Page 38 of Snag (Conduit #2)

“Not invited.” Rath begins steadily building an identical plate of food for himself.

“And why is that?” the Outcast asks, picking at his eggs. The only nonprotein item on his plate appears to be a single roasted tomato.

Rought fills the remainder of the space on my plate with crispy hash browns. Then he winks at me when he catches me watching.

It’s possible I’m drooling, just a little. And not just over the mound of potatoes. If I could fall for my gryphon shifter all over again, I probably would in this moment.

“And one of those tomatoes?” I ask in a whisper.

“I’ve got you,” Rought says, already spearing a tomato with a serving fork.

I reach for the now-full plate, but with a tiny shake of his head, Rought pivots to deposit it before the seat to the Outcast’s right. Then he pulls out the chair for me.

I sit, wanting to playfully protest but also aware that I’m the Conduit in this room, not the lovesick schoolgirl I dissolve into when I’m around Rought. Not that I was ever like that as a …

Well, I guess I don’t know how I was around any of my soul-bound mates when I was young. Nor have I had the privilege of attending an actual school.

Rath settles with his plate directly across the table.

“Please eat,” the Outcast says to me.

I obligingly take a bite of the hash browns, following it with another, far more generous bite. They are perfectly crispy and salty on the outside, fluffy and starchy on the inside. With maybe a touch of paprika?

The Outcast grins at me, nibbling on a piece of bacon. He’s barely touched any of his other food, even though Rath is already a quarter of the way through his just-as-full plate.

Rought sets a freshly pressed apple juice next to my plate, then lowers himself into the chair next to me. He, at least, has some potatoes mixed in with his mound of protein.

The Outcast looks pointedly at the empty setting to Rath’s left, requesting a response to his inadequately answered question without asking it again.

“He’s Authority,” Rath states evenly, still shoveling food in his mouth as quickly as he’s chewing and swallowing.

“He’s one of your bond group.”

Rath’s fork pauses in midair for a moment as his gaze flicks to me.

The Outcast follows his gaze.

I take a sip of my apple juice. “Not my call.”

“It is always your … call, weaver.” The Outcast frowns, glancing at Rought and Rath again.

“That’s not why we’re here,” Rath says.

“Yes. I do note that you’re still wearing your cut. Your bond, as nascent as it is between Zaya and Rought, is incomplete. ”

So the Outcast can scent soul ties, or maybe even all essence-imbued bonds. It’s another intriguing glimpse of the power he holds, though that sensitivity might be due to the bond — through both blood and pack — that he holds with his nephews.

“This is about you, Uncle.” Rath still sounds perfectly calm, even deferential. “Not us.”

“Tell me, then.”

Rath nods thoughtfully, but then crams another hunk of ham in his mouth, chewing.

The dynamic has shifted between him and his uncle.

Loyalty coming into play, maybe? Now that Rath is in the room with the Outcast, he’s hesitating, even though he seemed geared up for a confrontation from the moment he saw the photo in the tower office.

“You knew my Aunt Disa,” I say, stepping in where I totally don’t belong to get the answers Rath and Rought appear to need. Because this really isn’t my set of secrets to unravel. It’s not relevant to the now I’m navigating.

The now I’m navigating rather poorly, given my handling of Bellamy— even if I’m only going to admit that to myself. I’ll keep that in mind as all the drama of my aunt’s life and death keeps sucking me in.

The Outcast leans back in his chair, pushing his still-full plate of food a few inches away from him. “I did.”

I reach my hand across the table. My arm doesn’t even span halfway. Rath tugs the photograph free of some inner pocket in his cut, then passes it to me, easily reaching across.

I place it face up on the table, then slide it over to the Outcast.

He leans over to look at it rather than touching it.

A shifter who commands a motorcycle club the size of the Outcast, as well as a portion of an entire country, for over thirty years, is smart enough to not touch something passed to him by a person of my power.

He exhales sharply, sounding almost pained. Then he laughs quietly, head tilted as he almost reverently touches the edge of the photo.

“So perfect,” he murmurs, as if not aware he’s spoken out loud.

And I know. I know .

“You were one of my aunt’s chosen.”

“No.” He sighs, settling his palm over the photo as if blocking it from his sight is the only way to force himself to look away. With his arm extended, he settles back in his chair and fixes his gaze on me. “I was her soul-bound mate.”

“What?!” Rath blurts.

The Outcast ignores his nephew, his eyes glued to me. “What is wrong with your bonds?”

