Page 22 of Snag (Conduit #2)

SIX

ZAYA

“It’s a good likeness.” My voice is weirdly calm even as I defensively slip my sunglasses back up to cover my eyes.

My gaze is locked to the dire mage wearing my face …

and body. All while trying to ignore Reck propped up against the wall and vomiting all over his shiny shoes.

Shirt and suit jacket rumpled, his belt and pants still undone.

Though thankfully, his cock is tucked within his boxers. For his sister Presh’s sake, at least.

And apparently the dire mage Reck has just been fucking up against the wall, the dire mage working for the Cataclysm and stirring up shit in Outcast territory, is now claiming that sibling relationship as well.

Bellamy … Guerra? Or is she blood related through Precious’s mother?

Having someone he was trying to fuck suddenly declare she is his sister— truthfully or otherwise— might explain Reck’s extreme reaction.

Though it doesn’t explain the rather concerning black bile he’s purging.

Perhaps the cu-sith held barely skin deep within Reck ate something it shouldn’t have last night after I passed out. Such as one of the berserkers.

“The outfit is wrong,” Presh says, her lower lip quivering despite her forced bravado. “But … she might have fooled me too.”

My heart squelches a little. Out of love, I think, because the sensation is entirely new for me. The young awry is already gearing up to defend her brother despite finding him trying to fuck a dire mage with my face.

Though, with all the idyllic past captured in Mack’s photographs still floating fancifully, hauntingly, in my mind, that might be more disconcerting for me.

Reck Guerra. Half-brother to Presh, Rath, and Rought. Ridiculously pretty, dark-olive skin, dark eyes, jutting cheekbones, sharp jawline and all. Even while puking up blackened bile all over the wall and carpeted floor.

Reck. Another of my destined mates, according to Mack’s photographs.

But I feel only a strange sense of disconcertion around the eldest of the Guerra siblings.

No pull, no attraction. No unusual emotional response.

Not like the perpetual, soul-aching pull toward Rought, who I can feel even now all the way through the walls and out onto the front sidewalk.

Not like the need to continually push back against Rath — possibly so I don’t simply succumb to the security of his embrace, losing what remains of my sense of self to his almost-desperate need to protect me.

And yes, I’m not so irrational that I can’t understand my own reactions. I just need a little time, and a lot of space, to get to the obvious conclusions .

“Wrong?” Bellamy smooths her hand down her floral dress, frowning. She narrows her eyes on me, exaggeratedly tilting her head. “You try cobbling together a glamour based on a shit-for-brains teenager’s impressions.”

She means Kris. Kris, whose mind and body she possessed to get to Presh.

Precious flinches.

I lay my hand on the young awry’s shoulder, because I’m fairly certain she’s a moment away from throwing herself down the hall at the dire mage.

And we definitely don’t need a repeat of last night, ending this time with Presh’s essence lashing out or me trying to snip Bellamy’s threads before her time.

Not that I knew I had that ability as the Conduit before last night.

I don’t have to look any closer to know that the dire mage’s robust energy isn’t being snuffed out anytime soon.

Rought is outside only because he stopped to take a call from his uncle— the Outcast himself. As far as I could discern, anyway. Based on Rought’s suddenly stiff body language and the use of ‘sir’ in his initial greeting, the Outcast is peeved.

DeVille is at the front desk, charming the clerk for information. Unnecessary information now, given that we followed the dire mage’s foul essence trail through the hotel easily enough.

Well, I followed it easily enough, coaxing Presh along with me. Bellamy is exceedingly skilled at cloaking herself. She’s just no match for me. Nowhere near a match.

Reck straightens, wiping his face with his shirt. His dark-eyed gaze settles on me, then flicks to the dire mage, then back to me. Presumably noting the differences between us.

Feeling uncharacteristically considerate, given that Reck hasn’t yet zipped up his pants and was attempting to fuck an impostor wearing my face, I slowly tug my necklace free from my sweater and scarf, allowing it to settle against my chest. The massive uncut pink diamond yawns with power, as if sleepily stretching after a nap.

Bellamy’s gaze shoots to the necklace. An uneasy avarice edges the fake smile she’s still holding.

“Fuck …” Reck groans, scrubbing his face.

“This is how you know,” I say, almost gently, but speaking to Presh. “If you can’t read or scent essence. I’m surprised a mage can hold any sort of glamour that looks remotely like me, no matter how much blood was spilled in the spelling of it. But this is how you know.”

I’m even more concerned now about the dire mage’s skill set.

