“You haven’t,” I say. “And now you’ll need to deal with me. But don’t worry, I assume Rath will be our official liaison.”
The Outcast grimaces, gaze flicking to the cu-sith. “That beast is in control, not Reck.”
“I know.” Then in an attempt to ease the tension a little further, I add, “Thank you for your concern.”
“It is my duty to …” The Outcast trails off, perhaps realizing for the first time that his self-imposed duty was to my aunt.
And that my aunt is truly, irrevocably dead.
“Are we done with the chitchat portion of this bumbling rescue or what?” Bellamy grouses loudly from my far left.
The three shifters twist toward her in surprise, barely managing to stop themselves from stumbling back at her approach.
I’m going to have to deal with the Outcast’s now-obvious issues with purple-eyed essence-wielders later.
“We were coming for you!” Presh cries.
Bellamy shrugs, looking almost harmless in the too-large sweatpants and shirt she’s wearing. “I got bored waiting.”
What she wanted to do was show the Outcast that he never really held her in the first place.
“I’m fucking starving,” she declares, opening her arms to accept the hug that Presh bodily flings her way. “And I need a proper fucking bed.”
Slightly shorter than me in bare feet, the dire awry’s dark-olive skin looks much the same, though her chin-length dark hair looks as if she might have hacked it off with a dull knife since I last saw her. And her eyes are a light lavender. No tainted essence mars her steady gaze.
So … not so dire anymore. Presh has done more than simply heal her sister’s life force. As I thought.
The cu-sith eyes Bellamy, malevolence roiling off him.
She keeps her arms wrapped around Presh, sticking her tongue out at the beast. “Hello, brother dearest.”
“That’s not Reck,” Presh says, muffled against Bellamy’s shoulder.
“Huh,” Bellamy says. “My mistake. I’m still picking up that homicidal-asshole vibe. Who’s driving?”
“Me,” DeVille says, eagerly turning to the car.
Bellamy and Presh, still tucked under her older sister’s arm, follow. Bellamy keeps her body between Presh and the three Outcast shifters. Or maybe just between Presh and the Outcast specifically.
Did Bellamy know that Presh was also effectively a prisoner, except just in the house? Was that why she let the Outcast put her in a holding cell?
Smirking, the older awry pauses at the passenger door to the car, catching my eye when I glance back at her. “Are we going to fuck too?”
I huff out a laugh. “No, we aren’t going to fuck.”
The threads between Bellamy and me aren’t at all like the soul bond I share with the gryphon, or even the growing bond between Rought and me. I suspect my three soul-bound mates have always been destined to be mine — through all our lives on this plane of existence — whether or not I was destined to also be the Conduit. The other Guerra siblings are bonded to me through choice, but not necessarily my own. Not originally, at least.
“How else am I supposed to pay my way?” Bellamy asks, a touch of underlying concern filtering through her bravado.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” I say.
Her face starts to crumple, maybe in relief, but she shores it back up again. “We’ll talk about it later.” She doesn’t wait for me to answer, simply pressing into the back seat with Presh.
“Zaya.” The Outcast pulls my attention back to him. He opens his mouth to ask … something … then shakes his head.
I don’t think I have any answers for any question he might pose anyway. Nothing that will heal the soul-deep wound inflicted on him by my aunt so many years ago. Nothing that will help him navigate the fundamental shift in his life. Nothing to address the reason he established the motorcycle club, the reason he stayed guarding the lands that abut the estate even after taking a chosen mate and having children of his own.
“The Outcast are here whenever you need us,” he says instead. “We’re … family now.”
