“You owe me one hell of a favor,” he informed the leader of Crimson. He had seen the explosion coming an instant before she had, giving him just enough time to shove the burgundy-haired human out of the way and take the brunt of the blast himself.
“Christian,” Ravyn replied flatly. “You’re alive.”
“Don’t sound so disappointed.”
“I hate owing people favors,” she answered, “but I’m good for this one. Which girl do you want me to retrieve, and in how many pieces do you want the tiger?”
Speaking of tigers, Sahara had just returned to the lobby and was walking toward him.
“I’ve …”
Christian trailed off, because Sahara wasn’t alone. What the hell? He stared at the two children with her. How old were they? Aside from a few twisted individuals like Kral, few members of Bruja exposed their children to their work, if they had children at all. As a result, Christian had little experience judging the ages of little people.
“Frost?” Ravyn asked. “You still there?”
“Get Alysia,” he said. “I have the tigers. Tiger.”
He had to brace himself on the edge of the counter as he stood. He dropped the phone and didn’t bother to pick it up. He really hoped Sahara wasn’t planning to put up a fight, because he wasn’t entirely sure he could win against even the toddler-sized kid with her. Kids with Mistari features, obvious Mistari blood.
Sahara said something softly to the older kid and then walked back to Christian’s side. “Christian, this is Jeht and Quean,” she said, utterly failing to provide the information he wanted. “I need to drop them off somewhere safe first, but you and I have to get to Onyx as soon as possible. If Kral has—”
“Are they yours?” Christian asked, because obviously Sahara wasn’t concerned with explaining why she had two children following her.
“Yes,” she snapped. “Are you listening? If Alysia isn’t here, then she’s—” She broke off, her eyes widening. “Yes, they’re with me, and they’re my responsibility and nominally part of my tribe at the moment,” she clarified, “but no, they’re not mine. Don’t you think you would have known if I had a kid when I was thirteen?”
The older one was nine, then. Christian bit back his response, which would have been that he’d had no idea how old the kid was and had been terrified that he could be six. There were certainly stranger reasons why a sixteen-year-old girl might run away from home.
Of course, he knew exactly why Sahara had run. He and Alysia had found Cori’s body in that cellar. Christian and Sahara had done what they could to protect her, but that sweet human girl had been nothing but cannon fodder from the moment Kral had made his disinterest clear.
“I know you want to get to Alysia—I do, too—but I don’t want to bring the cubs to Onyx,” Sarik said. “Doing so will only put them in my father’s power. Do you know a place—”
“They can stay at my house for now,” Christian said. “It’s on the way, and given our past relationship, it meets the letter of Mistari law in terms of having them in your territory.”
Normally Christian wouldn’t have been so swift to let anyone into his space, but he wanted to get to Alysia, he didn’t have the energy to argue with Sahara, and he absolutely agreed that the boys shouldn’t be brought within ten miles of Kral. As long as they remained in Sahara’s territory, she could legally claim them as her own. The six years that had passed did not negate the fact that, once upon a time, Kral had set Christian up as Sahara’s mate. That made his territory hers by Mistari law—law he would call upon only insofar as it was convenient. Keeping the boys safe was one thing, but if Sahara intended to move in, they were going to need to renegotiate.
At least going by his house would give him a chance to get some real clothes. The hospital gown was a little drafty for a dramatic confrontation with an ancient tiger.
A wave of dizziness hit him as they entered the elevator. Sahara caught his arm, and they both stumbled.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“He’s hurt?” the older kid asked.
It had been years since Christian had heard or spoken ha’Mistari, but as long as Jeht stuck to simple, two-word phrases using familiar words, he could follow.
Sahara, however, replied in rapid speech that made no sense to him at all. She then switched back to English to ask Christian, “Well, are you?”
“I’ll be better when we find Alysia,” he answered.
He certainly wasn’t up to a fight with the old tiger, but if Kral had taken Alysia in order to track down his daughter, then hopefully showing up with Sahara would make him realize that continuing to hold his prisoner was unnecessary.
You’re pushing yourself to the point of stupid.
He could practically hear Pandora’s voice in his head. Most of the last year had been devoted to learning how far his body and mind could be pushed. Right now, he was burning too many resources just to keep himself functioning. He needed to feed, heal, and truly rest.
Soon, he promised himself. Soon.
CHAPTER 18
IT WAS EARLY evening when they reached the Onyx Hall, so the place was busy. Six years earlier, Sahara would have appreciated that; she’d always loved making an entrance. Sarik was less pleased with the way heads swiveled toward them when she and Christian stepped through the door.
Christian was leaning on her shoulder in a way that probably looked possessive, or at least friendly. Others couldn’t tell how much of his weight she was supporting. They also didn’t know there was a tacit threat in his touch. If she tried to wriggle away before they reached her father, she was sure she would be treated to another taste of the Triste’s power.
