Page 48 of Snag (Conduit #2)

Precious glances back at me, eyes wide but not afraid. Determined. “Can we … remove the … bad essence?”

I step closer to Bellamy, lowering our arms between us as I do. Then I reach up and tug the noose of essence free from around her neck.

A strangled scream makes it through Bellamy’s clenched teeth. Her neck is bruised in a mottle of dark colors edged in yellow.

I look down at the rope in my hand. “Still dying.”

“Is that …” Presh bites her lip. “Is that …”

“Bellamy’s last strand of destiny,” I say, ignoring the thread that still links me to the dire awry because I’m not yet certain what to make of it. “It shouldn’t be black. ”

“Um, okay.” Presh huffs. She narrows her eyes on the thread lying limply across my hand, then steps closer to gaze at the tangle of threads clustered over Bellamy’s heart.

Once more, a half-dozen or so of those threads shiver, their blackened tips reaching for Presh.

Energy shifts behind us a moment before Reck lays his hand on Precious’s shoulder. The red and deep orange of his life force coils around the both of us.

“I’m fine,” Presh snaps testily at her older brother. “Zaya is here.”

“Zaya,” Reck spits, “can’t be trusted when she’s otherwise occupied.”

I’m not certain what he means. And with the final weave of Bellamy’s fate displayed before me, I don’t remotely care.

Ah, right.

That’s what he means.

Still … this is all interesting …

“What do you see there, Presh?” I ask, nodding toward the knotted ball of threads over Bellamy’s heart.

“A … wound?” She hesitates, hovering her fingers just a few inches away. “Multiple wounds.”

I hum, still intrigued. “And what do you feel like doing?”

“Time to stop fucking around,” Reck growls.

“Right now?” Presh asks, ignoring her brother. “With those … cuts?”

“Yes.” I glance down at the inert dark-red rope of fate in my hand. “We can walk away, and Bellamy will likely die —”

“No!” Presh presses her hand over the mess of threads clustered around Bellamy’s heart. “No!”

The young awry’s energy wells. The cauterized threads try to knot around her fingers. Bellamy stifles another scream.

“I’m sorry,” Presh sobs, though her tone is determined, focused. “I’m so sorry.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Reck asks, clearly unable to see what Presh and I can see.

Presh draws more energy, more essence, from herself. Instinctively, I think.

“Gentle,” I say. “Careful. Don’t pull too much.”

The snipped ends of the blackened threads burrow into the back of Presh’s hand. She flinches but doesn’t pull away.

“Think about smoothing over that wound you see,” I say.

“Maybe like you’re applying an ointment.

Or maybe it’s more like sewing the edges together.

Or …” I don’t know anything about healing, really.

And certainly not on the level that Presh seems driven to do.

These aren’t wounds in Bellamy’s flesh, but …

“It needs to be debrided,” I say— but I’m not the one speaking now. The universe has decided to chime in, through me. “The damaged life force needs to be removed to allow —”

“I see,” Presh whispers. And with another push of her power, the tangle of threads dissolves into nothing under her palm.

The thick rope of life force in my hand jerks as if suddenly infused with more energy. I let it go. It slowly retracts, sluggishly twisting around Bellamy, but not cinching around her neck.

Bellamy gasps, stumbling and clutching her chest.

I also let her go.

She collapses against her sedan, shuddering and sobbing. The wounds on her arms have healed over. Even the older scars are barely visible.

I turn to Presh, cradling her face in my hands and gazing down at her. She blinks up at me reverently. Unafraid.

“Soul healer,” I murmur, understanding just a little more about the intricate destiny that surrounds Precious. “How blessed the world is to have you.”

Her eyes fill with tears, but it’s joy that radiates through her. “Soul healer,” she whispers.

“So utterly precious.” I smile, then press a kiss to her forehead.

Essence flows from me to her — a blessing, a benediction. A promise of protection and love.

“What the fuck?” DeVille groans from somewhere behind Reck. “Why am I on the fucking ground?”

“That’s where you fell, Andy!” Hands on her hips, Presh whirls around to chastise him. “And you’re way too heavy to pick up!”

