He couldn't know.
She flooded her mind with everything from happily serving the queen to thanking the day she'd been born Medb. "No, I have nothing to protect except you, and you have more power than me."
He slapped his knee and grinned. "Alright, now. I know who can help you locate three Alterants."
Kizira perked up. "Three? Really? Who?"
"The Belador you saved when you were eighteen."
Her chest muscles constricted and her grip on the desk tightened. He couldn't know about Quinn. If he did, that meant he knew . . .
Cathbad's brown eyes narrowed with shrewd understanding. "You know the Cathbads are gifted with sight. I saw you meet him in a vision. Saw how you stopped our warlocks from killing him, then this Belador risked his life to save you from the warlocks. 'Tis why I think your heart is soft."
Oh, no, no, no. That was exactly what had happened when she'd met Quinn. She'd been sent out on her first task to prove she was worthy of becoming a priestess. Her Medb warlocks had attacked Quinn so quickly that he'd had no chance to defend himself. But when the warlocks had started torturing him instead of taking him captive, she'd intervened to stop them.
And they'd turned on her, accusing her of high treason by protecting an enemy--an immediate death sentence for any Medb.
Badly wounded, Quinn had struggled to his feet. He'd used his powerful mind and the element of surprise to kill the warlocks.
Cathbad knew . . . but he'd obviously not told Flaevynn. Kizira asked, "Why didn't you tell the queen?"
"Because she would no' ha' understood that even a Belador plays a role in fulfillin' the curse. If you wish to hand the queen at least two Alterants in forty-eight hours, you will need this Belador's help . . . and mine."
She'd seen Quinn only in rare situations since that initial brief affair, and every time they'd been adversaries. There was no way he'd help her locate the Alterants, especially Evalle, whom Quinn watched over like a younger sister.
Kizira shook her head. "That Belador will not help me capture the female Alterant Evalle."
"He will once I tell you how to persuade him."
"What if I can't persuade him?" She wouldn't put Quinn at risk, no matter what. But if she didn't play this out with Cathbad he'd know he could use Quinn against her.
"Then you risk Flaevynn learnin' the truth behind this man."
She stared silently. He could not know everything.
He nodded and answered, "Oh, but I do know everything. I know you care for him, which is why you will do as I compel you if you wish him to live."
Welcome to life as the lowest pawn in a deadly game.
EIGHT
Evalle stumbled forward, tripping over a bulging root covered in ferns. Her vision cleared from teleporting. But not the urge to upchuck the pizza she'd eaten.
She held her forehead for a few seconds until the nausea passed, then she turned slowly to assess her surroundings.
It looked like she'd been dropped in a jungle that smelled of damp earth and decaying vegetation constantly composting. Water drizzled over her face and streaked her sunglasses.
If not for her unusual optics, she'd have been blind in this almost-total darkness. That meant her twenty-minute visit to the Nether Realm hadn't lasted five hours in the mortal world this time, or she'd have been facing sunshine.
But how long would a day or "more than a day" in the Nether Realm translate into human time?
Or had Loki meant one day in the human world?
Who knew, but she had to get back to Atlanta--with three escaped Alterants in tow--and help stop an Alterant massacre.
At least she could offer the three Alterants she took back a chance at real freedom.
She used a finger to squeegee water off her forehead.
Warm water soaked her shirt. Glancing up, she couldn't even make out cloud cover through the thick canopy of hardwood trees and tropical palms. Hidden somewhere up there were critters that chirped, screeched and chattered.
So this was where Tristan lived, if she'd landed in his spellbound prison. When she'd first met him in Atlanta, he'd said his cage was in a South American jungle, but not the specific location.
And that had been when they'd been on speaking terms, before she'd used the Ngak Stone to return him to captivity.
A tingling warmed the skin on her chest. She looked down.
The amulet still dangled from her neck.
Thank the goddess she hadn't lost it. She always worried about losing some part of her clothing or her sunglasses in transit, but she instinctively put a hand on her glasses to hold them when she teleported. If the leather thong holding the amulet had come loose while teleporting, would the necklace have landed at her feet or ended up in another part of the world?
She didn't know. Now the thing was heating up even more.
Just like it had before she'd been ambushed in Atlanta.
The jungle stilled. Not a chirp to be heard.
She didn't have to be hit over the head to figure out this silver disk was acting like some kind of warning device, but why? Nicole's spell on the amulet was long gone. Opening her senses wider, Evalle tried to determine if the danger approaching was of this world or preternatural.
No energy touched hers.
That ruled out preternatural.
Regardless of where she'd landed, she couldn't use her supernatural powers to harm a natural creature of this world.
She needed a defense plan or someplace to hide if she didn't find Tristan soon.
What did he use for shelter here?
She suffered another swipe of misery at sending him back to isolation in this place. From her perspective, living in a jungle beat being confined in a basement for eighteen years, but she doubted Tristan would see it that way.
She couldn't blame him.
Loss of control over your life sucked even if you lived trapped in a castle, like Brina.
Poor Brina could never leave the Isle of Treoir except in a holographic image. Doing so would put the whole Belador tribe at risk of destruction.
