"She's dying," the doppelgänger said conversationally. "Gave everything trying to fight me. Foolish. Hopeless. Very her."
Tristan growled, the sound vibrating through ice.
"Oh, the beast doesn't speak. Pity." The construct tilted its head. "Does she know what you are to her? Did you tell her before you rutted in that cabin? Or did you just take what you wanted and hope she wouldn't notice the bond trying to form?"
Another growl, deeper. Warning.
"Sensitive subject." The doppelgänger moved closer, confidence in every step. "Here's what happens next. I finish absorbing her. Take everything she is, everything she could be. Then I walk back to town wearing her face and you get to watch me live her life better than she ever did."
Tristan shifted his weight, preparing to strike.
The construct's form flickered. Multiplied.
Suddenly there were two of them. Three. Five. All wearing Maren's face, all moving in perfect synchronization.
"Which one's real?" they said in unison. "Which one's the copy? Can you tell, tiger? Can you choose?"
The figures spread out, circling. Every face identical. Every movement matched.
Tristan's heart hammered. His mate's scent filled his nose, overwhelming. The pull in his chest yanked five different directions at once.
A swirl of snow blinded him for a moment and then all of the copies looked like Maren had: dying on the ice behind him. Illusions, shadow puppets meant to confuse.
"Tick tock," they sang. "Choose wrong and she dies. Choose right and maybe, maybe you get to save her. Assuming you can tell the difference."
His vision sharpened. Predator senses cutting through illusion.
Four of them smelled like ozone and burnt copper. Shadow magic poorly disguised as flesh.
One smelled like lilacs and fear and blood that ran warm instead of cold.
Tristan moved.
He ignored the four constructs, lunged past them toward the fifth figure. The one trying to fade into background. The one not quite matching the others' movements.
Real.
He shifted mid-leap, human again, arms catching her as she collapsed. Maren's weight settled against him, solid and warm and barely breathing.
"Clever," the real doppelgänger said. The illusions dissolved, leaving only the one. "But it doesn't change anything. She's still dying. Still bleeding out on this ice. And you can't heal shadow wounds with tiger strength."
"Maybe not." Tristan's voice sounded rough, unused. "But I can keep her alive long enough to destroy you."
"How?" The construct spread its arms. "I'm not even here. Not really. This is just shadow-given-shape. The real me is sleeping in silver and stone, buried. Good luck finding it before she bleeds out."
"Where the water remembers." Maren's voice barely a whisper against his chest. "Under the ice. Where it never freezes completely."
Tristan looked down at her. Blood stained her lips. Her silver eyes struggled to focus.
"The locket," she managed. "North shore. Where the water runs warm. Mother hid it there."
"Touching," the doppelgänger said. "But pointless. You'll never reach it in time. The ice is three feet thick. You'd need explosives. Magic. Something you don't have."
Tristan's arms tightened around Maren. The bond hummed between them, incomplete but present. Insistent.
"Go," Maren breathed. "Find it. I can hold on."
"I’m not leaving you."