Even the novices who had never seen Sahara kuloka Kral seemed to recognize the sudden buzz among the older members. The whispers made the spot along her spine between her shoulder blades crawl, expecting a knife. How many wounds, bruises, and broken bones had she received in this place—or given, for that matter? Kral had insisted that only by being the strongest could she make others fear her enough to follow her, obey her, never cross her, either to her face or behind her back. In the end, it hadn’t been enough. Cori had been the example that Sahara’s enemies had made for her, their way of showing her that she wasn’t strong enough to protect anything, even her own sister.
“Where’s Kral?” Christian asked the nearest archer, a younger member Sahara didn’t recognize.
“Somewhere around here,” the archer answered. He swept his gaze up and down Sarik’s form, his expression openly skeptical and insolent. It was not a look she ever would have tolerated in the old days, but she had been back barely seconds, and she was tired. Of Christian, he asked, “Who’s the—”
Christian didn’t let him finish. Without even needing to remove his arm from Sarik’s waist, Christian put the archer on the floor with one graceful, practiced move.
I’ve been gone too long, she thought. It was going to take time for her to relearn all the habits that had protected her for so many years. Onyx had humans and non-tiger shapeshifters and Tristes, but Kral ran it like a Mistari clan. It was not a place where one could afford to be tired.
Christian had pulled her from the proverbial frying pan, but it was still sizzling around here.
Sarik did not address the archer on the ground. Threats were generally made by people who were bluffing. “Let’s find my father,” she said, confirming the whispered speculation that she could hear all around her.
“He’s in his office,” another man chimed in. Sarik looked at him, wondering if she should know who he was. He was wearing a baggy sweatshirt that only mostly concealed the results of a recent beating. “I’m Kevin,” he said.
“One of Kral’s flunkies,” Christian told her. “He had fewer bruises last time I saw him, though. Let’s go.”
Kevin led them through the crowd, which parted before them, and then knocked on Kral’s office door.
Kral’s response was barely audible, a growled, “What?”
/> The sound made the hair on the back of Sarik’s neck stand up. Kevin flinched as well before he said, “Sir. I have your daughter here.”
Silence. Then, after too many rapid hummingbird heartbeats, “Send her in.”
Kevin opened the door and quickly backed away. Christian released Sarik and leaned against the doorjamb. She wasn’t sure if Christian couldn’t stand on his own or if he was blocking her exit in case she panicked and tried to run. She took a few steps into the room. The dim light from the single desk lamp made the office into a cave.
This room had always frightened her. Shapeshifters could heal more than humans could, and Bruja members weren’t the type to call the police or social services, so her father had never needed to use restraint when he disciplined her. This room had meant countless beatings when she was a child.
“Divai, ohne,” she said. Her voice was soft, but at least it didn’t break. “I’ve come home.”
“Indeed,” Kral said flatly.
The single word raked down her spine like claws. You’re not sixteen anymore, she told herself. You survived on your own. You were a mediator at SingleEarth. You cannot let him control you.
But she couldn’t seem to find her voice.
Kral looked at Christian. “Are you the one responsible for bringing her home?”
Sarik tensed and was about to protest that she had chosen to return on her own, but Christian asked his own question instead.
“Where is Alysia?”
Kral paused a moment, seeming contemplative. “If you do not know, then I’m sure I don’t.”
“You tried to frame her for the attack on SingleEarth, and then put a number up on her,” Christian said.
“Oh, really?” Kral glanced at Sarik. He knew, or guessed, that at least part of the story Christian told had been her fault, but he had no reason to share that information. He also apparently had no interest in continuing the conversation. “Daughter, there is a rumor going around that you are starting your own tribe. You don’t seriously expect to challenge me, do you?”
“No,” she snapped instinctively. “I mean, yes, but—” Get a hold of yourself! She took a deep breath and drew on the calm, controlled persona she had spent the last half decade cultivating. “I have taken in two cubs, and they will remain under my protection. No challenge is implied. Do you have Alysia or don’t you?”
The question spilled out without her thinking about it. This wasn’t the time or place to ask, not with Kral in this kind of mood, but it was Sarik’s fault that Alysia had been caught up in this in the first place.
“Both of you seem very concerned about the human,” Kral remarked, before again shifting back to the topic he cared about. “You don’t think I should consider your actions a challenge to my authority?”
A day before, she had had an answer to that, hadn’t she? Now she couldn’t seem to find any words. Standing in his presence, she felt like a child again. She fought to keep herself in Sarik’s mind, but it was hard while in this place.
“Mistari law says—”
A backhanded blow to the face sent her stumbling back into Christian, and then an open-handed strike made more vicious by claws tore through her shoulder and sent her to her knees.
Her ears ringing and her eyes watering from pain, she looked up at her father.
“You defied my orders when you went after Cori,” Kral snarled down at her. “You fled into the night without a word, like a coward, and left others to clean up the mess. You allied with strangers and formed your own tribe with children who I guarantee you will have the strength to overthrow you in the next few years. You are the same arrogant, spoiled child who ran away six years ago, but now you think you can quote Mistari law at me and I will forget everything you’ve done?”
The words fell on her like hail. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t even lift a hand to put pressure on the wound in her shoulder, from which blood was flowing down her arm in a steady stream.