“My aunt didn’t have soul-bound mates,” I say calmly, ignoring his question. Though my heart is making a solid attempt to lodge itself in my throat.

“Three of us,” he says, matching my even tone. Though his gaze is so intense that I’m tempted to look away.

I don’t. But it’s unusual for me to be intimidated at all.

“As you have three,” the Outcast adds.

“I don’t have three.” Because I need the conversation to move much, much quicker, I offer a truth of my own. “My bonds have been stripped from me.”

The Outcast frowns deeply. “That isn’t possible, even if you rejected —”

“I would never,” I insist, because I know that much, at least. I know it.

The Outcast flicks his gaze — questioning and clearly angry — to Rath, then Rought. “What have you done? Is this why Reck isn’t here? ”

“This is about you,” Rath says roughly. “About your fucking secrets and how they might have impacted us. You knew Disa. You knew Zaya wasn’t dead. You let us believe —”

“I don’t get involved with the Conduit’s business. I protect as much as she’ll let me, but I no longer have the right —”

“We’re your blood!” Rath shoves his chair back, shooting to his feet. Then, finding himself with all of our attention on him, he paces, clearly trying to level out.

“Sit,” the Outcast says after a strained moment. The command is mild but pointed.

Rath stiffens, clearly thinking about ignoring— or at least trying to ignore— the essence-enforced demand.

Then he throws himself into the chair, which creaks warningly under his weight.

His gaze on his plate, he attempts to finish what remains of his breakfast in a few fierce bites. Clearly stifling himself.

I didn’t really understand, not until watching Rath struggle in this moment, what it must have been like to be on the other side of all this.

Abandoned and forgotten by his soul-bound mate.

By me. And then to find out that our elders, those most trusted to guide and protect us, had knowledge of it.

Or even more nefariously, that they had a hand in keeping us apart.

“Just so I have this clear,” Rought drawls, deliberately deepening his Southern accent. “You were soul bound to Disa Gage, the Conduit. But you still took my mother as your chosen, bite-bonded mate.”

The levels of tension in the room expand sharply and abruptly, almost suffocatingly so.

I forgot about Rought’s mother. And his twin half-sisters, the children of the Outcast and his mother .

“Soul-bound mates can’t fucking cheat on each other,” Rath says darkly. “Can’t have children outside of the bond.”

“Rejected mates can,” the Outcast says, suddenly weary. He rubs his hand across his face. “Oso certainly proved that. Over and over again.”

Rought and Rath share a grim glance.

“Oso?” I murmur, not making the connection to the name on the back of the photo that the other three make immediately.

“The Cataclysm,” Rought says roughly. “Our evil fucking sperm donor. That’s what my uncle is using as his justification for fucking my mother.”

The Outcast sighs heavily.

“The Cataclysm,” I repeat inanely.

Fuck. They mentioned the Cataclysm in the tower, didn’t they?

Still, my stomach drops and my mind empties even though I suddenly, rather desperately, need all of this to connect or click together.

I need the entire picture, the entire tapestry, so I can move on.

I already need to move on from all of this.

I don’t like the weave unfolding before me. Not the ragged-edged design, and not the loose threads still waiting to be woven. Or snipped.

All of it out of my control.

Because this is my fate, my past and present, seemingly melding together with my aunt’s past. I cannot direct my own fate. I can only nudge the trajectory of others’. I’m caught within destiny’s grasp.

Or I was before I became the Conduit.

Now … now my own beliefs, my own truths, are being upended, unraveled.

The Cataclysm was my aunt’s soul-bound mate. The father of Presh and Rought and Rath and Reck and even Bellamy was my aunt’s soul-bound mate. And now his children are mine— or they were supposed to be mine. The half-brothers at least, though my connection to Presh feels fated as well.

“Yes,” the Outcast finally says. “The three of us are half-brothers, like Rought, Rath, and Reck. Soul bound to the Conduit, drawn to her after she claimed the intersection point. Claimed it and needed to defend it.” His eyes cut to me, as if his mention of defending the intersection point has a deeper relevance.

I’m still struggling with the revelations far closer to the surface. “You … but that would make you …” With too many fragments of the past whirling in my head, I struggle to pull together a coherent thought. “Really old …”

The Outcast barks out a laugh.

The tension in the room breaks with a practically audible snap. We all slump back in our chairs, unable to do anything, ask anything else — and there are so many more fucking questions — until we absorb what’s already been revealed.