Page 96 of Snag
“What does it matter?”
“Rought hadn’t transformed into the gryphon yet,” I say, still weaving together that section of my past, of mymissing bonds. “And Rath transformed in the aftermath, correct? The dragon manifested to help heal him.”
“More like save his life,” Reck mutters grimly. “Why would it matter now, Zaya?”
I think about that question for a moment. I think about the maliciousness that Reck and his beast practically breathe. I think about being drawn to Rought, and even to Rath, despite the absence of anchored bonds.
“You’re supposed to be mine,” I say finally. He doesn’t feel like mine at all.
“I was never fucking yours,” Reck snarls. “And I won’t have you now.”
“Our destinies were once entwined,” I say, ignoring the sharp ache radiating through my chest.
He scoffs. “Believe whatever you want.”
“Disa thought she’d rejected her soul-bound mates,” I say, surprised at the evenness of my tone.
“So?” he snaps.
“So her death nearly took the Outcast with her, just like all her chosen died.”
Reck finally fixes his gaze on me. I instantly wish he were looking at the road instead, and not only because he’s still driving way too fast.
His gaze is filled with utter loathing. No matter his repeated declaration to not hurt me, Reck Guerra hates me. Utterly and unequivocally.
I try to shrug it off. “Soul bonds might not be so easily severed. If the Conduit herself couldn’t snip them.”
“The threads you mentioned,” he says.
“Yes.”
“You said there aren’t any between us.”
“There aren’t.”
“I’m not interested in your fucking games, Zaya. What the fuck is your point?”
“You’re driving me to my death right now,” I say casually.
He huffs nastily. “I already told you, I’m not going to hurt you.”
The half-truth brushes against me. I flip my hand, as if I can capture that snarled false declaration in my palm.
Reck flinches, inadvertently jerking the steering wheel just enough that the SUV swerves across the road. He curses, slowing to get us back in the proper lane. Not that we’ve seen many other vehicles. Crossing through the barrens isn’t for the casual traveler and certainly isn’t a preferred trade route.
“Stop fucking with me,” he says.
“Stop lying to me,” I say mildly.
He stiffens. “Bellamy can’t take you.”
“And your agents?”
He huffs dismissively.
I let the silence stretch between us for a moment. “Who killed me?” I finally ask. “Who crossed through the boundaries of the intersection point unimpeded? Was my aunt there? Rought said he — you all were banished from the estate. Was that in the lingering aftermath? Or as a result of my death?”
Reck’s grip tightens on the steering wheel again. His lips are pressed against his teeth so hard that they’re white. His jaw is etched in tension.
