Okay! I feel like holing up for the rest of the week (and as much of next week as I can manage) and just writing, writing, writing, so here is the promised excerpt slightly early today.

If you missed it, here is: Snag (Conduit 2), Chapter 1, Part 1

This excerpt is from the second draft, unedited, unproofed, of Snag (Conduit 2). Please try to ignore any glaring errors, they will be smoothed in the editing process. Anything in brackets is language/text I’m still not settled on or a bit of the timeline, etc, that needs to be double-checked.

General content of note for the entire series (not necessarily this particular excerpt): explicit language, sexual thoughts/situations (eventual, sloooow burn, why choose), occasional on-page violence, memory loss, mention of child abuse (not main character), kidnapping. Please see the main page for Awry for a more inclusive list.

Chapter 1, Part 2

I take a shuddering breath, still not processing everything at the same pace as it’s being revealed. Rought takes a deep breath as well, his chest expanding under my hand.

“I was banished too, I think,” I say. “But I didn’t know it.”

Rought nods his head reluctantly, thoughtfully. “Maybe this is too much right now … trying to figure that part out, right now.”

“The part where I died?” Anger flushes through me, making me even more shaky and a little lightheaded. “Then my aunt, my mentor, my protector, did … what? Did she just decide I would never cross paths with my soul bound mates again? Why? Why would she …” I shake my head. My chest hurts from all the emotion I’m trying to navigate, to contain, to process.

“Yeah,” Rought says, offering me a completely inappropriate grin. As if he finds my anger delightful. Though maybe anger is better than the numbness I’ve likely been radiating. “Maybe we figure that part out later.”

I laugh involuntarily. It’s a harsh, ragged sound full of disbelief. But it’s a laugh. “You want to just be here in the now?”

He tilts his head in that shifter way, lots of eagle in the mannerism, grin widening. “With you, yes.”

“I’m good in the now,” I say agreeably, mostly to myself. “I exist in the now. The Conduit always exists in the now.”

“All right,” Rought says, gently running his free hand down my arm then capturing my fingers lightly with his. An energy stirs, almost thoughtful itself, between us everywhere we touch. “Then I’ll exist here in the now with you. And when you’re ready for tomorrow, we’ll figure that out as well.”

I blink at him a little more. It can’t … it can’t be that easy. There are ramifications from what has been done to us. Plus, everything is different now that I’m the Conduit. The Conduit doesn’t get to have —

Rought closes the space between us, placing my hand on his waist. I instantly fist the fabric of his T-shirt, gazing up at him. I settle my left hand flat across his heart again. He pins it in place by his right. Not that I’m going anywhere.

“These threads you want to see … need to see … between us.” His voice is low and intimate. “Tell me how we … spin them.”

Rought hesitates over the analogy, just a little.

It’s enough to make me smile, just a little.

“Can we start over?” he asks.

I think about that for a moment. Just think about that one thing, instead of trying to understand and then solve everything else all at once. How would that work? He has years of memories of me and I have none.

“The pictures.”

Rought smiles. “Yeah. Seems like you were meant to find them, hey?”

“You think Mack left them here for me to find?”

“Did he know you were coming home?”

I slowly scan the room around Rought’s wide shoulders, taking in the photos lining the walls of the otherwise empty bedroom. All black and white, all the same size, all framed in the same black metal and thick edged mat.

“There was a letter for me,” I whisper. “… from my aunt. And an ice cream maker.”

Rought nods. “So they knew you were coming.”

“Maybe. I thought it might be a part of a knowing, from Disa to me, but …” I scan the photographs lining the wall again. “All these dates. There aren’t any photos from before I came to live here.”

“Or after you left.”

Sliding my hand down to capture his, my left in his right, I drift toward the first photo of him and me. It’s two in from the door to the hall.

“Start at the beginning,” I murmur, then I look at Rought and point at the photo of him and me.

In the photo, and according to the date, I’m nine. Rought and I are perched on a weather-bleached driftwood log, facing the beach and the open ocean beyond with our backs to the photographer. Even captured in black and white, the sun glints off Rought’s unruly hair. My skin is pale next to his deep tan.

“You think Mack knew about what I’m … missing. That I lost all of this …” I struggle as renewed grief — hot and sharp — knives through me. “And he … wanted to help me find my way back.”

