by Zoe Chant
“No, I don’t,” Tristan said.
He met Poppy’s eyes and she could see he didn’t. He was confused, worried, but it wasn’t hard for him to look away from the tiger, to resist touching it.
“Let go,” she said, though that wasn’t what she meant to say. And it wasn’t the way she meant to say it, the words turned oddly in her mouth.
Tristan frowned harder and shook his head. He made a quick move, so that he was holding both her wrists in one hand; she started to scream when his other hand went toward the tiger—he couldn’t, he mustn’t touch it, he wasn’t—wasn’t—
She cut off as he flipped the wrappings back over it and pushed it off her lap. It was like the air clearing, suddenly, the way the frantic panic evaporated. She could breathe. She could think.
“Oh, shit,” Poppy said, looking at the tiger, and then toward her pack, where the lion and the false bear waited.
“Poppy, what was that?”
“It’s a tiger,” Poppy said, forcing herself to meet his eyes, hoping that he would, somehow, believe her. “I know it’s just a carving, but when I look at it... it’s really a tiger. I can feel it.”
“A tiger who speaks Valtyran,” Tristan said, sounding... much less surprised than he should, and...
“What?” Poppy looked over at him. “Valtyran? What...”
“That’s the language you were speaking,” Tristan said. “When you asked me if I understood. When you told me to let go. And when you dreamed of the tiger and told it you didn’t know where to go.”
“You knew...” Poppy looked from Tristan to the wrapped bundle, remembered Tristan asking her that question as soon as she woke up. For a second, when he asked, she had still understood, but then it was gone. When the tiger left her.
“I don’t understand,” Poppy said slowly. “Do you know what the tiger is?”
“I think so,” Tristan said. “But I’m not sure what it’s doing to you.”
Poppy blinked. “Oh, God, it’s not evil, is it? Like a Ring of Power?”
Tristan frowned seriously. “I don’t know anything about that, have you encountered one before?”
Poppy stared at him. “Yes,” she said finally. “In movies. The Lord of the Rings? One Ring to rule them all?”
Tristan’s face went very blank. “Ah. No. I don’t think the tiger is evil. But I do think it’s powerful, and perhaps... less well-behaved than it ought to be. And I think you’re drawn to it. Aren’t you?”
Poppy nodded slowly.
“You want to protect it?” Tristan prompted. “To keep it for yourself, or...?”
Poppy shook her head quickly. “I need to take it home. It needs to go home. To the people it belongs to.”
Tristan nodded, his expression easing very slightly, and he turned toward her. “Come here. Let me help. I think if you’re touching me when you look at it, it won’t affect you so strongly.”
Poppy crawled into Tristan’s lap, relaxing into the warmth and comfort of his touch, even though she had no idea how it might help, and she still didn’t understand how Tristan could look at it and know.
He didn’t think she was crazy, though, and he wasn’t angry about her stealing the tiger. So they were off to a pretty good start.
He wrapped his arms around her, set his chin on her shoulder, and said, “Okay. Now try again.”
Poppy reached out with a shaking hand and tugged the silk free of the tiger. She gasped at the feeling of the tiger’s presence—it was different this time, as if she were watching the tiger from a little distance. Safely held in Tristan’s arms, she knew that she could touch the stone if she needed to, but she could also just lean closer to peer at it, getting comfortable with the feeling of the tiger’s presence.
It didn’t growl at her this time, but she thought she could almost hear it breathing.
“Now do you feel it?” Poppy asked. “The tiger?”
Tristan shook his head. “It’s strange. I can tell that there’s something—pulling on you, almost. But it just looks like a carving to me. Is this why you’ve been going to so many museums? Trying to find something like it?”
Poppy nodded. “But there’s nothing. And I’ve never even heard of... what did you say the language is called? Valtyran? Where does that come from? And how can I—” Poppy stumbled over the words. “What, am I speaking Valtyran now?”
