Chapter 30 Tristan
TRISTAN
Tristan was halfway to the security office when the pull hit.
Not gradual. Not subtle. A yank straight through his chest that stopped him mid-stride.
Maren.
Her name echoed in his skull, soundless but insistent. Not words. Not a voice. Just certainty that she needed him, that something was wrong, that he was already too late.
His comm crackled. "Ash, we've got a situation at the apothecary. Witnesses say the witches attacked Freya's kid."
"Which witch?" Tristan was already moving, boots pounding through snow.
"Both of them, apparently. Two identical women, one terrorizing the child." Mills paused. "Freya's saying it's not Maren, but the crowd's not listening."
"Where's Maren now?"
"Fled into the storm. Heading northwest toward—"
"The lake." Tristan cut the connection.
The pull intensified, dragging him forward. He'd felt something similar before, years ago, when his mate had called to him across distance. Blood recognizing blood. Soul reaching for its match.
And even though he hadn’t completed the bond with her or even told Maren she was his mate, his body knew what his mind was still processing.
She was his. And she was dying.
Tristan hit the tree line and shifted.
The transformation took seconds. Bones cracking, reforming. Skin rippling into fur. Ice-blue eyes blazing amber-gold.
The tiger exploded through the forest.
Snow barely slowed him. His paws found purchase where boots would've sunk. Branches that would've caught cloth slid off thick fur. Every sense sharpened to predator clarity.
He followed the pull. Followed her.
The scent hit first. Shadow-cold and copper-bright. Magic and blood mixed together in a trail that screamed injury, violence, desperation.
His roar split the air, raw and territorial.
Faster. He pushed harder, muscles burning. Trees blurred past. The lake materialized through white curtains, black ice stark against snow.
Two figures on the frozen surface. One standing. One down.
Tristan didn't slow. Launched himself from the shore, claws extended, teeth bared.
The standing figure turned. Maren's face. Maren's eyes. But wrong. Too bright. Veins pulsing dark beneath pale skin.
It smiled.
"The tiger comes to save his witch. How predictable."
Tristan hit it mid-sentence. Four hundred pounds of muscle and fury slamming into shadow-made-flesh. They crashed across ice, sliding, claws tearing. The construct shrieked, high and inhuman.
He went for the throat. Teeth closing on what should've been flesh.
The doppelg?nger dissolved into smoke. Reformed three feet away, laughing.
Tristan circled, keeping himself between the construct and Maren's crumpled form. Blood stained the ice around her. Too much blood. Her breathing came shallow, visible in small white clouds.
"She's dying," the doppelg?nger said conversationally. "Gave everything trying to fight me. Foolish. Hopeless. Very her."
Tristan growled, the sound vibrating through ice.
"Oh, the beast doesn't speak. Pity." The construct tilted its head. "Does she know what you are to her? Did you tell her before you rutted in that cabin? Or did you just take what you wanted and hope she wouldn't notice the bond trying to form?"
Another growl, deeper. Warning.
"Sensitive subject." The doppelg?nger moved closer, confidence in every step. "Here's what happens next. I finish absorbing her. Take everything she is, everything she could be. Then I walk back to town wearing her face and you get to watch me live her life better than she ever did."
Tristan shifted his weight, preparing to strike.
The construct's form flickered. Multiplied.
Suddenly there were two of them. Three. Five. All wearing Maren's face, all moving in perfect synchronization.
"Which one's real?" they said in unison. "Which one's the copy? Can you tell, tiger? Can you choose?"
The figures spread out, circling. Every face identical. Every movement matched.
Tristan's heart hammered. His mate's scent filled his nose, overwhelming. The pull in his chest yanked five different directions at once.
A swirl of snow blinded him for a moment and then all of the copies looked like Maren had: dying on the ice behind him. Illusions, shadow puppets meant to confuse.
"Tick tock," they sang. "Choose wrong and she dies. Choose right and maybe, maybe you get to save her. Assuming you can tell the difference."
His vision sharpened. Predator senses cutting through illusion.
Four of them smelled like ozone and burnt copper. Shadow magic poorly disguised as flesh.
One smelled like lilacs and fear and blood that ran warm instead of cold.
Tristan moved.
He ignored the four constructs, lunged past them toward the fifth figure. The one trying to fade into background. The one not quite matching the others' movements.
Real.
He shifted mid-leap, human again, arms catching her as she collapsed. Maren's weight settled against him, solid and warm and barely breathing.