“I think … I never knew Mack was a photographer.” Rought’s gaze is fixed on the photo, though I know he saw all the framed pictures only a day ago. Saw them and tried to show me. “I’ve never seen any of his photos framed and hung anywhere on the estate. Course, I haven’t been here for …”

“Thirteen years.”

“Right.”

I inhale deeply, holding his hand a little tighter. “Do you remember this day?”

“I remember every day with you, Zaya.” His gaze is now riveted on my face, meaning it, believing it. He clears his throat and seems to force himself to look away, to look at the photo again. “You can’t see it from this angle,” he says. “But my leg is in a cast. You got your arm cast removed that morning.” He taps the greenery that edges the back of the driftwood log. “Muta was never more than a couple of feet away from you those days.”

I lean a little closer, but it still takes a moment for me to discern Muta hidden among the mint that grows wild in various places on the property.

A flicker of a memory surfaces, even as I’m speaking it out loud. “Ingrid. Disa’s potions mage —”

“The healer.”

That little bit of info neatly slots itself in place in my mind, in my memory. “Yes,” I breathe. “She healed me after …”

“Your mother died.”

Old pain, old grief stir in my belly, but I keep my attention on the now, on the photo. “Ingrid said that mint shouldn’t really grow on the edge of the beach like that. Not so abundantly. Next to the open ocean, at least.”

“It’s you,” Rought says with pure conviction. “Your essence smells … tastes … like that wild mint. The mint grows like that in all your favorite places on the property.”

I knew that. I knew that.

I remembered that.

But not who had first told me. And … tastes, not just smells like mint, he said. He knows what I taste like, because … he … we were lovers, not just friends.

I sway a little on my feet. Rought shifts his hold on my hand, so he can crowd up against me, his chest to my back. I don’t lean into him but he’s there if I need him to hold me up.

He reaches past me to touch the photo. To touch the shoulder of the young girl, the young me, within it. “You want the story.”

“If that’s our beginning, yes.”

“We met that day. In this lifetime, at least. Though I’d seen you a couple of days before from a distance.”

“Tell me please.”

He brushes his cheek lightly against my temple, inhaling deeply. “I was beaten badly at my father’s compound.”

“You’re not even ten here!” I say, instantly incensed.

He chuckles quietly. “Yeah, you were pissed about it back then as well. Even with your own arm in a cast. I’m only two months older than you. So we’re both nine here.”

Jaw clenched, I shake my head, not at all assuaged by his amusement.

“Do you want to hear the story or not?” he teases.

I huff. “Yes.”

“My father wasn’t around,” he says. “If that makes you feel better. Oddly, the Cataclysm never actually laid hands on us … then.” He takes a fortifying breath.

And I know … I know there is something deep and dark hidden in that breath, that pause and hesitation. “That’s not the beginning,” I say, not certain if I’m protecting him or my own fragile psyche.

“Right.” He sets his chin lightly on top of my head. It is not a remotely dignified position, but I have absolutely no desire to push him away. “My mother intervened. Her and Reck, though he was still a kid himself and almost as badly hurt as me. Rath had gone for help. I’d mouthed off to some of my father’s enforcers, though I can’t tell you what was said. The Cataclysm was, is, all about ‘survival of the fittest’. His club followed that edict, even with his bastards.” He trails off thoughtfully.

“Your mother,” I prompt.

“Took a fucking crowbar to the two idiots. And they were a little scared of fucking too much with the Cataclysm’s current fuck. My mother held his attention longer than anyone before or after her. Anyway, she took off with all three of us. Me, Rath, and Reck. Stole a truck. Dead of the night. And [rendezvoused] the Outcast, our uncle, just over the California border. Though none of us had met him yet, or even knew about him. She asked the Outcast for shelter. For us. Just us. She went back to the Cataclysm.”

My chest is aching, for him, for his mother.

“They are. For about [twelve] years now. DeVille isn’t my uncle’s kid, just the twins.” He flashes a grin at me. “But that’s a different story.”

I grin back at him because apparently I can’t maintain any sort of emotional equilibrium right now. “Right.”

– Snag (Conduit), 2nd Draft

Are you new to the Conduit World? While it’s not necessary to read all the interconnected series, the ideal reading order is as follows:

• Awry (Conduit 1)
• Grand Romantic Delusions and the Madness of Mirth, Part 1
• Grand Romantic Delusions and the Madness of Mirth, Part 2
• Snag (Conduit 2)(coming next!)

