Chapter 34 Tristan
TRISTAN
Tristan didn't remember standing.
One moment he was sitting on the ice with Maren unconscious in his arms, the next he was on his feet, legs shaking but holding. His body moved on autopilot, years of training overriding hypothermia and exhaustion.
He lifted her carefully, cradling her against his chest. She was too light, too still, blood soaking through what remained of her clothes. But her heart beat against his ribs, faint but steady.
Alive.
That was enough to keep him moving.
The shore seemed impossibly far but he walked anyway, each step deliberate. The ice held beneath his weight. The shadows Maren had created to pull him from the water had dissipated, leaving only normal frozen lake surface.
He reached solid ground as voices carried through the trees.
"There! On the shore!"
Figures emerged from the forest. The mob that had chased Maren, still armed, still angry. Thomas Wells at the front, club raised.
Tristan positioned himself between them and Maren, his body screaming protest at the movement. If they wanted her, they'd have to go through him. Again.
But Wells stopped short, his face going pale. "Is she—"
"Alive." Tristan's voice came out rough, damaged by cold and the roar that had helped shatter the locket. "Barely."
"We saw it." This from Maya Brennan, the woman who'd witnessed the attack at the apothecary. She pushed forward, eyes wide. "From the trees. We saw the shadow creature attack both of you. She saved you from drowning, too, didn’t she?"
"The construct," Tristan corrected, trying harder to focus through the edging of unconsciousness. "The doppelg?nger. It was using her blood and magical signature to frame her while it caused the incidents."
"We saw two of her," Wells said, his club lowering. "One with black veins, glowing eyes. The other bleeding and trying to survive."
"The real one bled," Maya added. "The fake one just smiled and kept attacking. Even when you went into the water, it stood there laughing. But she…" She pointed at Maren. "She used her shadows to pull you out. Created a bridge across the water. We saw everything."
Tristan felt true relief. They'd seen. Finally seen the difference between shadow witch and shadow monster.
"Where's the creature now?" Wells asked, looking past Tristan toward the lake.
"Destroyed. The locket that created it is gone. It can't reform."
"And the storms?" Another voice from the crowd. "The attacks?"
"Tied to the locket. All of it." Tristan adjusted his grip on Maren, his arms starting to shake. "The entity inside was feeding on your fear. Using it to possess people, make them act without knowing. Wells, you were one of them."
Wells's face went from pale to gray. "What?"
"The vandalism at Maren's cottage. The blood symbols. You did it while sleeping. The locket controlled you, made you steal what it needed to form the construct." Tristan met his eyes. "You weren't responsible. None of you were. Just victims like everyone else."
Wells looked at his hands like they belonged to someone else. "I don't remember. Wouldn't I remember?"
"Not if you were possessed." Tristan's legs finally gave out. He sank to his knees, still holding Maren. "The entity targeted whoever feared her most. Used that fear as an entry point."
The crowd shifted, uncertain. Some faces showed relief, others doubt, most just confusion.
Then Emmett pushed through, Miriam right behind him. "Report."
"Locket destroyed. Construct dispersed. Maren's injured but stable." Tristan looked down at her unconscious face. "She saved the town, Emmett. Saved me and destroyed something that would've kept feeding on fear until Hollow Oak tore itself apart. Even if she’d have gone."
Emmett crouched, checking Maren's pulse. "She needs medical attention. Miriam, get Freya—"
"Already here." Freya emerged from the crowd, healer's bag in hand. She knelt beside Tristan, her expression tight with concern. "Let me see her."
Tristan reluctantly shifted Maren into Freya's arms. His body immediately protested the loss, the incomplete bond screaming that his mate was too far away, too hurt, too vulnerable.
Freya worked quickly, examining wounds. "She's lost a lot of blood. Ribs are cracked, possibly broken. But nothing immediately fatal if we get her warm and stable." She looked up at the crowd. "Someone bring a stretcher. And blankets. Now."
People moved to obey, the mob mentality dissolving into something closer to community concern.
Bram appeared at Emmett's shoulder, his expression unreadable. "The construct is truly gone?"
"Ask them." Tristan gestured to the witnesses. "They saw the whole thing."
Maya stepped forward. "We saw it dissolve. Like smoke in wind. And when it did, the storm stopped. Just ended, like someone cut the strings holding it up."
"The locket was controlling weather?" Bram's skepticism showed clearly.
"The locket was controlling everything." Tristan forced himself to stand, swaying but upright. "Creating fear. Amplifying suspicion. Possessing people to act on that fear. All to feed the construct enough power to exist independently."
"And Maren destroyed it." Emmett stated.
"We destroyed it together. Her magic. My strength." Tristan met Emmett's gaze. "But she was the one who knew how. Who understood what needed to happen. Without her, that thing would still be here."
The crowd murmured, processing. Tristan could see belief slowly replacing suspicion on some faces. Others remained uncertain, years of prejudice harder to overcome than one witnessed battle.
But it was a start.
Bram cleared his throat. "Miss Pitch." He addressed her unconscious form formally. "It appears the Council owes you an apology. And thanks for your service to Hollow Oak's protection."
"She can't hear you," Freya said, wrapping Maren in blankets someone had brought. "But I'll make sure she knows you said it when she wakes up."