I meet Reck’s gaze. His expression is open and awed. He looks moments away from falling to his knees before me.

I don’t like that look at all.

Not from my once-soul-bound mate. Not from the Authority agent he chose to be. Because visions of a cage to tuck me safely within always follow that sort of look. Tuck me away to worship. To possess.

I narrow my eyes at him.

He flinches, then curls his lip into a snarl.

That’s better.

“It’s not like I can choose where I fall,” DeVille grumbles, brushing himself off as he gets to his feet. He’s wearing sweatpants that I assume Reck generously got on him after he passed out from transforming. “Every fucking bone in my body hurts.”

Presh launches herself toward him, practically skipping. Beaming.

With a bare moment of hesitation, he sweeps her up in his arms, twirling her around on unsteady feet.

Presh throws her arms around his neck. “You should see your tiger!”

“A tiger?” DeVille shouts. “What the fuck? But my mother is a —”

“A sabertooth tiger!” Presh squeals. “He’s so sweet.”

DeVille blinks at her.

She slaps at his chest. “Put me down, you oaf.”

DeVille, now completely confused, lowers Precious to her feet, then runs his hand through his hair, looking to us for confirmation.

I nod helpfully. “Big, scary.”

“Total ass,” Reck mutters.

DeVille’s gaze drops to Shaw’s mutilated corpse. His brown skin visibly pales as he raises a shaky arm to point at the body. “Did … that …”

“Don’t worry,” I say blithely. “Muta had already killed him. You just made that death come a little quicker. And probably less painfully.”

“Less … painful …”

DeVille bends over at the waist and throws up. Hunks of bloody flesh spatter the ground and his bare feet. “Oh, fuck. No!” He throws up again. Presh rubs his back, keeping her feet well away from the spew zone. “What the fuck is … that …”

“That would be bits of Shaw,” I say.

“Really, Zaya?” Reck snarls .

Before I can respond, Bellamy takes that moment to keel over.

Presh abandons DeVille, racing toward her sister. Reck intercepts her, grabbing her around the waist and yanking her off her feet.

“Enough of this shit,” he snarls. “We’re completely exposed out here. It’s past time to fucking leave.”

Bellamy starts convulsing, seizing.

I cross to her, somehow already rolling her onto her side before I’ve even decided to move. She stops trembling under my hands. I touch her chin, angling it and wondering if I should find something to put between her teeth.

Presh flails in Reck’s hold, landing a well-placed kick to his groin, no doubt inadvertently. He grunts, pained, and drops her to her feet. She stumbles.

Muta suddenly appears next to Bellamy’s head, flicking his forked tongue in her direction.

“Oh, now you step up,” I grouse to the death god.

He ignores me. Of course.

Presh scrambles away from a still-cursing Reck, coming down on her knees next to her newfound sister.

Bellamy cranes her head back to look me in the eye. The light lavender of her iris has expanded and deepened slightly in tint, leaving only a thin ring of dark purple on the edge. As if Presh’s healing has also cleansed her essence.

Those eyes are wide and unseeing, though.

“He’s coming,” Bellamy whispers. “That was always the plan. To lure you away …”

“Me?” Presh asks.

Bellamy’s eyes flick from her sister back to me, slowly focusing. “The Conduit. He almost had you, but you slipped away. Sneaky goddess.”

“Zaya?” Presh asks again, confused now .

“No,” I say. “Not me. The Conduit.”

Because I know now. I know why the universe kept tugging me away from Reck. Because nothing has happened here that I couldn’t handle, even without guidance. Nothing has happened. Yet.

“You are the fucking Conduit,” Reck snarls, stepping closer.

“I’m only the vessel.” And I’m suddenly hollow within. Again.

I convinced myself, somehow, over the last few days …

I convinced myself I was more. That I was a person who could make actual choices, build friendships, maybe even have and reconnect to soul-bound mates.

“I’m sorry. I’m … I didn’t have any other choice,” Bellamy whispers. “Run if you can. He’s not strong enough to take you from the estate. Not yet anyway.”

“I never get to run,” I say.

Keep reading for a preview of Mirth, Part 1