Hair stood up along Evalle's arms.
Two bright eyes, probably yellow, peered at her from between wide palm fronds and froze the blood in her veins.
She could tell it was a large jungle cat but not much more.
For a moment, her heart leaped to the hope that the animal stalking her might be Storm in his black jaguar form. But even if he could track teleportation he couldn't have found her in another country--and on another continent--this quickly.
She'd probably never see him again and wouldn't be able to help him find the woman he was hunting either. If she didn't satisfy the Tribunal's demands, the list of people she'd let down would continue to grow.
The animal watching her didn't blink.
Running generally excited a predator, but she couldn't stand here all night. She had to find a hiding place before daylight, too. With her deadly intolerance to sunlight, she'd fry faster than fish in hot grease the minute rays hit her skin.
And end up just as dead as being eaten by a three-hundred-pound, four-legged killing machine.
Evalle took a step back, then one more.
Another set of predatory eyes with narrow black centers appeared several feet to the right of the first cat. A hunting party, or just taking advantage of a snack dropped in front of them?
Both cats moved forward at the same time.
Game on.
She swung around and dove headfirst into the jungle, swatting low branches and thick undergrowth out of her way. Thorny vines clawed at her clothes and arms. Her boots sucked in and out of wet bogs of mud. She felt as though she ran against a current of energy, like swimming in a resistance pool.
Even her natural Belador speed was useless here, which pretty much confirmed she was inside Tristan's enclosure. She couldn't see any other reason she'd slow down to the speed of a human.
She could hear the snap of twigs and rattle of vegetation as the cats stalked her at a steady
pace. She hurried ahead, willing herself to outrun them in spite of her mind arguing that was unrealistic.
When she entered a moonlit clearing, she stopped in the center and turned slowly.
Three more sets of yellow eyes faced her from the other direction.
Now she got it. The first two cats had been herding her.
The amulet around her neck warmed and glowed again.
Great. Like these cats needed help finding her in the dark?
All the cats converged at one time.
Golden jaguars. Must be a mother and her grown cubs.
Evalle fisted her hands and crossed her arms in front of her like an X, prepared to block her face and eyes. She couldn't even use her dagger because the blade was flush with supernatural power. For a moment, she considered shifting into her beast just to frighten them away, but that would probably backfire here even if she didn't have to worry about having to face the Tribunal again.
The largest cat, likely the mother, started moving in a fast stalk and prepared to leap off the ground to attack.
Evalle braced herself for sharp claws and fangs ripping into her body.
The roar of an animal that sounded much larger than any of these cats shook the trees surrounding her clearing.
Power burst into the open space, flowing between her and the closest cat, and shoving the attacking feline back. The other jaguars perked up at the noise, alert to a new player.
She'd have liked to mark that as a positive sign, but the sound of heavy footsteps bearing down on her warned she had something far deadlier than these animals to face.
Someone who wanted more than her death.
Tristan would want to see her writhe in pain.
A giant beast shoved small trees aside with no more effort than if they had been saplings. He stood taller and greater in bulk than her Alterant beast form and stomped forward on feet twice the size of a human's. Forty feet away, he paused and dropped his head back, roaring a long, guttural sound.
Chills crawled up and down Evalle's spine in spite of the damp heat.
The jungle cats skulked away unharmed but clearly intimidated by the beast in ragged jeans that actually fit his huge legs. Where had Tristan gotten clothes?
He stood with hunched shoulders, cracked lips pulled back to show uneven, razor-sharp fangs. Long arms dangled at his sides, fingers tipped with curled claws. Shaggy locks of matted, dirty-blond hair hung in clumps between scaly patches and leathery skin that covered the vicious angles of his face. Beneath a jutted forehead, a broad nose flared and black eyes glowed hot in the darkness.
Black? Not bright green?
A terrifying creature for anything or anyone to fight.
But Tristan hadn't let the jaguars rip her to pieces.
Could that mean he would give her a chance to talk before he killed her himself?
She had little time and a tiny hope that she could convince him to listen to her. "Hi, Tristan. I know we parted under less than ideal circumstances."
He pulled his lips back in what she thought might be his version of a smile or a grin. Maybe he was glad to have company. She would be.
For lack of a better response, Evalle smiled, too. "Speaking of that--"
He lifted his head and released a more terrifying roar than the last one.
The entire jungle fell silent as a tomb.
Bad analogy.
When Tristan looked at her this time his eyes bulged with the need for retribution. He growled and his fangs dripped saliva.
Her empathic senses picked up energy coming from him that dispelled her previous ideas. She'd completely misread his expression. He had been smiling all right, but not because of the chance to entertain unexpected company.
He wanted blood. Hers.
She spun around and took off the way she'd come, running in one direction, then another.
Pounding stomped the ground behind her with amazing speed.
He could use his power within this cage, which meant he could kill her with a strike. Why hadn't he?
Because a quick kill clearly wouldn't appease his need for revenge.
