Page 85 of Snag
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. Thefather 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.
“Please tell me,” I finally ask in a whisper, my throat still clogged, my chest tight. “I understand it might be difficult, but —”
“It’s not,” the Outcast says gently. “Though I take it your aunt passed almost four weeks ago?”
“Yes. How did you …”
I glance at the cane and think about the diminished feeling hovering about the Outcast despite his robust ties to his pack.
I think about discovering my aunt’s chosen. All dead. I even vaguely remember Rath grilling me about why I assumed Ingrid had a heart attack.
“Have you found Devlin?” The Outcast glances at Rath and Rought, both still rooted in their chairs, food forgotten.
“No,” I say. “But it appears that all of my aunt’s chosen died with her. As best we can assess the timeline.”
He hums, a quiet knowing mixed with a hint of grief. “I only survived due to the pack ties.”
Something about that hum, about the shift in his energy, or maybe even the shift in our dynamic, puts me on edge. “Your bond wasn’t as severed as you thought.”
“Perhaps the universe intervened,” he says coolly.
