I don’t acknowledge the message, though it confirms what I’m already picking up through her anxiety. Jewels is going to try to get me out of this prison in the next few hours. She’s taking a massive risk.
She slips soundlessly from the bathroom.
I’m not certain I can protect her without the universe backing me. And I have no idea if I can count on anything in the immediate now, even if … when … I get clear of the cage custom built for me, built for the Conduit. I might have to fully heal to wield my essence purposefully again.
Is Jewels her given name or her club name? Not that I need to know her at all to take whatever opportunity she’s hoping to provide me … or maybe she’s warning me that these next few moments are my last chance to make something happen for myself?
I already know that name is what the Cataclysm calls her. His jewel — his Jewels, plural. For carrying his child. Another girl destined to be an awry like her sisters, Presh and Bellamy?
I might not be fully connected to my essence, but I’ve spent my life learning to read situations so I can twist them with a bit of luck. Or a curse, if the situation calls for it.
Jewels is trusted to interact with me only because she is also valuable to the Cataclysm. She’s also trapped, though the footprint of her cage is obviously wider than mine. Does she have allies on the other side of the door? A plan? Or are the glasses of water — as helpful as they’ve been — the only way she could think of helping me without jeopardizing herself and her unborn child?
I blow-dry my hair without looking too closely in the mirror, thoughts rattling around unconnected in my head.
The Cataclysm is waiting for me when I step out of the bathroom. Oddly, he’s wearing light-brown slacks and a white dress shirt instead of his MC leathers and cut. The slacks are linen or a linen blend. The cut of the shirt, even without a tie, is odd … old-fashioned maybe, with cufflinks and a wide collar. He’s got his hair slicked back from his face.
For a brief moment, I see how much he truly does resemble his firstborn, Reck.
Then I catch his red-edged gaze, and I can once again see only the creature, the monster, barely hidden within that deceptively pretty exterior.
The lights are low. A dark-oak dining table and a sideboard have appeared in the seating area. The table is set with bone china and fine crystal. The sideboard is set with steaming dishes of food. The scent of barely cooked red meat hits me hard, and I struggle to stifle my reaction.
Jewels is gone.
The antler has also been removed. Presumably, the Cataclysm noticed he’d left it after storming off after his last feeding.
“Sit, Zaya,” he says, nodding toward a seat at the other side of the table and waiting to sit until I do, feigning being a gentleman now.
I sit before him without bothering to protest, because my only other option in the now is crawling back into bed or swaying in place on my feet. Showering and blow-drying my hair took that much out of me. But both of those options would make me too vulnerable when facing this creature.
His chair creaking under his weight, the Cataclysm pours red wine. I sip the water, my arm shaking under the weight of the liquid paired with the heavy crystal.
He leans back in the chair opposite me, sneering at the thinly sliced seared tuna set on the smaller of the plates stacked before him. “I’m pleased you aren’t wallowing pitifully in bed, Zaya.”
I don’t answer. I wasn’t voluntarily doing anything of the sort, but I also know the creature before me has strange ideas about the nature of our relationship.
He huffs, plucking some of the fish off the plate with his fingers and leaning back to drop it in his mouth.
I use the provided fork, folding the piece into something more bite-sized before consuming it myself. My stomach churns, but I’m not stupid enough to not eat.
“What are you?” I ask neutrally.
He smirks, taking a sip of the wine. “Shall I offer up my true name? It might be amusing to watch you try to banish me.”
Trepidation verging on terror runs through me. I struggle to relax into it rather than have it show on my face or body. There are only a small number of beings that would require ‘banishment’ from this world. Unless he’s exaggerating, of course. Or trying to suggest that he’s possessing the Cataclysm? Subsuming the soul in order to control the vessel?
I’m not well versed in any of that sort of lore — other-dimensional beings or necromancy. But I knew … I knew from the moment I saw him step through that portal that he was other. Not a man, not a shifter. And it’s not his connection to my aunt, to the previous Conduit, that has somehow … corrupted him from within.
I can feel my own pulse in my neck, throbbing against the wound — his bite mark. Why is he feeding from me? Intentionally draining my essence along with my blood? Is that the only way he can access essence?
Essence-wielders who gain power by consuming another’s blood as a vampire does, or another’s energy in the manner of a succubus or incubus, are also creatures of lore. Though there are certainly awry capable of stealing and harnessing power from other essence users, as there are creatures who consume human blood or flesh — including the rabid and feral shifters who deliberately consume human flesh to transform into berserkers.
My heart stutters in my chest.
The Cataclysm cocks his head to the side, easily noting my involuntary reaction and smirking over the rim of his wineglass.
For a moment, all I can see is Reck sitting across the table from me. My permanently untethered soul-bound mate. I blink, wiping the image away by focusing on just this moment.
