.

Clearly annoyed, but also clearly attempting to ignore that her exasperation is mostly directed inward.

Losing Kris, almost losing herself in the process, but having DeVille steady and sure at her side is no doubt confusing.

Only a few days ago, Presh proclaimed that she wasn’t ‘a fan’ of male lovers.

“You were saying something about essence resonance?” the young awry prompts, forcing me to focus on the here and now and not dwell on the intricacies of soul bonds.

Specifically, whether or not those bonds have to be sexual in nature, especially if a person’s sexual preferences are ascribed elsewhere.