Page 35 of Snag (Conduit #2)

TEN

ZAYA

Dressed in my more appropriate outfit from yesterday afternoon— though with new underwear, of course— I hover in the doorway of the guest room across the hall from my own bedroom, checking in on Precious before leaving the property.

She’s sleeping in the center of the bed under at least two duvets, while DeVille is sprawled bonelessly across the hardwood floor with only a pillow and single blanket, situated between Presh and the door.

I start to ease back, intent on letting the teens sleep.

Presh’s head pops up, purple eyes glowing softly in my direction. “Zaya?”

I step into the room, crossing to the young awry before she can scramble out from under all her covers.

“Is it Bellamy?” she asks in a whisper. She chews anxiously on her lower lip, sweeping her gaze across my face as if looking for the truth in my expression .

“No,” I say, skirting DeVille to reach the bed and settle on my hip at her side. I give in to the impulse to soothe her, gently running my fingers through her sleep-mussed hair. “You can get some more sleep.”

Presh hums quietly in the back of her throat, settling back on her pillow and allowing me just a moment to be with her. Then she reaches up and wraps her fingers lightly around my wrist.

“You’d tell me, right?”

I nod. “You know I would.”

Her gaze flicks to the left. Maybe toward her phone charging on the side table, but then she quickly looks away. “I know … you don’t lie to me.”

I steel myself, just a little. Because Precious must have questions. She must have a mountain of questions, cobbled together from all the time we’ve spent with each other but haven’t been able to really talk.

But she just shifts her hold to my hand and tangles her fingers through mine. Then, inexplicably, she says, “I don’t know my mom.”

“No?”

“He … the Cataclysm … he said that she left me, but … I think he might have killed her?” She starts chewing on her lip again, looking up at me through her lashes.

I frown just a little, not quite following the young awry’s change of subject. “Do you … want me to find out? You could give Coda all the information you know about her.”

Presh huffs quietly, then hums some more as if taking a moment to think about it. “Maybe. Not now.”

“Okay.”

“It’s just … I don’t have any sisters … didn’t have any sisters either. ”

Ah. I see where this conversation is going. “Bellamy.”

“Right.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“She looks like us … but … it could be another glamour, right?”

I sigh. This isn’t the best time for this conversation, but —

“You’d tell me,” Presh repeats, firmer now.

“It’s not a glamour.”

“She’s my sister.”

“Yes.”

She nods, swallowing. “She killed Kris.”

“Yes.”

“Was Kris … was Kris my mate?”

“I don’t think so.”

“And you’d know?”

“I didn’t look closely, Presh. Not … then.”

She drops her gaze, whispering, “But you know … about Andy.”

“I know … that you have a multitude of destinies available to you. That you will slip from one path to another, shining bright on this world.”

She grimaces. “That’s not an answer, Zaya.”

I laugh, then sober quickly. “You can’t trust Bellamy.”

Precious stiffens. “I know that. She killed Kris.”

I hold her gaze for a moment. She doesn’t look away. “I’m meeting with the Outcast —”

“Oh,” she says, already shaking her head. “I’m not going back to the main pack house. He’ll never let me leave again.”

“Your place is with me now,” I say without really thinking about it, as if the universe has channeled through me to voice the claim .

A bright smile swamps Presh’s face. “I know.”

DeVille groans loudly and deliberately, sitting up on the floor. “If you’re making me sleep on the floor, you can at least be fucking quiet.”

“Shut up, Andy,” Presh grouses, playful and teasing.

DeVille rises, moving to and climbing over the edge of the bed, hair falling all around his face. Then he attempts to burrow into the unoccupied pillows.

Allowing DeVille to distract Presh — which was likely his intent — I stand, heading for the door.

Presh half-heartedly kicks at him from under the covers.

The young shifter simply pins her in place with his ankle over her lower calf.

Presh huffs, but then allows him to settle beside her.

Not touching but close enough to almost be snuggling.

“Don’t leave the estate, Precious.” I pause in the doorway again. “Rath and Rought are coming with me, but Gigi and Coda are here if you need anything.”

“Okay.”

“That goes for both of you,” I say. “You’re safe on the estate.”

DeVille grumbles in acknowledgment.

I turn away, my mind already shifting to the —

“Zaya?” Precious calls after me softly.

I turn back. She’s propped up enough to meet my gaze over DeVille’s shoulder.

“Do you … do you think everyone is redeemable?”

I pause. Redemption isn’t something I’ve given much thought to. Mostly because it’s just not relevant to my life. Or it hasn’t been.