Tristan’s grip on her tightened. “You are. The tiger is trying to help you, but he’s probably not quite sure what to make of you.”
Poppy nodded. She could feel that now that she wasn’t so overwhelmed by the tiger’s existence. It was puzzled by her. “I have to take them home.”
“Yes. You’re their guardian,” Tristan murmured. “You’re a Guardian of the Stones.”
Poppy twisted in his grip. She could hear the capital letters. In Valtyran, because they were both speaking Valtyran now. “Tristan, what does that mean? What are they? What—”
What am I? What are you?
Tristan was still looking at the tiger. He had an odd, hungry expression, a more open expression than she’d seen from him outside of bed; she might have been tempted to feel jealous, but when he looked at her his expression was just as open. His eyes were wondering, his lips slightly parted, as if she were something magical.
“They come from my country. Valtyra. They were stolen long ago, before I was born—the Wisdom Stones,” and in English he added, “Stones, you know, like the stone of a cherry?” before he went on in Valtyran. “The center, the seed. And Wisdom, in the old language, cunning—it was another way of saying magic. The secret knowing of something.”
Poppy stared at him. “So they’re from... Denmark.”
Tristan closed his eyes. “No. I travel on diplomatic papers from Denmark, due to certain longstanding treaties between my country and Denmark, but... no. I come from Valtyra, and so do the stones, and we should take them back there as soon as possible. We should get you there as soon as possible.”
“Tristan...” Poppy twisted, pushing half away from him. She agreed with him, she needed to take the stones home, but why was Tristan suddenly able to tell her this stuff as soon as he knew she had them? “If you’re not an agent from Denmark—you’re from some, some secret, magic country—”
It wasn’t much, just a tightening of his face, a darkness flashing through his amber eyes, but Poppy saw the guilty flinch that meant she was hitting close to home.
“What was your mission?” Poppy demanded. “You said it was sensitive, important, and then you said it was taken care of and you were just keeping an eye on Peter, except then you see these stones and all of a sudden it’s time to go?”
“My mission wasn’t anything to do with the stones,” Tristan said. “My mission was to find you.”
“Me,” Poppy repeated. She covered up the tiger and tucked it back into her pack, then moved away from Tristan completely, folding her arms over her chest. “Me, the Guardian of the Stones?”
“A Guardian,” Tristan corrected. “There are others. But—no. You, Poppy Zlotsky.” He grimaced and added, “I did ask you why you said your sister sent me.”
“My...”
Signy. Signy and her fabulous European guy. Signy and her carefully non-specific location. Valtyra, the secret country.
Signy backed away from Tristan, grabbing a blanket from the bed and wrapping it around herself as she stood. She felt sick, exposed, and somehow she still wanted to go to Tristan, to have him hold her and make it okay.
But Tristan had lied to her. “So this was all just—”
“No,” Tristan said quickly. “No, Poppy, I didn’t pretend anything, I swear to you. I—when I saw you, I knew. The same way you knew what the tiger was as soon as you saw it, I knew you. I knew you were meant for me—we’re meant for each other. I told you I was serious. I told you I didn’t want to go too fast and scare you. But I knew the moment I looked into your eyes.”
Poppy turned to look at him. She wasn’t even angry, she just wanted him to b
e telling her the truth. She wanted to believe that the important parts of this were real, that even if he had kept things from her, she knew the parts of him that mattered. She knew Tristan, even if she didn’t know all this stuff about Valtyra and Guardians and Stones.
“How? You—you can’t tell about the stones. How could you tell about me?”
Tristan smiled a little. “I’m a little special too. I... I could show you, if it will help you believe me.” She could see him struggling with something. She could see it, right on his face, not in tiny motions but something naked, something he was letting her see. “Please, let me show you.”
Poppy nodded sharply.
Tristan took a breath, closed his eyes, and... changed. Her eyes couldn’t quite follow it, but a second later Tristan—the Tristan she knew—was gone, and in his place was a tiger. An actual living, breathing tiger, not just the unseen presence of one. He looked at her with the same amber eyes, his tail twitching a little and his ears tilting toward her.
