Page 118 of Awry
Incensed all over again, though it’s not that rush of pure killing rage, I’m knocking Cay’s hand off me and halfway out of my chair, ready to march over, confront Zaya, and drag Presh back home.A vicious shouting match with Zaya would be almost as good as bending her over the fucking bar and reaming her until she howls my name.But before I can take a step, the front door slams open, hard enough to bang against the wall and rattle the pictures of the club founders hung on it.
Then fucking Rought is striding through into the clubhouse as if he owns the place, as if he shows up every late Saturday night, with his patched leather jacket slung on over a henley and jeans.Dark-gold hair tousled.An easy, wide grin on his golden fucking tanned face.
But none of those things are the norm.Not the smile.Not the easy demeanor.And certainly not him showing up at the clubhouse.Not at night, anyway.
Because everyone wants a piece of Rought.
And Rought wants no one except for his dead soul-bonded fucking mate.
He makes a beeline for Zaya.She’s perched on a stool, suckling her fucking milkshake, with the three teens still bunched around her as if they know they’re about to get kicked out.
Rought walks right up to her, still grinning like a fucking idiot.He claps DeVille on the shoulder, actually getting a grin in return out of the sullen kid.He presses a kiss to Precious’s temple, and she leans into him, smiling softly.
But he doesn’t look away from Zaya the entire time.
And she’s eyeing him back, face tilted up as he looms over her.He leans around Presh, moving slowly, deliberately, as if he’s worried about spooking Zaya.He places a single finger under the milkshake she’s holding loosely.He presses upward, raising the shake inch by inch.
They are still fucking staring at each other, deep into each other’s eyes.A hum of energy brushes against me.I see Rath twitch when he feels it as well.Cayley and Doc are glancing between our brother and Zaya, leaning across the table with their heads bent together and practically giggling.They don’t react to the brush of essence.
Because even a hint of that combination — Zaya with her golden Angel — is as familiar to me and Rath as the fucking air we’re forced to breathe just to fucking survive this shitshow of a life.
Rought twists farther around Presh as he wraps his lips around the straw and takes a long fucking slurp of Zaya’s fucking milkshake.
Laughing when she should be nutting him — because no one steals any sort of ice cream from Zaya fucking Gage — she presses her hand against his face, shoving him to the side.He resists, cheeks hollowing as he clearly takes another long drag of the milkshake through the straw.
I can remember what it felt like to be skin-to-skin with Zaya.Even when she was too young for us to be lusting after each other, even before the energy that shifted between us grew in intensity.I remember it so acutely that I can practically feel it dancing across my cheek where she’s now touching Rought.
My beast shifts suddenly, as if lunging forward to look out of my eyes.But it’s eager, not jealous, radiating a contented fucking warmth that is completely contrary to everything else I struggle to hold at bay inside me.
Fuck me.
Rought allows Zaya to push him off the milkshake, straightening as he smacks his lips, all fucking playful and full of innuendo.
And all the while, I’m hovering half out of my chair, lost in the fucking moment like a completely different kind of asshole.The soul I don’t profess to even have aches, all lovelorn.And still viciously angry about it all.
I sit down.I try and fail to tear my gaze away from my brother and the woman who was supposed to be … supposed to be our crux, our reason.Our existence.
Doc, who always sees too much —and who heard way too much in the motel room that night —is glancing between Rath, me, and Rought now.Rath is watching our younger brother flirt with our soul-bonded at the bar, a twitch of a smile at the edges of his lips.
I bet he doesn’t even know he’s fucking smiling.Does his beast purr in satisfaction at the sight?I’ve never asked either of my brothers if the creatures that make up half their being have been as dormant as mine since Zaya was murdered before our eyes.
Maybe it’s just me, and all the guilt I harbor — deservedly — for that day.That dark night of our souls.
Cay, still leaning over the table to gossip with Doc, throws me a knowing smile over her shoulder, settling her hand back on my upper thigh.“I didn’t know that Rought and Zaya knew each other.That’s so …” Nose flaring, she trails off before finishing the thought.Probably because she can’t figure out my expression, my reaction.
Kitsune shifters are supposed to have other powers.It’s not particularly well documented, because like all shifters who transform into unusual creatures— myself and my brothers included— they’re careful about what they share of themselves.But I’m fairly certain that some sort of future sense or backsight is one of those abilities.
Which makes the why of ‘why did Cayley ever offer to suck my dick in the first place?’a real mystery.Likely because of my position.In the Authority, and unofficially in the club.I didn’t question it then, and it doesn’t matter now.
Because I can drown myself in alcohol.I can get off in bar bathrooms, I can hunt down essence-twisted criminals and execute them on the spot.And there will still be something wrong with me.Perhaps it’s my missing soul, but the silence is never filled, and I’ve been hearing it for way too long.
And I know.
I know that not even Zaya’s return can fill it.
She won’t forgive me, won’t accept me a second time.
And I’ll never ask for that forgiveness, because I fucking loathe her for leaving in the first place.For ruining everything, destroying our futures.Leaving only this rage and silence to fill all the places she’s touched.
