No extra energy shifts between us. I’ve already given him this blessing. I’ve just reinforced it verbally.
Isaiah takes a shuddering breath, then nods.
I step back, allowing my hands to drop. He offers his arm, and I escort him to the sedan, not quite certain why tears are slowly slipping down my cheeks.
Ani helps her grandfather into the back seat, then turns back to me. She opens her mouth but doesn’t speak.
I smile tightly, then step back. I don’t fuck with her fate any more than I likely already have simply by touching her with my essence. Just by making a phone call.
I watch them drive off, then pause a little longer, lingering in the parking lot as people come and go from the gas station and diner. The universe doesn’t nudge me in any particular direction, though I already know there are more revelations awaiting me, more tasks to be done.
I should find a phone, reach out, and tell everyone I’m on my way. Of course, I still don’t have anyone’s number memorized. But maybe if I just pick up a phone and reach through my bond to Rought …
The universe gives me a slight push — toward the Benz. So that’s a no, then.
Clearly, I have more tasks to complete. Or, given the aftermath of the battle we saw at the border — my mates so very obviously clearing a path for me and the kids, whether they knew it at the time or not — maybe the universe is telling me that my reaching out now would be a distraction.
I swallow my disappointment, reminding myself I’m only hours away from being with my people now. And I do just want to move forward.
I climb into the Benz, orientate myself, and head west for the coastal highway as the sun sets on my first day of freedom. As I drive, I allow myself to hold onto that warm glow connecting me to my soul-bound mate, sending ‘On my way home’ thoughts through it, and hoping that Rought can feel me reaching for him.
Seven
The gate to the estate is unexpectedly closed. Unease threads through me as I slow the Benz to turn off the road.
With only the briefest of stops for fuel, food, and the occasional quick nap, I’ve driven straight through the night, reaching the California border and crossing into Cascadia just after dawn. Needing no more than my name to navigate the border, and even with the universe clearly lending me speed, it still took me another six hours to get up the coast. It’s midday now as I climb out of the Benz to open the gate, leaving the vehicle running. I’m surprised but pleased that I’ve made it all this way unimpeded. I had considered cutting down into Newport, but decided that the estate was more likely to be where I would find all the people I desperately want to lay eyes on again.
The energy of the intersection point grabs me, trying to pull me forward. Exhausted from the long drive, I stumble, reaching for the gate latch.
The front fields are overgrown with unruly grasses and wildflowers, including blue cornflowers and purple larkspur. The scent of the sea filters through to me on the breeze, though I’m too far away to hear the crashing of the surf.
An utterly relieved smile swamps my face as I flip the latch and push open the gate with an almost heady anticipation.
Essence shifts around my shoulders. The oddly metallic taste of pure fury floods my mouth. Then Muta is wrapped around my neck and attempting to strangle me.
I croak out a shout, stumbling again. The extraordinarily pissed-off bushmaster hisses in my ear, spiny tail vibrating.
I reach to grab him, already struggling to breathe.
He fucking bites me.
It hurts. Searing pinpoints of pain radiate through my wrist. But that’s actually not the reason he shouldn’t do that.
“Stop. Muta, stop,” I say, trying to stay calm as I gasp for air. “I’m sorry … he almost killed you the first time —”
Too late. Energy from the intersection point lashes out, wraps around Muta, and rips him off me. I stumble forward, going down on my knees on the gravel drive and barely catching myself on my hands.
The bushmaster is suspended over the fence, hanging in midair and writhing in what appears to be significant pain.
The intersection point is apparently just as pissed as the death god is.
“Stop!” I cry again. Scrambling to my feet, I bolt around the partially open gate, desperate to get beyond the property boundary.
More essence, more intense energy grabs for me. Ignoring it, I reach up for Muta, but I’m not tall enough to touch him.
“Give him to me,” I demand. “Now!”
The intersection point releases Muta. He falls into my outstretched hands. I catch him awkwardly, cradling him to my chest.