“I don’t know,” I finally murmur. “What do you think?”

“I’m still deciding.” Precious snuggles back into the bed .

I hover there for a moment longer, oddly … worried. And waiting for more questions. But DeVille’s purr starts up, and Precious sighs contentedly. So I step away, just a little reluctantly.

Rought keeps his hand on my thigh for most of the way to the Outcast MC compound, releasing me only when he needs to shift gears.

The roads are damp, but the rain is just the typical early-morning mist. After checking on Precious and DeVille, I found the gryphon shifter in the pristinely restored Ford F-100 idling out front of the house as if I weren’t capable of walking all the way to the garage to climb in.

Rath took off on his bike. Coda is still crashed out in the apartment off the workshop, but Gigi is awake enough to keep an eye on DeVille and Presh. Both Cayley and Doc Z returned to work and Outcast MC duties before I made it downstairs.

I’m still not quite certain why I thought wandering around the house in that dress earlier was appropriate — or perching in Rath’s lap like he was my fucking throne.

But it might be for the same reason I don’t feel a staggering sense of relief when we leave the property or, more specifically, the intersection point.

Not as I did the evening I picked up Presh, DeVille, and Kris at the warehouse rave …

only two nights ago. Though it feels like at least a week, if not more time, has passed.

I’m carrying the energy of the intersection point more easily, likely because I’ve reconnected with one of my soul bound.

More specifically, I’ve sealed the bond with the gryphon, and the ties between Rought and me are strengthening.

And yes, I’m certain now that those are two different connections.

“Did you …” My cheeks flush, as if I’m not a fully realized adult. As if Rought’s fingers don’t only need to shift up about two inches to be touching me in the most intimate of places, that hold meant to be comforting in the now but potentially turning carnal in a mere moment.

Rought flashes a grin at me. “Did I …?”

“The gryphon …”

His eyebrows fly up. “The gryphon?”

“No! I mean … yes, the gryphon and I … in your body …” My face is fully flushed now, heated.

Rought’s playful leer is not helpful.

Maybe I should try broaching this subject telepathically, though I haven’t tried initiating that nonverbal connection yet. It feels even more intimate to invite Rought into my head for this conversation …

I huff, mostly at myself. “The gryphon holds the soul bond. Though it might be a separate tie. Whatever happened to snip our threads, it didn’t affect the gryphon.”

Confusion, then utter relief, all but explodes from Rought — and yes, I can apparently pick up intense emotion from him now.

Still looking at me, he veers the truck to the side of the road and throws it into park. A moment later, he’s cupping my face and kissing me achingly, tenderly.

“I thought …” he whispers between kisses. “When I woke up and I could feel you, reach out to you with my mind … I hoped. I felt that energy shift between us last night … felt you fill me up … but I wasn’t certain if that was just you, just your essence … ”

“Both of us,” I whisper back, wrapping my hands around his raised wrists.

Not because I fear him letting me go, but because I crave the skin-to-skin contact.

“That energy shift. I think you … you and the gryphon help me hold the energy of the intersection point easier. Maybe even hold the Conduit power easier.”

He presses his forehead against mine, looking me in the eyes and just breathing me in with long, slow, deep inhalations that he holds each time.

“Thank you …” His voice cracks, hands falling from my face to capture both of mine. “I … thank you for trusting me.”

“I wanted you the first moment I saw you. It felt like you were mine, but I talked myself out of it because I’m not … because as the Conduit …”

“You weren’t supposed to take on that power for at least a century,” Rought says. “We were supposed to grow together before being thrust into all of this.”

“But we’re here now …?” I mean it as a statement, but it comes out a question.

Rought doesn’t hesitate to answer it. “I’m not going anywhere. And you know Rath is just desperately looking for the right moment to get on his knees for you.”

“He’s an asshole,” I grouse, though without heat.

“We’re all assholes,” Rought says, suddenly serious. “You’re going to need us to be cutthroat assholes, Zaya.”

“I’m pretty cutthroat myself.”

He hums doubtfully.

“What?! I am!”

“Right … when is that? When you’re rescuing teenagers from berserkers and pouring out the bulk of your blood on a beach in the middle of the unregulated wilds? ”

I blink at him. “Are you mad at me? For rescuing Presh?”

“Incensed.”

“I should have left her with Chains and Breaker?!”

“My point is, that situation won’t happen again because I’ll be at your side, or near enough, the next time you mount a rescue operation.”