Poison Tree

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 o somewhere safe rst, 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 o , her eyes widening. “Yes, they’re with me, and they’re my responsibility and nominally part of my tribe at the moment,” she clari ed, “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 terri ed 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 ght 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 nish. 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 blu ng. “Let’s nd my father,” she said, con rming the whispered speculation that she could hear all around her.

“He’s in his o ce,” 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 unkies,” 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 inched 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