Page 78 of Snag
“I’m still deciding.” Precious snuggles back into the bed.
I hover there for a moment longer, oddly … worried. And waiting for more questions. But DeVille’s purr starts up, and Precious sighs contentedly. So I step away, just a little reluctantly.
Rought keepshis hand on my thigh for most of the way to the Outcast MC compound, releasing me only when he needs to shift gears. The roads are damp, but the rain is just the typical early-morning mist. After checking on Precious and DeVille, I found the gryphon shifter in the pristinely restored Ford F-100 idling out front of the house as if I weren’t capable of walking all the way to the garage to climb in.
Rath took off on his bike. Coda is still crashed out in the apartment off the workshop, but Gigi is awake enough to keep an eye on DeVille and Presh. Both Cayley and Doc Z returned to work and Outcast MC duties before I made it downstairs.
I’m still not quite certain why I thought wandering around the house in that dress earlier was appropriate — or perching in Rath’s lap like he was my fucking throne. But it might be for the same reason I don’t feel a staggering sense of relief when we leave the property or, more specifically, the intersection point. Not as I did the evening I picked up Presh, DeVille, and Kris at the warehouse rave … only two nights ago. Though it feels like at least a week, if not more time, has passed.
I’m carrying the energy of the intersection point more easily, likely because I’ve reconnected with one of my soulbound. More specifically, I’ve sealed the bond with the gryphon, and the ties between Rought and me are strengthening. And yes, I’m certain now that those are two different connections.
“Did you …” My cheeks flush, as if I’m not a fully realized adult. As if Rought’s fingers don’t only need to shift up about two inches to be touching me in the most intimate of places, that hold meant to be comforting in the now but potentially turning carnal in a mere moment.
Rought flashes a grin at me. “Did I …?”
“The gryphon …”
His eyebrows fly up. “The gryphon?”
“No! I mean … yes, the gryphon and I … in your body …” My face is fully flushed now, heated.
Rought’s playful leer is not helpful.
Maybe I should try broaching this subject telepathically, though I haven’t tried initiating that nonverbal connection yet. It feels even more intimate to invite Rought into my head for this conversation …
I huff, mostly at myself. “The gryphon holds the soul bond. Though it might be a separate tie. Whatever happened to snip our threads, it didn’t affect the gryphon.”
Confusion, then utter relief, all but explodes from Rought — and yes, I can apparently pick up intense emotion from him now.
Still looking at me, he veers the truck to the side of the road and throws it into park. A moment later, he’s cupping my face and kissing me achingly, tenderly.
“I thought …” he whispers between kisses. “When I woke up and I could feel you, reach out to you with my mind … I hoped. I felt that energy shift between us last night … felt you fill me up … but I wasn’t certain if that was just you, just your essence …”
“Both of us,” I whisper back, wrapping my hands around his raised wrists. Not because I fear him letting me go, but because I crave the skin-to-skin contact. “That energy shift. I think you … you and the gryphon help me hold the energy of the intersection point easier. Maybe even hold the Conduit power easier.”
He presses his forehead against mine, looking me in the eyes and just breathing me in with long, slow, deep inhalations that he holds each time.
“Thank you …” His voice cracks, hands falling from my face to capture both of mine. “I … thank you for trusting me.”
“I wanted you the first moment I saw you. It felt like you were mine, but I talked myself out of it because I’m not … because as the Conduit …”
“You weren’t supposed to take on that power for at least a century,” Rought says. “We were supposed to grow together before being thrust into all of this.”
“But we’re here now …?” I mean it as a statement, but it comes out a question.
Rought doesn’t hesitate to answer it. “I’m not going anywhere. And you know Rath is just desperately looking for the right moment to get on his knees for you.”
“He’s an asshole,” I grouse, though without heat.
“We’re all assholes,” Rought says, suddenly serious. “You’re going to need us to be cutthroat assholes, Zaya.”
“I’m pretty cutthroat myself.”
He hums doubtfully.
“What?! I am!”
“Right … when is that? When you’re rescuing teenagers from berserkers and pouring out the bulk of your blood on a beach in the middle of the unregulated wilds?”