"Clever," the real doppelg?nger said. The illusions dissolved, leaving only the one. "But it doesn't change anything. She's still dying. Still bleeding out on this ice. And you can't heal shadow wounds with tiger strength."
"Maybe not." Tristan's voice sounded rough, unused. "But I can keep her alive long enough to destroy you."
"How?" The construct spread its arms. "I'm not even here. Not really. This is just shadow-given-shape. The real me is sleeping in silver and stone, buried. Good luck finding it before she bleeds out."
"Where the water remembers." Maren's voice barely a whisper against his chest. "Under the ice. Where it never freezes completely."
Tristan looked down at her. Blood stained her lips. Her silver eyes struggled to focus.
"The locket," she managed. "North shore. Where the water runs warm. Mother hid it there."
"Touching," the doppelg?nger said. "But pointless. You'll never reach it in time. The ice is three feet thick. You'd need explosives. Magic. Something you don't have."
Tristan's arms tightened around Maren. The bond hummed between them, incomplete but present. Insistent.
"Go," Maren breathed. "Find it. I can hold on."
"I’m not leaving you."
"You have to. It's the only way."
The doppelg?nger struck.
Shadow-claws raking toward them both. Tristan rolled, taking the brunt on his shoulder. Pain flared white-hot. He came up in a crouch, Maren cradled against his chest, putting himself between her and the construct.
"Romantic," it said. "Stupid, but romantic. You could shift. Could fight me properly. But you won't. Because then you'd have to put her down. And you're terrified that if you let go, she dies."
"I'm terrified of a lot of things." Tristan's voice stayed level. "You're not one of them."
"Brave words. Empty words." The construct circled. "Face it, tiger. You're going to watch her die. Again. Just like you watched your first mate die. History repeating because you're too slow, too weak, too late."
The words landed like claws. Tristan's grip on Maren tightened fractionally.
"That's right." The doppelg?nger smiled. "I know all about her. Your dead wife. The mob that burned your house. How you were away playing soldier while she screamed for you." It leaned closer. "Does Maren know? Does she understand she's just a replacement? A second chance you don't deserve?"
"Stop talking." Tristan's voice dropped to something barely human.
"Or what? You'll attack? You'll shift? You'll do what you should've done two minutes ago instead of standing here holding a dying witch like that's going to save her?"
Maren's hand found his chest. Pressed flat over his heart.
Her shadows moved. Weak. Flickering. But present.
They spread across his skin, wrapping around his arms, his shoulders, his neck. Not attacking. Not draining. Anchoring.
"Put me down," she whispered.
"No."
"Trust me."
Her eyes met his. Silver reflecting amber-gold. Understanding passing between them without words.
He lowered her to the ice gently. Her shadows clung to him even as he straightened, releasing her body but not the connection.
The doppelg?nger laughed. "Finally seeing sense."
Tristan shifted.
The transformation was faster this time. Violent. The tiger erupted with rage that had been building since he'd found her gone that morning, since he'd felt her calling, since he'd realized he was too late again.
He hit the construct with everything he had.
Claws. Teeth. Weight. Fury.
The doppelg?nger shrieked, tried to dissolve. But Maren's shadows held it solid, wrapping around the construct like chains. Binding it. Keeping it real long enough for Tristan's attack to land.
Tristan's jaws closed around what passed for the creature's throat. He bit down hard, tasting shadow and blood-magic and wrongness that made his tiger recoil.
He didn't let go.
The doppelg?nger thrashed, clawed, screamed. Its form flickered wildly. Destabilizing. Breaking apart.
"You can't—" it choked. "Can't kill—"
Tristan bit harder.
The construct exploded into smoke.
He dropped to all fours, breathing hard, blood and shadow-residue dripping from his muzzle. The ice beneath him was cracked, scorched, wrong.
Maren's shadows retracted slowly, pulling back to their mistress. She lay exactly where he'd left her, barely conscious, bleeding into snow.
Tristan shifted back to human. Crawled to her side. His hands found her face, tilting it toward him.
"Still here," she managed. Smiled despite everything. "Told you I could hold on."
"The locket," he said. "Where exactly?"
"North shore. Twenty feet from the boat dock." Her eyes closed. "Hurry. It'll reform. Stronger next time."
Tristan looked toward the shore. Twenty feet from the dock. Under three feet of ice.
He looked back at Maren. Dying. Bleeding. Waiting.
The bond pulled tight.