ZAYA
* * *
I let him in.
I can feel the damage the Cataclysm is causing to the intersection point, and with my conversation with my father still fresh in my mind — alongside knowledge of the political and geographical ramifications the last time someone tried to wrestle control of the North American intersection point from the Conduit — I know I need to mitigate as much of that as possible.
Plus, I’m more powerful here. On the intersection point and with a shard of it around my neck. And that doesn’t even factor in the power that comes from how all the intersection points are connected.
That last thought flits through my mind as if it’s not wholly my own, and I know, even if I don’t understand the how of it all yet. I know that the Cataclysm can’t stand against me, not here and certainly not with two soul-bound mates at my side.
Or at least the other-dimensional being wearing him like a skin suit can’t.
He stands hulking and huge on the bluff, having closed the anti-essence portal at his back and seemingly waiting patiently for my approach.
Reck jogs up to us from the beach house, with Bellamy making a beeline to the main house to cover Presh and DeVille, just as I had asked her earlier. Gigi and Coda will monitor everything else, making certain that no one else attacks us while we’re dealing with the Cataclysm.
Because I’m absolutely waiting for the Authority to make a move. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re outright backing Oso and have been backing him along with the Federation’s sorry excuse for a government for decades now.
“Zaya,” Reck snarls, pushing between me and Rought on my right. He presses his shoulder to mine as if to block me or at least slow me down. His gaze is fixed on his father out on the bluff. All our gazes are fixed on him.
The Cataclysm takes a few deliberate steps until he’s standing over the crack in the fabric of our existence. The crack through which I’m almost certain he originally slithered.
“We don’t want to help him widen it,” I murmur.
“What?” Reck snaps. “Never mind, you need to let me —”
I wrap my hand around his wrist, drawing it down, along with the knife he’s holding, until it’s tucked partly behind me.
Reck tries to twist out of my grasp, but I tighten my hold in warning. Tension etches through his jaw. He nods stiffly, and I let him go.
“Rath …” I murmur cautiously.
“I see.” He doesn’t bother to lower his voice.
The wind picks up. Clouds rapidly condense, smothering the starlit sky overhead as a low fog forms at the edge of the crashing surf on either side of the bluff. From this higher vantage point, the beach stretches as far as I can see in both directions.
I’m probably the last to note the weapon in the Cataclysm’s hand, hanging casually at his side. A roughhewn short spear … white bone … dipped in blood …
“But …” I whisper. “That’s …”
We can smell it, Tempest. Rath’s voice rasps through my mind, followed by his voice in my ear. “Your power is unmistakable.”
“I destroyed his compound,” I say, just a little pissed. “He must have had some of my blood and the antler off-site already. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t you fucking apologize for him or his fucking actions,” Rought snarls. He’s as heated as I’ve ever heard him, though I can feel the strength, the warmth, of our connection thrumming in my chest.
“He didn’t have access to Bellamy,” Reck says, malevolence dripping from every word. “He had to find another dire mage willing to twist that to his specifications. Probably the one who fucking shot you out of the fucking sky, brother.”
Rath snorts. “I ate him. And his friend.”
I throw him a surprised look.
“Even better,” Reck says, all arrogant and smug. “He had to find another, hence the delay in coming after you, Larkspur.”
The nickname — the one I forbade Reck to use but which has slipped from him, seemingly involuntarily — shivers through me, like a claim that can’t actually take hold.
Rath shrugs. “They tasted like shit. I spat them both right back out.”
