Chapter 25 Criss
CRISS
The summons came through Kieran's phone at noon. Three words from a number neither of them recognized: Neutral ground. Sundown.
Kieran stared at the message for a long time. "When's the last time a pride meeting was called?"
"Before my time," Criss said. "Mom mentioned one when I was a kid. Some territorial dispute with a pride out of Tennessee."
"That was fifteen years ago." Kieran set the phone down on the kitchen counter. "This is about you. Or Stephanie. Or both."
"Probably both."
"Then we need to be careful about what we say in there. A pride meeting operates on its own rules. The council has no jurisdiction, and anything spoken on neutral ground stays on neutral ground." Kieran pulled his jacket from the hook by the door. "Let me do the talking."
"When have I ever let you do the talking?"
"That's what worries me."
They drove north in Kieran's truck, past the town limits and into the deep woods where the old territories began.
Neutral ground was a clearing about four miles past the northern ridge, an open meadow ringed by ancient oaks that predated the town itself.
Tiger pride tradition held that no dominance claims applied on neutral ground.
Every shifter who entered the clearing did so as an equal, at least in theory.
In practice, Criss knew, the hierarchy just got quieter. It didn't disappear.
The clearing was already half full when they arrived.
Maybe fifteen tigers, more than Criss had seen gathered in one place since he was a teenager.
Some he recognized. Others were faces from scattered pockets of the pride who lived within a day's drive of Hollow Oak but rarely came in.
They stood in loose clusters, talking low, their scents mingling in the cool evening air.
Then he caught a familiar one and stopped walking.
His mother was standing near the far edge of the clearing, her dark hair pulled back, her posture straight, her amber eyes, so like his own, scanning the arrivals.
Leora Holt was fifty-three, slim, composed.
She carried herself the way she'd carried everything since his father left: alone and without complaint.
When she saw Criss, something moved across her face.
Relief. Worry. The particular combination that only mothers achieve.
"Mom."
"Criss." She took his arm and pulled him aside, voice low. "Rydan called this meeting. He's been making calls to the scattered families for three days. Whatever he's planning, he's been building support."
"Support for what?"
"I don't know yet. But he framed it as a threat to pride heritage. People are nervous."
Kieran joined them, greeting Leora with a nod that carried more warmth than his usual reserve. "Any idea who's backing him?"
"The Coles. The Martins branch from Asheville. A few of the older families who remember Rydan from before his exit." Leora's mouth thinned. "He's leveraging nostalgia. Making it sound like the old ways are under attack."
A low sound rippled through the clearing, the collective attention of fifteen tiger shifters orienting toward the same point.
Rydan Ashkar stepped into the meadow from the northern tree line, dressed in the same understated clothes Criss had seen before, dark shirt, tailored trousers, the leather-bound book absent tonight.
He moved to the center of the clearing with the unhurried confidence of a man returning to a stage he'd built.
"Thank you for coming," Rydan said. His voice carried without effort, pitched to fill the space. "I know many of you have traveled far. I wouldn't have called this gathering without cause."
The clusters tightened into a loose circle. Criss stood between Kieran and his mother, arms crossed.
"Some of you are aware that an archaeological excavation has been underway near Hollow Oak's eastern ridge," Rydan continued.
"The site sits on land our ancestors settled.
The wards beneath that ridge were placed by tiger pride founders to protect knowledge that was sealed for the safety of every supernatural family in this region. "
He paused to let the weight of it settle. Criss watched it land successfully.
"The archaeologist conducting this dig is a human named Stephanie Ward.
She possesses a rare sensitivity to old magic, which has allowed her to access layers of the site that were never meant to be disturbed.
In the past two weeks, she has destabilized foundational wards, exposed sealed chambers, and begun documenting inscriptions that, if made public, could unravel the agreements that have kept this community intact for nearly a century. "
Murmurs through the circle. Criss felt Kieran's hand press against his arm. A warning. Stay quiet.
"I want to be clear," Rydan said. "Miss Ward is not malicious.
She is an academic pursuing her work with the tools available to her.
But intent does not determine impact. The truths beneath that ridge were sealed because our ancestors understood that releasing them would fracture alliances, reopen wounds, and destabilize a community that took generations to build. "
"What truths?" one of the Cole shifters asked. Middle-aged woman, dark hair with skeptical eyes.
"The details are not for open discussion. What matters is that the seal was placed with the unanimous consent of the founding pride leadership, and it has held for seventy years. One human archaeologist should not have the power to undo that unilaterally."
Criss watched the faces in the circle. Rydan was good.
He'd given them just enough to be afraid and not enough to ask the right questions.
He'd framed Steph as a well-meaning outsider threatening something sacred, and he'd positioned himself as the reasonable voice urging caution. Half the circle was already nodding.
He gasped suddenly as something pulled at Criss's gut. Sharp, brief. Like a hook tugging at his navel. He blinked, lost the thread of Rydan's next sentence, and the sensation passed. His tiger stirred, restless, oriented south toward town. He pushed it down.