Poppy moved toward him in a daze, reaching out slowly with both hands. She couldn’t be scared—not after feeling the presence of the tiger in the stone. Tristan was just the same, but he was a tiger she really could see and touch. She ran a hand over the soft fur of his face, behind one ear, and the enormous tiger let out a rumble like a diesel engine.
Poppy jerked her hand back, laughing a little in surprise and delight. He was a tiger—or could become a tiger, at least, since he was obviously also human most of the time. Tristan was magic.
He sat back on his haunches and then changed again, becoming her familiar Tristan with his smooth brown skin and glossy black curls, his familiar scars. He grinned widely at her, showing all his blunt human teeth. “That’s how I knew, Poppy. I’m that kind of special—most of us who are, we can sense our mates when we meet them.”
Poppy ran a hand through her hair, trying to get her head around all of that. “You’re a shapeshifting tiger, from a secret country you’re a secret agent for. And you know my sister. And she sent you here to find me? And you didn’t think you needed to tell me any of that? What made you think that was okay?!”
By the end she was maybe screaming a little.
Tristan swept an arm toward the pack where the stones were tucked away. He might have gotten his human shape back, but his calm façade hadn’t come with it. “I don’t know, maybe the same reason you didn’t want to tell me you were carrying stolen property with a tiger spirit inside it?”
“That’s not the same!”
Poppy knew, even as the words came out of her mouth, that at some point she was going to have to tell him about the lion. And the bear.
“It’s exactly the same! You didn’t want me to think you were crazy, or a thief, and I didn’t want you to think I was—” Tristan waved his arms wildly. “Terrifying, or evil, since that seems to be all you’ve ever heard about magic before!”
“Oh my God don’t bring The Lord of the Rings into this!” Poppy yelled back, stepping forward to shove him away from the pack and the stones, though pushing on him was like pushing on a wall of rock. “Changing into a tiger is a whole different ball game! How do I even know you—”
Tristan moved suddenly, catching her wrists and ducking to kiss her hard.
Poppy gasped, then moaned, feeling the same rush she always got from touching him. It felt like more somehow, now, knowing the tiger was there within him, restrained behind his human form. Knowing that what was between them was true magic, and not just something she was rushing into that might turn out to be a mistake later on.
Knowing that he was her—what had he called it?—her mate.
“That,” Tristan said against her lips, breathing hard, his hands still holding tight to her wrists. “That’s how you know. You feel it, and you know what’s true.”
Poppy was breathless, her whole body tingling and hot. “Show me. Show me, make me feel—”
Tristan scooped her up and threw her down on the bed, following right after her. She reached for him, but he caught her wrists again, holding her down as he kissed her, rough and claiming.
“Mine,” he whispered. “You’re mine, Poppy, my mate, and that’s all that matters here. You belong with me. Whatever else we are, whatever else is true, nothing is more true than this. We belong together.”
“Show me,” Poppy insisted, trying to wrap her legs around him, to hurry him along.
Tristan growled against her throat, biting and sucking at the tender skin there. Poppy could only tip her head back and let him, knowing how easily she would show his marks. She wanted them—wanted something tangible, some sign that she belonged to him. She gasped his name, begging for more, and Tristan settled lower over her, letting her feel his weight and still holding her down.
She could feel how hard he was, the length of him pressing hot against her belly. She felt her own pulse pounding between her legs where she was wet for him, needing him inside her. She tilted her hips up against him—this was no time for taking it slow.
Tristan groaned and moved to line them up. He teased for a moment, rubbing his hardness against her without pushing inside, and Poppy gasped and snarled at him, arching up against his hold. She couldn’t break it, though. She couldn’t run away from this, couldn’t control it. She was his now.
Poppy cried out as Tristan pushed into her, fast enough for her to feel the ache of stretching around him. She was coming almost as soon as he was inside her, and he ducked his head to her breast, biting kisses all over her as she came in shuddering waves, clenching around his erection inside her.