Please note: it is very likely that the Conduit World books will be going into KU in the next couple of months (around the time that the preorder for Snag becomes avail). If you prefer to purchase directly from other retailers, or me, that won’t be an option while the books are exclusive to KU. Snag will be available directly from me before it hits KU, promise. Just FYI!

First, let’s all pretend I know what day of the week it is and I didn’t miss posting this excerpt yesterday. All right? 😂 Second, every excerpt I post from here onward is rife with spoilers. All of the Conduit books pick up from where the last one ended. Like … without more than a breath between the end of one book and the beginning of the other.

Yes, I thought that was a great idea until it threw some possible complications into the overall timeline. But no matter! That is for the editor to sort out! 😜

This excerpt is from the second draft, unedited, unproofed, of Snag (Conduit 2). Please try to ignore any glaring errors, they will be smoothed in the editing process.

General content of note for the entire series (not necessarily this particular excerpt): explicit language, sexual thoughts/situations (eventual, sloooow burn, why choose), occasional on-page violence, memory loss, mention of child abuse (not main character), kidnapping. Please see the main page for Awry for a more inclusive list.

Chapter 1, Part 1

“No threads connect us,” I repeat numbly, listing toward Rought. He’s still gently holding both of my hands, and I’m not fighting him over it.

All the fight has drained from me.

I trace my eyes over him, anchoring myself in all the little details because everything else, every other revelation tumbling down over the next is too much. Dark blond hair, curling at his temples against naturally tan skin. Even barefoot he’s easily eight inches taller than me. He hides an intricate web of tattoos under his black T-shirt, including a memorial tattoo of a floral anatomical heart for his lost childhood love.

Marrow.

Me.

“No threads connect us …” I whisper again, my gaze on the feathers peeking out from the collar of his black T-shirt, kissing his neck. More tattoos decorate his forearms and the back of his hands.

Feathers because his inner beast is a gryphon. Half-eagle, half-lion. A guardian of the divine. Which is utterly and ridiculously appropriate because I’m … I’m … 

I’m the aspect of a goddess myself. 

Though that power is still unsettled within me, as if it hasn’t infused itself on a molecular level yet, hasn’t completely permeated my soul.

Rought tightens his hold on my left hand and draws it against his chest, so I can feel his heart beating. Steady and sure. His heat radiates through his shirt, warming my chilly hand.

And I know now … I know the other reason I haven’t felt wholly realized in a very long time. One of three reasons, at least.

Including the male staring at me in concern, in wonder, with the burnished gold of his gryphon ringing his blue-green eyes.

Rought.

My soul bound mate.

Mine.

I’ve been … rudderless, aimless, reckless. I thought that was just my nature. Because I was destined to be the next Conduit, pulled back from death numerous times because I had a duty to the fucking universe. Not truly a person, just a vessel in waiting.

And … also banished, I now realize, from the property, from the intersection point my aunt held. From the family that could have been mine …

“Thirteen years ago …” I murmur, starting to piece it together. Thread by thread. Maybe I can weave it all back together? In my mind, and then … gather the missing pieces of my soul?

Rought swallows harshly, drawing my gaze back to the tanned skin of his neck. “Yes. Almost thirteen years now …” The southern drawl to his accent is tinged with old grief. “… we had part of that summer together.”

His gaze flicks to the black and white photograph on the wall behind me. One of the numerous photos I just discovered in the second bedroom of the suite in the workshop/barn. Taken by Mack, the former occupants of these rooms and my aunt’s recently deceased chosen. Just white painted walls, worn wood floors, and at least twenty eighteen-inch, identically framed photographs.

All taken without our knowledge, according to Rought and my still incredibly hazy memories of the time I spent at the Gage Estate as a child through my teenage years.

I don’t have to turn to recall the photo that’s captured Rought’s attention over my shoulder. The moment immortalized within it, of which I have no actual memory, is already burned into my brain.

The three half-brothers and me by a campfire on the beach in black and white. Starlight overhead. And anatomical hearts tattooed across our chests.

“I died … that summer,” I say.

“Yes.”

“I don’t remember that either.”

“I do.” His thumb brushes against the back of my hand still pressed against his chest. His caress is tender, comforting.

