Page 88 of Snag
And screaming.
So much screaming — shouts of disbelief, and pain. Then terror. The power of the intersection point aching through my bones, as if rejecting me …
Or … unable to connect with me.
I shove it all away.
The actual memory of the only time I have been teleported follows. In the aftermath of my mother’s death, in the arms of my absentee father. Not that Disa gave him much of a choice about the absentee part. I might have only been nine, but that particular memory is crystal clear.
I shove that thought away as well.
“I didn’t know for certain,” the Outcast insists, shifting his feet to stop from swaying. “Not until recently.”
For a moment, I can’t remember what we’re discussing in the aftermath of the elder shifter’s power play.
“How recently?” Rought asks from behind me.
Right. My death.
The Outcast’s gaze flicks between both his nephews, Rath having moved to boxed him in from the other side.
“Cayley,” I say, more pieces of the puzzle click, click, clicking together. “Cayley is bound to you. And she saw me in Tokyo. Even with me securing the invitation from the Phrontistery and the scholarships after rescuing her sister, Kiki would have needed permission, your permission, to leave your territory. Cayley would have been forced to give you something to explain all of that, even if she refused the Authority when they interrogated her.”
“What?” Rath exclaims. “What interrogation with the —”
“Eighteen months,” Rought says hollowly. “You’ve known for certain that Zaya was alive for at least eighteen months.”
The Outcast raises his hands, placating his nephews— but not surrendering. “Telling you what I only suspected wouldn’t have fixed your severed bonds. I knew they had to have been muted or compromised somehow, either by Zaya’s death or …”
“Or …?” I ask.
“Some other intervention,” he adds, covering the pause though I know that wasn’t what he was about to say. “The bonds had to be compromised. Otherwise the boys wouldn’t have believed you were dead, Zaya. Not even with Ingrid’s and Mack’s confirmation. They would have felt you.” He locks his gaze to Rought’s over my shoulder. “Especially you, Angel.”
“Don’t call me that,” Rought rasps.
Rath slowly starts to unbutton his cut. “Have you got what you need, Zaya?”
I’m not certain. I don’t know that I needed any of this information, nor that I’m done asking questions. But I nod anyway.
“Give us a quick moment, goddess,” Rought says, ghosting his fingers down my spine.
So instead of fucking with the Outcast’s threads like I so desperately want to, I lower the hand I’m still holding only inches from his chest.
Because their uncle is right, though for the wrong reasons.
I won’t hurt him. His punishment is for his blood, those few he should hold allegiance to, to extract. It’s not as if he had an intact universe-gifted soul bond to supersede his blood bonds.
Rought presses a kiss to my temple, both of us still staring at his uncle.
The Outcast finally drops his gaze, though his shoulders remain squared, his stance firm. I notice that he lost his cane during his temper tantrum.
Leaving the remainder of my answers behind, assuming the Outcast can provide them, I cross around him, stepping carefully through the debris now littering the room.
Rath yanks off his cut, crumpling it in one hand. He leans into me as I pass. I pause just long enough for him to brush a kiss against my cheek. Essence shivers across my skin. The kiss is utterly chaste, but full of promise.
I traverse the living room in reverse, noting again that a house that should be teeming with shifters is oddly empty. Not even Rought’s mother and sisters are here.
Did the Outcast send them all away after Rath’s call, to protect them from me? As a simplereflex? Perhaps he expected retribution. But for what, exactly? For keeping me from my mates?