The potion from last night that incapacitated the shifters and locked them in their animal forms. Invading Kris’s mind thoroughly enough to pilot her body and kill her remotely.

All the tech obfuscation, and now a highly realistic glamour.

While some simple spells or charms might be accessible to most essence-wielders, mages typically specialize in one, maybe two areas. Two compatible areas. Potions, mind manipulation, obfuscation, and glamour are not compatible in the least.

Reck, looking grim and depleted, slides his hand into his suit jacket pocket. Either going for a weapon or his phone.

Bellamy flicks her gaze in his direction, completely dismissing him. She hasn’t reached for any sort of weapon yet or drawn on any of her power.

Holding Kris’s mind last night, then cloaking herself all of today, has to have been a huge essence drain. I’m surprised she’s able to maintain the glamour. Perhaps fucking Reck was meant to provide some sort of energy boost that we interrupted?

“So all I have to do is steal a trinket?” Bellamy asks mockingly, still fixated on my necklace.

“Come and take it,” I say, flashing her my own sharp-edged grin.

The dire mage chuckles darkly.

“The eyes are wrong,” Presh says, rubbing her arms and shivering as if Bellamy’s laugh might have affected her on a physical level. “She can’t fake an awry’s eyes.”

Bellamy’s smile widens, turning manic. “They’re not fake, youngest.”

I blink.

Awry?

She’s claiming that she’s awry?

A … dire awry?

I blink again, deliberately this time as I try to get a look at Bellamy’s threads.

“The fuck you say,” Reck snarls. Pivoting to face off with the dire mage, he takes a few steps back. Far enough to get between her and Presh.

Bellamy clicks her tongue chastisingly. “Come, come, brother —”

“Don’t fucking call me that!” He pulls an essence-enhanced stun gun from his pocket. It’s no bigger than his palm, but as it’s Authority issued, I have no doubt it’s nasty. Probably deadly to most targets.

And yes, Bellamy is claiming to be a Guerra sibling.

“Goodness.” The self-proclaimed dire awry presses her hand against her chest dramatically. “Is that because you couldn’t fuck me properly but still wanted to?”

“I wanted Zaya,” Reck says. “You knew what you were doing when — ”

“What’s going on here?” Rought, trailed by DeVille, is suddenly crowding up against our backs.

The hallway really isn’t wide enough for three people to stand shoulder to shoulder.

Especially not with the width of the gryphon shifter’s shoulders factored in.

Rought snags Presh gently by the arm and pulls her back behind him, taking her place at my side.

Reck is still ahead of us, between us and Bellamy.

“Oh good!” Bellamy cries with false brightness, clasping her hands in front of her. “We’re almost all here.”

“You don’t have to hold my hand, Andy,” Presh grumbles behind us, shifting so she can peer between Rought and me at the dire awry.

Dire awry? That just doesn’t make any sense …

“I’ll put you over my shoulder again,” DeVille mutters in a warning tone.

“You won’t,” Presh says.

“Don’t make me.”

“Where’s the dragon?” Bellamy asks, grinning madly as we all ignore the teenagers bickering. “On his way? You can’t have a family reunion without all of the family … I mean, all of us in this particular country, that is. Daddy will be so pleased to have us together again.”

“We don’t fucking know you, mage,” Rought says caustically.

“I know enough,” Reck says. The dark-tinged energy of the cu-sith roils around him. “Enough to lock her up and forget the paperwork.”

“Oh, yes!” Bellamy talks over both brothers as if they’re inconsequential. “Let’s do proper introductions.” Making a show of it, she combs her sharp-tipped red nails through her hair, then down her face and across her shoulders, snagging layers of essence as she goes .

The glamour coating her cracks and crumbles. More of that foul-tainted essence writhes around her.

Rought huffs a few breaths as if clearing his senses.

Behind me, Presh gags and DeVille snorts.

Reck doesn’t outwardly react.

Bellamy’s clothing remains the same, and our heights must already be similar. Either that or the heels she wears make it close enough. But the dire awry’s hair and skin are darker than my own — a dark olive similar to Reck’s coloring.

She does a cute curtsy. “Bellamy Guerra.”

In truth, Bellamy looks more than just similar to Reck, though her facial features are slightly more rounded than his. They could be full-blood siblings. Or twins.

“No,” Reck says, sounding utterly sick. He’s close enough that I can see a trail of blood drying on his neck and staining the back of his collar. The dire awry scratched him, badly. “This is just another fucking trick.”