Chapter 391: Conversations with the Goddess

Cora

My heart pounded as I followed Mother into the chamber, Roger shutting the door behind us. Mother crossed the room with an almost ethereal grace; she seemed to float. A blink later, I realized she probably was floating. I mean, she was corporeal, but it was clearly a display of power. She didn't need to walk.

The thought amused me, easing my tension. Mother heard my laugh, turned, and smiled before sitting at a small table bearing a tray of tea.

Roger and I joined her. Thoughtfully, Roger poured two cups of the hot, minty tea. Hesitating over the third cup, he raised an eyebrow at Mother. She laughed—a laugh that echoed my own rhythm and cadence—and I smiled.

“Yes, Roger,” she said, nodding toward the third cup. “I can’t drink the tea, but I appreciate the offering.”

Roger poured a cup for the Goddess and slid it across the table. He then added a sugar cube to my tea, knowing my preference, and sat back, hands folded.

“You’ve had a long journey, Cora,” Mother said warmly. “In more ways than one.”

“Yes,” I replied, smiling at the understatement. I looked down at my stomach, placing my hands on it and shaking my head. “A journey that’s raised…a lot of questions.”

“I understand,” she said. “It would bring me great joy to help you answer them, if I can.”

“How much do you know?” I asked, wondering if I needed to tell her I was pregnant.

“I know everything,” she said, smiling. “Your lives—and your hearts—are open to me. I’m very pleased you’ve found each other, little mates,” she added, using Roger’s pet name for me, a term she clearly knew. Turning to Roger, she continued, “though I would have preferred it sooner. I believe it would have saved you both considerable pain.”

Roger blushed and looked down. “Cora’s the smart one,” he sighed, glancing at me. “You should have sent her the vision.”

“She had other things to worry about,” the Goddess said easily. “You can’t leave everything to your mate.”

I laughed; Roger’s blush deepened, but his determined expression showed he didn't mean to be remiss.

Mother turned to me. “You wish to know about the child?” she asked gently.

“Yes,” I breathed, leaning forward. “Do you know? Is it…um…”

“Your child is perfectly healthy, Cora,” Mother said, looking at my stomach. “I can hear the heartbeat now. Your child is strong.”

Roger and I exhaled in relief. We suspected as much, but hearing it from a Goddess… Roger beamed and took my hand.

“Is—is my baby a wolf?” I asked, clutching Roger’s hand.

“Your baby is like you,” Mother said, watching me curiously.

I bit my lip, glancing at Roger, whose crestfallen expression mirrored my own disappointment. We’d both hoped for a wolf child. Not that I’d mind a human baby, but for Roger, for the child’s place in our family…

Mother’s laughter snapped our attention back to her.

“No, my daughter,” she said, smiling and shaking her head. “You misunderstand. It’s difficult to put into words…I don’t use them often.”

My heart pounded as she searched for the right term.

“The word you’d use,” she continued, still looking up, “might be hybrid? Your baby is…both human and wolf.”

I gasped. Roger looked between us, confused. “Really?” I asked, dropping Roger’s hand in my eagerness. “But you said—like me…”

The Goddess’s eyes returned to my face.

“Lovely Cora,” she said, smiling, “your child is a cross between human and wolf, but it’s not the first. You are.”

My mouth dropped open. I stared, trying to comprehend. My confusion made her laugh—not cruelly, but with the delighted amusement of a mother watching her child discover a great truth.

“Wh-what do you mean?” I whispered.

“You are human, Cora,” Mother said, leaning forward. “Your body is human—your father was human. But your mother—I am the Goddess of the moon, and of wolves, among other things.” She smiled as understanding dawned. “Your soul is that of a wolf, Cora. Can you not feel it?”

Silence followed before I stammered, “N-no,” looking down, then closing my eyes to search. But it wasn’t there.

“No,” I repeated, devastated. “Are you sure? Is there some mistake?”

“I am sure,” she said gently, studying me. She held out a hand. “Come to me, Cora.” I went to her, taking her hand, gasping at the tingling, starlight sensation of her skin.

“Close your eyes,” she said softly. “Let’s see if we can coax your little wolf to show her face.”

I closed my eyes, letting her energy flow through me like a stream, the sound of it in my mind a summoning, a welcome…

Suddenly, to my shock, a dark corner of my soul shyly uncurled, opening one eye and looking around hesitantly.

A cry escaped my lips as I recognized her instantly: my sweet, quiet wolf, who’d been hidden away, confused, unsure of her place. I recognized her instantly as myself.

My little wolf raised her dark snout, then slowly, half-eager, half-scared, began to rise.

Hey, I thought, reaching out mentally.

She quirked her ears. An eagerness crept into her expression.

Hi, she responded, awkwardly but wanting it. Wanting me.

I ran my mental hand over her soft brown fur.

I know you, she said, offering a wolfish smile. I like you. Can we run?

She nuzzled my hand, her mouth open in eager joy.

Yes, I whispered, laughing. Yes, we can.