Page 34 of Snag
“Still such a child.”
Something goes dark and dead inside me. All my energy contracts, then practically explodes through the hallway and down the stairs.
“Oh no. Oh no! Zaya …” Presh whispers, her own concerns set aside as she clings to my arm.
Rath takes another step back from me, all the anger and frustration draining from him.
“I was still a child when you knew me,” I whisper. “Privileged and protected. Until I wasn’t. I haven’t been since I died for the first time.”
“Zaya …” Rath whispers, raising his hands to me, placating me. And not for the first time.
“You have no right to be angry at me,” I say dully, my essence tightening all around me as if trying to protect me, as if prepared to defend me. “You have no say in how I choose to fulfill my fucking duty to the fucking universe.”
The intersection point shudders beneath me, reactingto … well, me. To me reacting to Rath clawing at the soul-deep wound I didn’t even know I was suffering from.
I want to press my hand against my chest. It hurts. It hurts. That soul-based wound radiates agony through my system, as if it was cauterized once but is now raw and bleeding.
But I don’t. I don’t press my hand to that wound. I don’t stumble or sway under the onslaught. I stand tall and strong. I face my so-called soul-bound mate, and I don’t allow any of that weakness to show.
Rath shifts, reacting to the energy practically boiling around us now — a combination of me, the intersection point, and darling Presh, who feels as though she’s trying to calm me, calm both of us.
But her sweet, gentle healing energy is no match for my own power.
Shouts sound out from below. In the kitchen, then the entranceway.
“You have no right to walk around my property, my home, as if you own it,” I say, still steadily holding Rath’s wild-eyed gaze. There’s no hint of his beast in his eyes.
“You’re overreacting,” he says. “You’re tired and —”
“You have no position here,” I say. “We do not know each other. We are not soul bound.”
Rath grabs his chest as if I’ve knifed him, clenching his T-shirt as if trying to yank a sharp blade from his heart. “Tempest … please …”
I open my mouth to banish him from the property. I can feel the firmer connection I have to the intersection point now, and I have no doubt it would actually work this time. I could eject him. I could protect myself from —
“What the fuck is going on here?” Rought shouts as hecharges up the stairs, heedless of the energy writhing all around me and Rath.
DeVille is behind him, stopping to hover halfway up, his skin ashy with concern … or maybe terror? I didn’t see or feel him descend past me. Gigi and Coda peer up from the base of the stairs, wide-eyed and clearly overwhelmed.
By me.
I consider ejecting all of them from the property.
I am the fucking Conduit. I don’t answer to —
Presh wraps her arms around me, hugging me tightly.
Rought steps between me and his brother in the hall, snarling at Rath. “Step back, step away.”
“Don’t get between us,” Rath snarls back. “It’s not your place to —”
“I’m Zaya’s fucking guardian,” Rought declares. “I step between her and anything or anyone with ill intent. Especially you, brother. Not only should you know better, but it should be impossible for you to hurt her.”
“That’s not … I would never …” Rath cuts himself off with a noise, a moan, that I can’t easily identify. Anguish?
The pain in my chest eases just a bit.
Rought steps closer to Rath, lowering his voice to a murmur. “I think you need to take some time and figure out what the fuck you want.”
