Page 33 of Snag
“Coda found Bellamy,” Presh says in a rush, as if she’s been holding it in and can’t wait a moment longer, not even for me to finish tying my boots.
“Yes,” I say, slinging the designer bag over my shoulder and double-checking that I have a backup pair of sunglasses. Running a brush through my hair would also be a good idea, but not wanting to delay any longer, I settle on a quick finger-combing-and-ear-tuck combo.
Presh slides my phone into a side pocket in my bag, as if I can’t be trusted to do so myself.
She’s not wrong.
“I’m coming with you,” the young awrysays firmly.
From outside the bedroom, Rath shouts, “Absolutely fucking not!”
Shifters have excellent hearing, not that Precious was being quiet about her demands. Annoying shifters also have bothersome opinions and seem intent on foisting their demands off on me.
Yes, I’m apparently still mad at Rath.
I grab a clearly hand-knit brioche rib scarf in a pretty gradient — a light gray through a few shades of purple to black — off a hanger near the door, then step out into the bedroom as I wrap it around my neck. Even looped twice and with a fringe, it’s long enough to fall to midthigh. But delightfully lightweight.
I have no idea who would have knit such a beautiful piece of art for me to wear. But this time, I allow myself to simply be pleased by the idea that someone cared enough for me to do so, rather than disconcerted.
Presh follows so closely that she’s practically pressed against me, speaking earnestly. She blatantly ignores her older brother hovering in the doorway. “She killed my best friend. I deserve to go.”
Rath crosses his arms, completely blocking our exit into the hall. “You will not set one foot off this property —”
“Fine.” I walk right up to Rath, forcing him to cede the way. He does. “Let’s go.”
“What the fuck?! No!” Rath snarls at my back as I step out into the hall. Presh glances over her shoulder, chewing her lip worriedly. “This isn’t some fucking game, Zaya. Some way to get back at me for some ridiculous grudge or perceived slight.”
Passing DeVille, whose wary gaze flicks between Presh and the dragon shifter at my heels, we continue down the corridor.
“Rath …” Presh whispers, now caught between her brother and me.
“The last time I trusted you, Zaya,” Rath says. “You nearly got Precious killed.”
“Whoa!” Presh pivots, pressing her palms against Rath’s chest. Well, his lower rib cage. The young awry is tiny next to her overprotective brother. Though he’s not entirely wrong. “That’s not —”
I whirl back at the top of the stairs, gripping the post of the walnut handrail. Because I suddenly feel like punching the massive asshole, and I’m slightly thrown by that extreme reaction.
“If you were doing your universe-decreed duty,” I say, speaking without really thinking, “I never would have been put in the position of choosing between your unhinged brother nearly murdering dozens of souls, or trusting Presh and her destined mate for five minutes on a clearly defined path to fucking safety!”
Rath reels back, nearly knocking DeVille across the hall. The younger shifter catches his balance, favoring his still healing leg.
“Wait … my mate?” Presh squeaks. “What?”
“Just go, Zaya,” Rath snaps, hands fisted at his sides. “That’s what you’re good at. Doing whatever you fucking want no matter the fucking cost.”
“You’re such a blind fucking fool, Rath.” I sneer his biker name because I don’t know his real fucking name. I don’t even know if he uses the surname he shares with his siblings— Guerra. And that pisses me off. All of this, with him, pisses me off. And I’d rather be pissed than numb and overwhelmed right now. “There aren’t any choices for me. Whatever illusion I had of choosing anything was alwaysjust that— wishful thinking. All I have is duty and destiny.”
Presh grabs hold of my arm, forcing my gaze to her. “What are you saying? Was Kris my mate?! Is my mate dead?”
I blink at her, unclear about what she’s asking.
Then I recall my slip.
In the incendiary exchange with her brother, I’ve inadvertently revealed information that isn’t mine to reveal. Nor is it something I even consciously discerned.
Rath chuckles darkly, presumably at me getting derailed.
“Get the fuck out of my house,” I snarl at him over Presh’s shoulder.