“Saniet, ohne,” she whispered. Mercy, please.
“Get out,” he snapped. “Your room is still as you left it. I will summon you to talk about your ‘tribe’ when I have time. Christian, stay a minute. We should speak about your misplaced partner.”
“You don’t have her,” Christian said as he offered Sarik a hand up.
The fingers she wrapped around his were numb and streaked with blood. When he helped her up, she could feel how many muscles in her shoulder had been torn open by Kral’s claws.
“Judging by the state of Kevin’s face and how pissed off you are, I’d say you lost her. That means you have nothing to tell me.”
They had barely made it into the hall before Kral said, “Don’t make me fetch you, boy.” Christian hesitated, turning to meet Kral’s gaze. “You may be a witch these days, but that doesn’t mean I can’t smell the stink of exhaustion on you. You’re in no condition to fight me.”
Christian went rigid for a moment, then pointedly stepped away from Sarik. “I’ll meet you in your room,” he said before stepping into Kral’s office and closing the door behind him.
White noise. Sarik’s head was full of static, like a radio station fading in the distance. There were no words, no thoughts. She leaned against the wall outside Kral’s office and was vaguely aware of Kevin as he tended to her shoulder.
Shapeshifters healed fast. Wounds made by another shapeshifter, especially a blood relative, healed a little more slowly, but she still didn’t have to worry about permanent scarring or muscle damage. Her father had done worse than this to her.
An outraged voice tried to speak up in her mind, to say This isn’t okay, but then the voice was muffled.
Her old room. It was cleaner than she’d left it, and someone had fixed the holes she had punched in the black walls, but it still held the attitude of the scared sixteen-year-old brat who had lived there. The antique leather-topped vanity had been stained by a half-dozen colors of nail polish. The elaborately carved handmade ebony headboard had been slashed by an angry adolescent tiger’s claws.
The cubs were safe for the moment, and there was nothing more she could do for Alysia unless Christian learned something new from Kral. There were no old friends waiting in the next room for her to say hi to. There was no part of Sahara’s life that she wanted to reclaim.
There was only exhaustion and despair. Whatever Christian had done to her earlier had taken its toll, as had the new wounds from her father.
There was nothing to do but wait, so she lay down on the bed. There were no sheets beneath the fuchsia goose-down comforter, but that was fine, because she wasn’t in the mood to get that comfortable.
She had barely closed her eyes before she heard the whisper of the door opening and closing, followed by the snick of the lock. She didn’t need to look to know it was Christian. She could recognize his scent and the fatigued tread of his steps. Besides, who else would bother her here?
“What now?” she asked, staring at the ceiling.
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
She started to push herself up but stopped when he climbed into the bed next to her, hooked an arm over her waist, and spooned against her back.
“What did he want?” she asked, almost afraid to know.
“As always, he wants too much,” Christian answered, “but I can’t do anything about that right now. I need rest.”
“Here?”
“No one is going to bother me here, and you’re not going to kick me out.”
He was right. They wouldn’t, couldn’t, didn’t want to go back to who they had been to each other six years earlier, but at that exact moment, neither of them could be with the person they did want to be with.
So she closed her eyes and leaned back against him.
It took her another ten seconds before she thought to ask, “Are you feeding on me?”
“Yes. But I won’t hurt you. Go to sleep.”
And that’s the story of Sahara’s life, she thought. Give with one hand, take with the other.
I miss you, Jason, she thought.
CHAPTER 19
THE NEXT TIME Alysia woke, she was in a bed, in a nondescript room lit by a basic ceiling light. Next to the bed were six bottles of water, still sealed, and an unopened box of cinnamon-swirl breakfast bars.
Her body still ached, but in a tolerable way, as if she were getting over the flu, not recovering from a puncture wound, an explosion, and a beating.
A moment of panic gripped her, and she dragged her sheets aside to check that both legs were still firmly attached. The leg of her jeans had been cut off above her newly injured knee. The ragged edge of denim and the threads hanging down had been stained with blood, but the skin itself was intact. She bent the knee experimentally and found that it was stiff but functional, with a shiny new scar just above her kneecap.
She stood cautiously, testing her ability to move. Obviously a witch had been here, but what kind of witch? On whose side?
Her stomach rumbled, and her mouth was bone dry, but no matter how carefully someone had set them out, she wasn’t going to help herself to food and water until she knew where she was.
She continued to explore and found a change of clothes on the kitchen counter, a cell phone with a single phone number saved in the contacts list, and, so much more important, all her rank-weapons, with the addition of sheaths for the knives.
The focus on the knives was a good clue about where she was, so she dialed the phone and was rewarded with Ravyn’s sleepy drawl. “Yo. You’re awake.”
“So it seems. Why?”
“You wrecked your stolen car,” Ravyn said. “I had to do some quick work to keep you from waking up with a cop by your side. I think I’ve officially fulfilled my debt to Christian, but the asshole’s cell phone was blown up and I don’t have another number for him. The witch who worked on you says you should eat and drink when you wake up, or you’ll fry your systems and all her work will be wasted.”
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