Page 72 of Snag
I close my eyes and send a silent prayer to the universe. A thank you that Zaya is with me. Then I look to see whatphoto she’s brought up the stairs with her. It’s the one of us heading out to surf. Zaya is walking with Rought, looking at him and laughing, but she’s holding my hand. Our arms stretch between us, and I’m gazing at her like she’s my entire fucking world.
“Soul bound,” Zaya murmurs, tapping one of the books near the bottom of the stack. “Anything interesting in this one?”
“I’ve made notes,” I say, nodding toward my open notebook even though Zaya can’t see me.
But she feels the movement, or was just waiting for the invitation, because she tugs the notebook closer, reading the open page.
“Near the front,” I say, feeling lightheaded. “I started with it.”
Zaya flips back, pausing in a few places to read. “The necklace holds the power of an intersection point? How is that remotely possible?”
I clear my throat. “Because it hangs around your … the Conduit’s neck. I suspect …”
She glances back at me over her shoulder. “You suspect?”
I take a breath. “I’m still piecing it together.”
She frowns. It’s nearly a pout.
I struggle — hopefully only internally — with another urge to press her over the desk and claim that bottom lip for myself. Then get down on my fucking knees where I belong and worship her pussy for as long as she’ll let me.
I clear my throat. Again. “I suspect that the powers of the Conduit act like another intersection point.”
She blinks. “What? No.”
I scrub my free hand over my face. “I’m still researching.”
“You think that I’m …” Her tone is suddenly strained. “That the Conduit is another intersection point?”
I gentle my tone. “I think that nine powerful beings went into … stasis, one for each intersection point, while one of their … cohort remained. Perhaps as a linchpin for the protection or barrier spell.”
Zaya huffs. “Nine gods, you mean.”
I shrug. I’ve never been someone who believed in gods and goddesses, but I’m almost certain one is perched on my knee. Zaya Gage will not, cannot be denied.
“Rath!” She laughs in disbelief. “You buy into the whole ‘they laid down their immortal lives to protect the world from outside influences’ doctrine?”
I take a moment to process everything I’ve read in the last day, and everything that’s happened with Zaya — including her returning from the dead. More than once. Then I steadily meet her gaze and say, “I’m getting there.”
She exhales softly. And for the first fucking time in our lives together, she drops her gaze. Thoughtful, but not submissive. “I’m … my aunt believed, but she wanted me to make my own … assessment.”
“I know.”
She flicks those violet eyes up to meet mine, gazing at me as if verifying my truth.
I stay still and as open as I can be for as long as she needs to look at me.
“Did you find any more of my aunt’s journals?” she asks, turning away just enough to reach the journal I haven’t been able to shift, now under a pile of discarded books. She pulls it out.
“There are journals scattered about the shelves,” I say, gesturing toward a nearby group of them. They aren’t a match to the one in Zaya’s hands, and the blank spinesdon’t give anything away about their content. “But I can’t read them, can’t even open them.”
Zaya hums thoughtfully. Still holding the journal, she settles back against my chest. Her gaze is leveled on the armoire across from us. It’s closed. With no visible latch or keyhole.
I let myself hold Zaya’s hip just a little more firmly.
The armoire radiates an energy that prickles up the back of my neck whenever I’m near it. Or even looking at it, really.
“Maybe the others are in the cabinet,” Zaya murmurs. “Or she skipped years …”
