“Heart to heart, light to light.” Sasha struggled not to fall as the vision flowed through her. “This moment in all the moments in all the worlds. Risk the storm, ride the storm, and open the curtain.”

“Doing my best here.” Teeth gritted, Riley wrenched the wheel, doing what she could to ride the mad curl of the next wave. And with her heart, and her faith, in her throat, set course for the waterspout.

Madness. Like an uncontrolled shift, a dive off a cliff. The whirling water caught them, spun them. She lost her grip on the wheel, nearly went flying before she managed to curl the fingers of one hand on the wheel again.

She glanced at Sasha, back braced, arms cradling stars like babies, and her face luminous with their light. “The guardians ride the storm, guided by the stars. The curtain opens, the storm dies. The sword strikes. And it is done.”

“Your mouth to all the gods’ ears,” Riley screamed. “Because I can’t hold it much longer.”

“Look, Daughter of Glass, and see.”

Dizzy, half sick, Riley squinted through the wall of water, the sheering wind.

It gleamed. Clear, shining, still in a beam of moonlight. The door to another world.

When the bow pitched up, she clung to the wheel, looked back.

Doyle stood in water nearly to his knees. Sawyer all but sat in it as he braced his feet against a bench and fired at the Cerberus.

“I can’t get a shot at her,” he shouted as Bran struck lightning against her shield and Annika attacked the beast.

“I can.” Doyle leaped onto the bench even as the sea rocked. He struck the Cerberus, all but cleaving the center head.

And his sword met Nerezza’s with a clang that shook the air.

Shook the worlds.

One of the heads snapped out toward him, and met Bran’s lightning. Doyle thought nothing of it, nothing of the mad sea, the gunfire, the slash of power.

His eyes, his thoughts, his all centered on Nerezza, and the need that had lived in him for centuries to end her.

He feinted, saw the triumph in her eyes as her blade slid past his guard, gashed his shoulder.

And on that triumph, he thrust his sword into her heart.

Those mad eyes wheeled with shock. Her shriek joined the third head’s howl as Sawyer’s next bullet hit home.

She fought to fly up, escape, but with the beast, she tumbled into the black, boiling sea, and was swallowed.

With her fall, the storm died. Stunned and breathless, Riley guided the boat through the door where the Island of Glass floated like a quiet dream.

Then she collapsed.

“Riley!”

At Sasha’s call, Doyle whirled, bloodied sword raised.

“No, no, it’s the moon. It’s changed. And so am I. Damn it, damn it.”

“I’ve got her. Somebody start bailing or we’ll sink before we make shore.” Doyle dropped down, helped Riley pull off the slicker, her sweater.

“I’ve got you.” He pressed his lips to her temple as she began to change. “I’ve got you, ma faol.”

She let it take her, let him lift her above the swamped deck. And when they glided to shore as if over a quiet lake, she let him carry her to the beach where she took her first steps on the island as a wolf.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

In all her life, Riley had never regretted her lycan blood. She’d never cursed the moon or resented the change. But finding herself standing on the Island of Glass, a place of mystery and magicks, of age beyond the knowing, and not being able to speak had her cursing the damn timing.

She smelled flowers and citrus, sea and sand, the cool green of grasses, smoke from torches flanking a path winding up a high hill where a castle stood, shining silver, beaming with light. Felt the warm, soft breeze—a balm over the chilly wet.

And the desperate need to run as the feral energy of the change churned inside her. She quivered with it even as Doyle crouched beside her, a hand light on her neck.

“Don’t run, not yet.”

Instinct, intellect crashed and clashed inside her, yet another battle. But his eyes, strong and green, held her still. Then she braced, muscles coiled, prepared to attack and defend and she scented something . . . other.

Beside her Doyle reached for his sword.

They flowed from dark to light, the moon goddesses of Sasha’s vision and art. Still gripping his sword, Doyle straightened. Bran laid a hand on his arm.

“Sheath your sword, mo chara. They’re of the light. Can’t you feel it?”

“Just how do you say hi to a god?” Sawyer wondered. “I mean one who’s not trying to kill you.”

Annika solved the puzzle by running forward, wet braid flying. “Hello! We’re so happy! You’re so beautiful. You look like my mother, and like Móraí. Like the pictures Sasha drew. We’re very wet, and, oh, I have some blood.” As if brushing lint from a lapel, Annika rubbed at the blood on her arm. “I’m sorry we’re so messy.”

“That’s one way,” Sawyer murmured.

Luna smiled. “You are very welcome here, Sons and Daughters of Glass.” And she laid a hand on Annika’s arm, healed the gash as she kissed her cheek.

“Oh, thank you. We brought the stars for you. Sasha has them. She has some blood, too. And Sawyer—he’s my mate. And Bran has blood and burns. The moon is full here, so Riley had to change very fast to her wolf. And this is Doyle. He stabbed Nerezza with his sword and she fell into the sea. Now the fighting is done, and we’re here. I have such happy.”