"I'm asking this gathering to formally endorse a petition to the Hollow Oak council requesting the excavation be suspended pending a full pride review," Rydan said. "This is our heritage. Our ancestors' work. We have the right to determine how it's handled."
"Formally endorse based on what?" Criss said.
The circle went still. Kieran's hand pressed harder against his arm. Criss ignored it.
Rydan turned those pale amber eyes on him. "Based on the authority of this gathering to protect pride interests."
"Protect pride interests from what? An archaeologist with a brush and a journal?
" Criss stepped forward, out of the circle's edge and into the open center.
"You just told us that the truth beneath that ridge is dangerous enough to justify seventy years of silence, but you won't tell them what the truth actually is.
You're asking for a formal endorsement of ignorance. "
"I'm asking for trust in the judgment of those who came before us."
"The judgment of those who came before us included cutting pages out of family ledgers and rewriting treaty stones.
" His mother's hand found his shoulder. He didn't stop.
"I've read the Holt records. Sixteen years are missing.
1927 to 1943. Gone. And the directive authorizing the removal has your name on it. "
Rydan's expression didn't change. That was the unsettling part. No surprise. No anger. The flat, controlled patience of a man who'd anticipated this move and already planned three responses.
"Records were curated to protect families who had suffered enough," Rydan said. "Including yours."
"Curated. That's a generous word for erased."
"Criss." Kieran's voice, low and firm. "Not here. Not like this."
"Then where? When?" Criss turned to his cousin. "He's been in town for a week. He's delayed Stephanie's permits, rerouted her supplies, planted surveillance wards on her site, and now he's asking the pride to formally shut her down. When exactly is the right time to talk about it?"
"Surveillance wards?" Leora said quietly.
Criss felt Kieran stiffen him beside him.
"Tiger pride ward signatures. Carved overnight at the dig site. I've seen them." Criss looked back at Rydan. "You want to talk about protecting heritage? Start by explaining why you're monitoring a human woman's work site with territorial magic that hasn't been used in decades."
The circle had gone very quiet. The Cole woman was watching Rydan with different eyes now. Two of the younger shifters exchanged glances.
"This gathering is about consensus," Rydan said, his voice carried a thread of irritation. "Not accusations from a young man who's been in Hollow Oak for two months and has no understanding of the complexities involved."
"Then educate me. Open the records. Show the pride what was sealed and let them decide if seventy years of silence was worth it. If you're right, they'll agree with you. If you're not..." Criss let the sentence hang.
Rydan held his gaze while the clearing held its breath.
"The petition will be tabled for now," Rydan said. Smooth and controlled. "I suggest we reconvene when cooler heads prevail."
He left the clearing the way he'd entered, measured stride, straight back, disappearing into the tree line. Half the circle watched him go. The other half watched Criss.
Leora squeezed his shoulder. "That was either very brave or very stupid."
"Can't it be both?"
"Usually is, with you." But her eyes were bright, and the pride in them was something he'd been waiting to see for a long time without knowing it.
The drive back was quiet. Kieran kept his eyes on the road, both hands on the wheel.
"You should have told me about the surveillance wards," Kieran said finally.
"I'm telling you now."
"You're telling me after you detonated a pride meeting." Kieran glanced at him. "I'm not saying you were wrong. I'm saying I could have helped if I'd had the full picture."
"Steph said something almost identical."
"Smart woman."
Criss leaned his head against the window and watched the dark woods slide past. His tiger pulled south again, that brief sharp tug, and this time it lingered before fading.
Something was happening in town. Something connected to Steph.
But the pull wasn't danger. It was frustration.
Resistance. He didn't know what that meant.
The meeting had cost him. The Cole family wouldn't look at him when he'd left. Three of the older shifters had positioned themselves near Rydan's exit, a silent statement of alignment. He'd gained his mother's respect and Kieran's attention and lost half the pride's goodwill in under ten minutes.
Rydan would regroup. He was too controlled, too patient to let a single disruption derail a plan decades in the making. He'd come back with a different angle, better framing, more carefully curated fear. And next time, he wouldn't make the mistake of underestimating Criss.
Which meant Criss needed proof. Not accusations. Not the gaps in the ledgers or the surveillance wards or the treaty stone impressions that only Steph's sensitivity could verify. He needed something tangible. He needed to get close enough to Rydan's operation to record it without being caught.
The thought of telling Steph crossed his mind.
She had the expertise, the documentation skills, the analytical framework to make sense of whatever he found.
But telling her meant pulling her back in, and she'd walked out of his room that morning with a finality that suggested she was done being pulled anywhere.
And if Rydan discovered she was involved in gathering evidence against him, the next collapse wouldn't be a warning. It would be a burial.
Criss stared at the dark road ahead and weighed the only two options that mattered: protect her by keeping her out of it, or trust her by bringing her in.
He'd already made the wrong choice once. He just wasn't sure which one it had been.