When we were facing off with the unusual berserkers by the portal, Bellamy had outright declared that she’d created them, tied them to the Cataclysm MC. And that she could therefore kill them. Had she discovered some way to focus, to refine, the process of creating berserkers — whether on her own or as directed by the Cataclysm? Say, by deliberately feeding them the essence-infused blood of an awry? Her own blood?
“So very astute,” the Cataclysm murmurs, as if I’ve spoken my thoughts out loud. Or as if he can read my mind. “Your mother was quick like that, but I always thought it was due to the seer powers. Disa was incensed when Merrick chose your father. The centuries-long rivalry between the Gages and the Zhen is rife with vicious jealousy. Disa did everything she could to keep them apart, especially after you were born.”
The rage is smoldering within me again. Not even a hint of essence hovers at my fingertips, though. Not yet. So I let the rage invoked by his casual mention of my mother’s name, my mother who he murdered in front of me, keep me present, keep me upright and focused on where I should be — in the now and poised to move forward.
The Cataclysm continues blithely sipping his wine and nibbling on the seared tuna, seemingly unaware of the shift of my focus, my intent.
So thankfully, he can’t actually read my mind.
“Though admittedly, I didn’t know the reason for that until I laid eyes on you myself, little Conduit. Perhaps Disa knew —”
“That you’d kill my mother given any chance?”
He shrugs, apparently not bothered by my interruption. “Not my intention. And no, I don’t think Disa knew. Not then. But she hid you from me after. Imagine my surprise when Carlos proclaimed he no longer belonged to me, that he’d found his soul-bound mate, and that that bond transcended my blood-kin claim. For him and his brothers. I’d lost track of you, you see, between the unfortunate incident with your mother and the summer of your seventeenth year.”
He means Reck. Carlos is his given name.
I take another bite of my fish. I try to not react to the truth spilling out of the creature across from me, even as I absorb that truth for myself. This is the secret — the betrayal — that Reck is hiding. Or part of it, at least. He led his father to me?
I still remember none of what occurred before or during my first death, or what happened in the immediate aftermath. And I’m beginning to suspect that’s not due to repressed or wiped memories. Because it’s only the memories revolving directly around my soul-bound mates that refuse to filter back to me. I have other memories of those years that I can dredge up, though they’re admittedly vague.
The image of the sealed armoire in the office in the estate tower flickers through my mind. I brush it away, though a new ache lodges in my chest.
“Zaya …” The Cataclysm drawls my name mockingly. “Carlos’s sweet savior Zaya. I didn’t need anything more than your name to know that the universe isn’t as clever as it tries to be. That Disa was never as clever as she tried to be. She should have killed all three of my boys the moment she understood their connection to you. Though I suppose that would have drawn my attention as well.”
He drains the rest of his wine, then pours himself another glass.
“So you … killed me?” I ask, pleased that my tone is even and sure. “You couldn’t take me from the intersection point, from Disa’s protection, so you killed me instead? To hurt your children? To hurt her?”
He swirls his glass, peering at the dark-red liquid with a frown. “Disa, the Conduit, kept stepping between me and fate, as if she had every right to do so. Though if you believe in such things, I suppose your fate, and the fate of my children, was written in the stars long before I claimed this mortal body for my own.”
Another shiver of terror runs through me, and based on the way I snag his attention, I don’t manage to hide the reaction this time.
But … ‘mortal body’?
“Clever, clever little Conduit,” he murmurs mockingly.
Is it possible that he can read my mind, at least sometimes? Has he drawn so much of my power within himself that he —
The Cataclysm’s smile sharpens, becoming just a little too wide for his human visage.
“You killed your own brother,” I blurt without meaning to. “You killed … you killed … your own soul-bound mate.”
“More than one.” He frowns again. “That was a … setback.”
A setback? What the fuck?
“But I have you now,” he says, rising and moving toward the food on the sideboard. “Eat your fish. I need you strong, Conduit. Then we’ll get started.”
“What exactly do you want from me?” I ask as he uncovers and starts carving a large blood-rare roast.
“I can’t have you getting bored with me, little Zaya,” he says, smooth and playful as he piles hunks of red-dripping beef, mashed potatoes, and some sort of stewed greens onto two plates. “What’s the human saying? Familiarity breeds contempt? No, I’ll keep my plans to myself, and you will enjoy the journey that much more.”
He turns and sets one of the plates before me on the table, taking his own seat. My stomach roils at the food. I’ve never been great at eating protein in large amounts, and red meat actually makes me sick. I struggle to stay in my seat.
“From one god to another,” he says, not remotely mocking as he spreads his linen napkin over his knee. The words are spoken as if they’re some sort of litany, or part of some specific ritual.
I’m able to face off with a creature who claims to be a god, or at least an entity that’s invaded our dimension and taken a ‘mortal’ form … but I’m felled by a still-bleeding hunk of roast beef. I’m not that … mortal, am I?