Evalle had covered a mile of running and fighting her way through areas strangled with dense growth when she caught the toe of her boot and fell to her knees. Mud splashed her face and arms. The palms of her hands burned raw from scrapes.
The steady pounding of footsteps gained on her.
She shoved up and shot forward again, breathing hard without the benefit of her Belador endurance.
But she was far from beaten.
She battled her way through the undergrowth. The jungle's teeth scratched her arms and dragged at her clothes. After stumbling into another clearing wider than the last one, she bent over to catch her breath. Human weakness sucked.
The thud of footsteps slowed, then stopped.
She heard him breathing close by, waiting for some reason.
He wanted something . . .
Lust washed over her skin.
There was one thing worse than death, and she would risk supernatural power backlashing in this domain before she'd submit to that.
She turned to face him and leaned to pull the dagger from her boot. If using the power ricocheted back at her, she'd just have to end up cut. She would not give up without drawing blood, too.
Tristan pushed his monster-shaped hands together in front of him then opened his arms, parting the overgrown jungle to accommodate his girth as he stepped into the clearing with a thump, thump, thump.
"I may not be able stop you from killing me to get your pound of flesh, Tristan, but touch me--" She let her gaze drop to the bulge in his pants and spun the dagger in her hands. "And I'll get my own pound of flesh with one swipe."
The only part of him that retained any human quality was his black eyes as they studied her quietly.
His eyes were . . . sad.
Had she misread his lust?
She wished she had a better grasp on her empathic abilities, but they were constanly developing.
Besides, how could anyone tell what an Alterant was thinking or feeling in beast state when no one had observed them in a natural setting?
Wait a minute. She was standing here talking to a shifted Alterant.
She tried again. "I want to help you, Tristan--"
Her dagger flew up out of her hands and landed halfway between them, stuck in the ground.
He crossed beefy arms and angled his head. His mouth pulled tight on one side in what she supposed could be considered a smug look.
This might be her best, her only, chance to plead her case to him. "Hey, I'm only here because you turned loose the other three Alterants and the Tribunal thinks I told you to, which we both know isn't true. I just want to help--"
His snarl clawed her nerves.
That might have been the wrong tactic.
He growled and stomped his foot. The ground vibrated with his fury. Teeth bared and claws extended, he lunged for her.
Evalle backpedaled ten fast steps and lost her footing.
All her attempts to regain her balance and race away ended with her feet coming out from under her. She fell, but she arched to land as far away from him as she could.
When the beast rushed her, he slammed to a stop two steps away, his body plastered against an invisible wall.
His cage.
He rammed the wall over and over again, pummeling the boundary of his prison. He beat the enclosure so hard with his fists that she felt the concussion like multiple blasts of a bomb.
She covered her ears against his howls that were equal parts mournful and furious.
The desperate sound struck her heart sharp as an ice pick.
She'd put Tristan back in there when all the reasons had weighed in favor of that decision. He'd sided with the Kujoo who had helped him escape. He'd helped the Medb priestess capture Evalle. He'd tried to keep the Ngak Stone to use for his own benefit.
But seeing him now in this pain, her heart argued that anyone stuck here for years w
ould have accepted the Kujoo's help. That Tristan had intervened, or tried to, when the Medb witch had started torturing Evalle. That he'd only wanted the Ngak Stone's power to guarantee freedom for himself and other Alterants.
How could she fault him when he'd offered that same freedom to her and she'd turned her back on him to stand with the Beladors?
And she couldn't leave now.
Even if she managed to find her way out of this jungle alive, she had no one but Tristan to point her toward the escaped Alterants.
With every minute she lost, Brina's safety hung in the balance and with it the fate of every Belador on earth.
And her only weapon was stuck in the ground on the wrong side of that wall.
NINE
If Macha finds out what I agreed to at the Tribunal meeting, she may finally grant my wish to leave here . . . in a casket.
Brina paced the stone floors of the castle her ancestors had built thousands of years ago as a haven for the Treoir family.
She'd once loved life in this castle.
That had been before she'd lost her entire family and become the sole guardian of the Beladors. Supernatural power of all Beladors existed only as long as a Treoir remained physically inside this castle on this island.
As the only Treoir left alive after Medb warlocks had murdered her da and brothers four years ago, she was, for practical purposes, imprisoned here forever.
Really. She was immortal.
And Macha wouldn't kill her.
Not until Brina bore an heir to the dynasty.
She didn't particularly want to end her life at twenty-four, but living meant more than breathing, and that's all she'd been doing for a long time.
A warrior queen should be out on the front lines with her tribe, especially with Alterants now shifting faster than Macha changed her hair color.
Something had triggered these changes. Who or what?
The Medb topped her list of suspects.
Belador warriors were battling the beasts while Brina sat in this hollow castle.
No more.
She'd avoided discussion of the Treoir heir for four long years here, but she couldn't put it off any longer. Every time she left the castle, even in holographic form, she put the Belador powers at risk if the Medb figured out how to capture her holographic image.
She shuddered at the mere possibility.
The time had come for an heir.
And it was high time that Macha listened to her if the goddess wanted that heir in the near future.