It had been my instinct only a day ago now, to reach for him, to lay my hand across his chest, to touch him exactly like this at our first meeting. Or what I thought to be our first meeting. I’d stopped myself for a multitude of reasons. Because I don’t touch easily. Because anyone remotely aware of what the energy roiling around me portents, or the vibrant violet of my eyes indicates, are wary of my touch, of my mere attention. 

I am a power in this world. And not by choice.

But, even without the threads that should connect us, I’d felt that urge, that need to touch him. To connect us. I felt it, questioned it, and tried to ignore it.

I tear my gaze from his neck, from the wretched sadness in his gaze, and look at his hand. His right hand holding my left. I twist my hand, maintaining contact with his chest — I’m not certain I can actually pull away right now. I brush my thumb across the scar on the pad of his thumb, my teeth marks.

He shudders under my touch.

A sliver of warmth cracks through the grief that has numbed me from within. I’ve lost so much … the framed photographs lining the walls of this otherwise empty room are a visual map of all that loss … yet …

Rought is standing here now, with me.

“You … loved me.”

“I love you,” he says, utterly intent.

The word, the steady assertion, fucking tears through me, taking the rest of my breath with it. And I welcome the sensation. I cannot remember a single person other than my mother that ever said those words to me. And truly meant them.

Then pain streaks through my head, through my eyes, and more tears take my sight.

No one loves me. No one can truly love me.

Because I’m not a person, not really.

“I’m the Conduit now,” I say dully. “I’m not the girl in the pictures. The girl you loved.”

“Tell me about the threads,” he rasps, speaking through whatever emotion clogs his own throat.

Confused by the topic change, I blink up at him. I’m still holding his hand. I should let him go. I know I should.

I don’t.

I don’t let him go.

It’s possible I’m suddenly and irrevocably unable to let him go, not ever again.

“Do you mean threads that should bind us?” he asks, clarifying because I can’t find focus, can’t find my voice. “Actual essence that you can normally see? Tell me about those, and how we create new ones if those have been taken from us.”

My chin trembles as I struggle to not be overwhelmed by the magnitude of that loss. “It’s not that … that’s not … it shouldn’t be possible to take those sorts of bindings. Even death … even the death of our physical vessel cannot … shouldn’t be able to snip those threads, those soul deep connections … we should … if we’re … soul bound mates are …”

He brings his free hand to my cheek, brushing away a tear while still barely touching me. “I will never ever be dragged away from you again, Zaya. Half dead myself or banned from the property, I will never —”

“What do you mean?” A chill slithers down my spine, my tears dry up in an instant. “Banned from the property?”

Rought snaps his mouth shut, grimacing.

“All this time,” I say, feeling like I’m clawing through a thick fog that I cannot actually shift, cannot actually find clarity within, but still piecing it all together bit by bit. “… you thought I was dead.”

“Yes.” He shakes his head. “No. I knew … my beast knew you weren’t.”

“You didn’t say anything.” My voice cracks. “Why?! Why wouldn’t you … And Rath … he … he must have recognized me?”

He exhales shakily. “You didn’t know me, Zaya. And I didn’t know why. I didn’t want to force anything that might cause further damage. I thought if I could show you, spend time with you that maybe you’d remember me …” He swallows again, then shakes his head. “And Rath. That’s not for me to say, or even to know.”

“Did you … were you involved in my death that summer?”

He blinks at me, slightly taken aback.

“Aunt Disa banned you from the property,” I say, clarifying.

“I tried to protect you,” he whispers. “I failed. I was … some of it is still hazy for me. I think I blacked out a few times. I didn’t have my beast then.”

“You saw me die.”

“Heard it … felt it …” His chest heaves under my hand. “Wished I’d gone with you when I woke up in the hospital a week later.”

I take a shuddering breath, still not processing everything at the same pace as it’s being revealed.

– Snag (Conduit), 2nd Draft

Are you new to the Conduit World? While it’s not necessary to read all the interconnected series, the ideal reading order is as follows:

• Awry (Conduit 1)
• Grand Romantic Delusions and the Madness of Mirth, Part 1
• Grand Romantic Delusions and the Madness of Mirth, Part 2
• Snag (Conduit 2)(coming next!)

Please note: it is very likely that the Conduit World books will be going into KU in the next couple of months (around the time that the preorder for Snag becomes avail). If you prefer to purchase directly from other retailers, or me, that won’t be an option while the books are exclusive to KU. Snag will be available directly from me before it hits KU, promise. Just FYI!