"See that you do." Bram turned to Tristan. "And you, Ash. Your judgment was sound. I apologize for questioning it."
The admission clearly cost him. Tristan acknowledged it with a nod, too exhausted to do more.
"Let's get them both to the apothecary," Emmett said. "They need heat and medical attention before anything else."
Two men appeared with a stretcher. They loaded Maren carefully, her shadows stirring weakly as they moved her. Freya walked alongside, monitoring vitals.
Tristan followed, his body moving on fumes and willpower. Someone tried to make him take the second stretcher but he waved them off. He'd walk. Had to walk. Had to see her settled safely before letting himself collapse.
The procession moved through Hollow Oak's streets slowly. People emerged from houses, drawn by the commotion. Word spread quickly about the shadow witch that had saved them and nearly died protecting people who'd wanted her exiled.
By the time they reached the apothecary, a small crowd had gathered. Not hostile. Not fearful. Just watching, reassessing, seeing Maren Pitch as something other than the monster they'd decided she was.
Freya and Kieran got Maren inside, up to the guest room they kept for emergencies. Tristan followed as far as the doorway before Freya stopped him.
"You need medical attention too," she said. "Hypothermia, blistered hands, probably frostbite in your extremities. Let Kieran check you while I work on Maren."
"I'm fine."
"You're not. And collapsing won't help her." Freya's expression softened. "She's stable, Tristan. Let us help you both."
He wanted to stay by Maren's side until she woke up. But Freya was right. He was useless like this, barely standing, shaking with cold he'd been ignoring.
Kieran guided him to the main room, sat him near the fire that Sage was carefully feeding with small logs. The little girl looked up at him with solemn eyes.
"You saved Pretty Maren," she said.
"She saved me," Tristan corrected. "And the whole town."
"That's what Mama said." Sage placed another log carefully. "The shadows were scared but they helped anyway. That's very brave."
Kieran worked on Tristan's hands, treating blisters and checking for nerve damage. The pain was distant, secondary to the pull toward the room above where Maren lay unconscious.
Time passed in a blur. Kieran finished treatment, wrapped Tristan's hands in gauze, forced him to drink something hot that tasted medicinal. The fire slowly drove cold from his bones.
Eventually, Freya appeared on the stairs. "She's awake."
Tristan was on his feet immediately, ignoring Kieran's protest. He climbed the stairs two at a time, following Freya to the guest room.
Maren lay propped against pillows, bandages wrapped around her ribs, her face still too pale but her eyes open and aware. Her shadows curled around the bedframe, calm for the first time since he'd met her.
"Hey," she said, her voice rough but steady.
"Hey yourself." Tristan stopped in the doorway, suddenly uncertain. "How do you feel?"
"Like I got torn apart by my own shadow and fell in a frozen lake." She smiled despite everything. "So, better than expected."
"The town saw," he said. "Saw you save me. Emmett cleared your name officially."
"And Bram?"
"Apologized. Grudgingly. But he did it."
Maren looked toward the window, where late afternoon light filtered through frost patterns. "Do they believe it? That I'm not dangerous?"
"Some do. Some need more time." Tristan moved closer. "But it's a start. Better than exile or binding."
"Much better." She looked at him, silver eyes searching. "You should be resting. Freya said you nearly died from hypothermia."
"So did you."
"Which is why we're both here recovering instead of out there." She patted the bed beside her. "Sit. You look ready to fall over."
He sat carefully, mindful of her injuries. The bond hummed between them, stronger now after sharing the locket's backlash. Not complete. Not sealed. But present enough that being near her settled something restless in his chest.
"Thank you," Maren said quietly. "For diving into that water. For believing me when no one else did."
"You're my—" He stopped, the word catching in his throat. Mate. She was his mate. The bond confirmed it, had confirmed it the moment they'd destroyed the locket together. But saying it now, while she was injured and vulnerable and still processing everything, felt wrong.
"Your what?" she prompted.
"My responsibility," he said instead.
Her expression flickered with something that might have been disappointment before smoothing back to neutral. "Right. Your job."
"Maren—"
"It's fine. I understand." She looked away. "You should get some rest. I'm sure Emmett needs you for paperwork or debriefing or whatever comes after stopping supernatural threats."
Tristan wanted to correct her, wanted to explain that she was so much more than a job, more than responsibility or duty or Council orders.
But the words wouldn't come, trapped behind years of loss and fear and the certainty that admitting how much he cared would somehow make it hurt worse when she inevitably left.
Instead he stood. "I'll check on you tomorrow. Make sure you're healing properly."
"Sure." Her voice had gone carefully distant. "Tomorrow."
He made it to the door before stopping. "Maren?"
"Yes?"
"Can I escort you home? When Freya clears you for travel. Make sure you're settled safely."
She smiled weakly."I'd like that."
Relief flooded through him, sharp and sweet. "Good. Then I'll be back tomorrow."
He left before he could say something he wasn't ready to admit out loud.
Before he could tell her that somewhere between investigating her case and diving into a frozen lake, he'd fallen completely and terrifyingly in love with a shadow witch who deserved so much better than a broken soldier still haunted by ghosts.
Tomorrow. He'd figure out how to say it tomorrow.