He started to move only when she stopped, just rocking his hips at first and building up to thrusts. It was intense, right on the edge of too much, the pleasure edged with pain, but Poppy pushed up into every thrust, welcoming him and wanting more. Soon he was giving it to her, pounding her into the bed as he took her, letting her feel the wild strength of him.
Her pleasure built up again, a storm tide of feeling, as her mate moved in her and over her. His lips found hers again just as he found an angle that made her scream, and it wasn’t long before she was tipping over the edge again.
This time he came with her, nothing between them. She felt him move a last few times inside her, and when he went rigid she could feel his hardness pulsing in her, the hot wetness as he spilled inside her.
Good, she thought, before she could think anything coherent about it. It felt right to have nothing between him, to have him inside her in the deepest, most intimate possible way. My mate.
For a while they were both still, catching their breath. Poppy was floating in a dazed kind of bliss that felt a lot like she’d just done something a little death-defying. She might have bruises later, but for now it just felt so good, like Tristan was a mountain she’d climbed or a choppy bay she’d swum across.
Except, now, wherever she went, whatever adventures she had, he would be at her side.
Poppy opened her eyes and found Tristan watching her. She went to touch his face and realized his hands were still clasped around her wrists.
He let go instantly, a sheepish look crossing his features. “Sorry. Forgot I was holding on.”
Poppy ran her fingers down his uninjured cheek, and then, carefully watching for any sign that it was unwelcome, down the scars on the other.
“I don’t mind you holding on,” Poppy said quietly. “I don’t want you letting me go.”
Tristan shook his head and then kissed her, just a brush of lips. “Did I hurt you?”
Poppy shook her head, glancing down at herself. She could already see red marks rising on her breasts, and she knew there would be more on her throat.
With a smirk, she said, “It looks worse than it feels, I promise. Pale skin shows everything, that’s all.”
Tristan moved lower, kissing gently down her throat and her breasts before he lay down beside her, tugging her over to face him with one arm and leg over her, as if she might run away. Poppy reached up and twined her fingers into his hair, just
to let him know he wasn’t going anywhere either.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Tristan said softly. “About being sent to find you, and your sister, and everything. I was told not to force you, but also to make sure you were there in time for the wedding. And not to lie to you but not to ruin all the surprises.”
Poppy squinted at him. “Oh God, that sounds like my mom is there too.”
Wait, he’d said wedding.
Well. She probably wouldn’t mind seeing Signy getting married to her perfect guy now that she really had found her own.
“Both your parents, yes,” Tristan said. “But I should have realized that I had to trust you more than I worried about what they said. You’re my mate. I’ll be leaving the king’s service as soon as we’re back in Valtyra, but you’re the rest of my life.”
Poppy bit her lip, trying to hold back a grin. She could feel a laugh bubbling up, though she knew Tristan was utterly serious. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak without sounding like she didn’t believe him, or didn’t feel the same. It was hard to imagine the rest of her life, the way Tristan said it. It was hard to imagine knowing where she would be, and who she would be with, in a year, let alone decades from now.
Tristan gave her one of his microscopic smiles and kissed her lightly. “I see I shall have to be serious enough for both of us.”
“I’m serious!” Poppy insisted, bursting into helpless giggles in the middle of the word. She pecked little kisses all over Tristan’s face as she said, “I mean it! I’m committed too!”
When Tristan actually grinned back, sudden and bright as the sun coming up, she knew he understood, and maybe even believed her. If he didn’t, well. He planned on sticking around, so he’d have plenty of time to see that she wasn’t running away from him.
She stopped giggling and snuggled closer. Tristan’s arms closed tight around her.
“So I guess I don’t need to convince you to go up to the Ashmolean today,” she mumbled against Tristan’s chest.
Tristan sighed. “No. And we really should get you, and the stones, home soon. You’ll be safer there.”