"I'm ready," I replied, straightening my shoulders and sitting up, away from my mother, who was also the Goddess. "What do I need to do?"

"You must go," she urged, her eyes clear and untroubled despite the turmoil in mine. "Into the desert beyond this temple. There, I can communicate more clearly, more fully. I will make your path clear."

"Seriously?" I cried, wrinkling my nose in distaste and glancing over my shoulder toward the desert. "Out into the desert? We can't do this here, in the comfort of this nice temple?" My inner wolf howled at the idea—she craved trees, shade, and cool damp places, not the hot desert sun.

The Goddess smiled, shaking her head lightly. Her glowing blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders. "No, my child," she intoned. "You must learn the lessons this earth has to teach you, lessons you can't glean from a man-made structure." Her eyes drifted to my stomach, where my child was growing. "It will be dangerous," she whispered. "You are weaker than you think."

My stomach sank, and my hands flew to my belly, instinctively wanting to protect my little boy. "Will it… will it hurt him? To learn what I need to know?"

She looked at me evenly, offering no affirmation or denial. "The future is unwritten, my child," she whispered softly. "Your body is weak, but your child is strong. Your time in the desert will be a trial; delivering my gift to your people will be worse. It's your choice—to take these risks. And in the end, there's no guarantee of success. You are late. The war is well advanced. Your enemies are strong."

I looked around the room at everyone, their eyes and hopes fixed on me. My hands moved over my stomach as I met each gaze, but my heart was with my little boy—our little boy, mine and Sinclair's. This miracle we had created together.

I would do anything to save him, to keep him safe. This I knew as surely as I knew my soul, as surely as I loved Sinclair. But I also thought of the world he would grow up in if I did nothing: a world torn apart by war, where he would always be hunted, always a target. One day he would grow big and strong, like his father—strong enough to face it all. But until then, while he was still an innocent child…

Until then, it was my job to fight for him.

"All right," I choked out, my fear and determination etched on my face. "All right, I'll do it. Let's go."

My mother offered a soft, worried smile, leaning forward to cup my face in her glowing hands. "I will be with you every step," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "Do not doubt my presence, little one." Then, kissing my forehead, she began to glow with a fierce, burning light.

As she pulled away, she turned to Cora, offering a bright smile. Cora blinked in surprise, shocked by the Goddess's attention. Then, blinding light forced us all to close our eyes. When we opened them, the Goddess was gone, and the room was plunged into relative darkness.

"What!" Cora cried, leaping to her feet. "She didn't give us any instructions! What are we supposed to do?"

"No," I whispered, shaking my head. "I know what to do." I pressed my hand to my forehead, where the Goddess had kissed me. With that kiss, she had given me her love and all the instructions I needed. "Come," I said, rising decisively. "We have far to go, and little time."

Everyone stood, ready for action, ready to follow me into the desert to face whatever the Goddess held in store.

In the end, only Cora, Regina, and I set out into the sands. Roger protested vehemently at being left behind.

"I can't let you go alone," he growled, his eyes fixed on Cora. "I promised Dominic I'd keep you safe—"

"What you promised doesn't matter," Regina interrupted evenly, approaching us. "This desert is sacred to the Goddess; it's no place for a man." She looked him up and down, a sneer playing on her lips.

"And them?" Roger snapped, gesturing toward the temple priests. "You're going to tell me they've never been out there?"

Regina calmly glanced at the priests, then back at Roger. "They are castrati," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Unless you'd like to join their number?"

I burst out laughing, slapping a hand over my mouth to muffle the sound. It felt wrong to laugh in the Goddess's temple, but Roger's face—his expression at Regina's casual threat—was too much.

I glanced at Cora and nearly lost it again, seeing her stifle hysterical laughter. Regina raised a disapproving eyebrow but quickly walked away to the preparations, too busy to scold.

"Well, Roger?" Cora asked, crossing her arms and smirking. "Gonna lighten your load and join us in the sand?"

I heard a growl deepen in my mate's chest and stepped toward him, placing my hands on his arm and looking up at him with my sweetest sisterly gaze. "Come on, Roger," I coaxed. "We need someone to ready the ship—when we're done out there, we'll need to move. Fast."

Cora said nothing, continuing to smirk even as he turned his heavy gaze on her. I saw the longing in his eyes, the worry that went beyond his brother's assignment—the worry of a wolf for the woman he loved. I sensed his anxiety, as well as Cora's daring. If Cora had a wolf, it would be crouching in her mind, hackles raised, tail slowly wagging, thinking, Come and get me.

But we were out of time. "Whatever," I said, stretching my arms overhead and feigning nonchalance. "If you want to come, Roger, we'll see you out back once you've had your, uh—" I flicked my eyes to his crotch, letting my gaze linger. "—load lightened." I smiled broadly. "Otherwise, see you at the boat!"

I turned to Cora, wrapping my arm around hers and pulling her away.

"How long will it take?" Roger called after us, hands angrily shoved in his pockets.

I looked over my shoulder and shrugged. "Honestly?" I shook my head. "I don't know. Hours. Days. Weeks. As long as it takes."

He growled again, opening his mouth to reply, but Regina opened a door at the back of the temple, waving us forward.

"Come," she demanded, lowering her brows. "There's no time for this nonsense. We have work to do."

Nodding, chastened, Cora and I ducked through the low lintel into the cool darkness. But I didn't miss the glance Cora sent Roger over her shoulder—a glance that promised a return, no matter how long it took.