Spring showers bring summer flowers. Whoever had come up with that saying deserved a well-aimed blow to the head with claws outstretched. It was such a cutesy, ridiculous idiom—and it had never made sense to Kirastasia. First of all, there already were flowers in spring. Plenty of them. Blooming in vibrant rainbows across the land, blossoms doused the air with their sweet perfume and dusted the ground with their delicate petals. Not a single terrain within this world could escape the joyous abundance of new plant life; even in the red rocks that stretched toward Crith Thalmhainn and the dead Aecs, cacti plumped up and grasses waved in the breeze. Come summer, many of those flowers would be long devoured by the mud. Thicker jungle lushness would swallow their graves. Whatever petals unfurled then would be the hearty kind that lasted until autumn’s chill, and Kira didn’t think that the early rains of spring had any say in how successful those flowers were.

The fact that it was pouring enough to fill the ocean twice really just pissed her off.

The day had just greeted the dawn—and yet no one would know that, because the sky was the same bleak dark grey it had been hours ago. It may as well have been late afternoon. Or evening. Thunder rumbled and cracked and tumbled its way through the heavens, oppressive and loud, chasing after flashes of blinding lightning. When Kira squinted through the rain—which fell in droplets as big as robin’s eggs—she found clouds churning quickly past each other, writhing as if with pain. Ha! She could relate to that, at least. For all that she hated this weather, it accurately reflected the storm boiling inside her. Her thoughts were the black thunderheads crashing into one another like waves, eating all light before it hit the forest; her emotions were the rain, a never-ending tide coming to drown her; her pangs were the lightning, arcing white-hot and quick with each new contraction. The pups growing in her womb had reached the limits of their confined space. She could feel their little limbs kicking this way and that, eager to be free. Her pain had started just before sunrise, and right as the tempest broke wide open over Blossom Forest. Congratulations, mother-to-be. Have some miserable weather to celebrate the arrival of your babies.

A vicious snarl rippled from Kira’s throat, more appropriate for facing down an enemy than shaking dampness from her sodden fur. Water streamed down each scaled limb, the rainbow-shining armor sparkling even brighter despite the mud clinging to her paws. When another contraction gripped her, that snarl flattened into a pitiful whine that made the tundra damsel’s jaw clench. She had no idea how many pups to expect this time . . . but her abdomen seemed much bigger than it had with her first litter. That time, she’d produced three healthy Tempests. This time . . . what on earth would they be? Their mother wore snakeskin, their fathers wore antlers and feathers. Would they look like her, or like them? Would they get any mutations at all? Kirastasia had never seen a baby mutant before . . . magic wouldn’t have deformed her litter, right?

Another snarl, this one quieter, rattled her teeth. No. She wouldn’t think like that. This litter was supposed to fix everything. Her offspring would be beautiful, and healthy, and the most perfect pups in the world. They’d be even better than her Tempest set. And when they grew up, and she looked into their eyes . . . there would be something of her there that she could see—not that overwhelming luminescent blue that shone bright as a star. She simply had to find a den to welcome these pups into, where all of them could be safe . . . and she could think about what to do from there.

Kira needed a plan. Because she wasn’t going to Wudubearo to give birth.

Almost of their own accord, her mire-splashed paws had started taking her in the direction of a different pack, the one that used to be her birthplace: Caidir Olc. She knew it wasn’t Malignant Felicity. Not anymore. Actually, Kirastasia had no idea what to expect as she trekked up the mountains, following a worn path toward the hidden valley territory. Some said that Caidir was like a rainforest—which meant it shared more in common with the old Malignant than she’d hoped. Others whispered about a den of vampires . . . the real kind, those with blazing red eyes that the Tempests hunted. Kira scoffed at those rumors. Even if they were true, what did it matter to her? No sunlight broke through the atmosphere, but surely no leeches would attack her . . . surely their hunger would not be tempted by a fae so pregnant that she waddled when she walked.

She had to crest a few hills and sidle town a thinner path to finally reach what must have been Caidir’s border. By this time, the waterproof properties of her outer coat had failed her; the white lady was soaked to the bone, each bulge and curve of her frame painfully obvious even from a distance. Only the close-clustered branches of wide-leaved trees managed to keep her from the storm’s worst onslaught—and even then, water plinked and poured from above as those leaves grew too heavy to hold it. Kira felt miserable, wet, and tired. She was going to expel these damned spawn any moment now. Panting, out of breath, the femme turned her chocolate-brindled face upward and sang a song of greeting, requesting entry to the pack. And if they did not answer her right away? Hell. She’d dig a hole somewhere along their wall, and squeeze these little devils out there.