As she did, she reached deep into the ground beneath her. Nothing, no magic left there. The well was dry.

But there was the creature itself, a being of life and earth, no matter how rare or aberrant. As her mind raced over the thought, weighing possibilities, she braced herself, watching it arrow down toward her.

The triple gaping maw of teeth was open, the talons extended. Dropping to a squat, she bit back a moan at the fire that shot up her wounded leg. She had no speed, and even at her best, she didn't have enough strength. It didn't matter. She'd depend on her mind. It had always been her best weapon, coupled with her unstoppable determination to win.

Since Rex's murder, Thomas's death, the Delilah virus and the Council's betrayal, she'd been fighting that damn lassitude. What Jacob had feared was the onset of the Ennui. But suddenly, out here in a barren desert, closer to death than she'd ever been—which, given her precarious life, was saying something— that determination unfolded inside her, like a treasure that had merely been waiting for her to unwrap and remember she possessed it.

She wasn't leaving her boys alone, come hell or high water. Or deserts, Fae queens and sand serpents. Kane and Jacob needed her, and she needed them. She wasn't going to lose this fight; she didn't care what Fate or the law of averages told her about her chances. In the cruel irony that fate often offered, it was truly facing her own inevitable death that gave her a renewed resolve to live.

Looking up into the face of the creature as it swooped down upon her, she got a ful face of its fetid breath as it screamed. She screamed back. As she did, she saw the masticated body part of one of her pursuers stuck in the back row of teeth.

Then she ducked and flung herself at its right claw.

As the creature closed the talons around her, caging her, she put both hands on the creature's ankle, thick as a young tree trunk. The talons stabbed her like five knives, but she focused, focused, focused.

Feeling her magic, the serpentlike beast launched itself again rather than immediately tearing her apart, a vital advantage. High above the earth, dizzying, turning. She pul ed the energy from inside that creature, pul ed hard. Earth, creation, all of it there, all magic she could use. She could turn it to her will , it didn't matter that her strength was flagging, that there were hazy bands of color shooting across her vision like flashing stars broken free from a rainbow.

Two of the talons had hit major organs, because she could feel her body stuttering, losing her grip, her focus.

No. She snarled again, fought it, fought the inevitable. She was not going to be torn apart. She was not going to die like that. Bringing the magic together with the creature's energy, she didn't attempt to control or direct it. She let it go like a suicide bomber tossing an incendiary up over her head and watching it drop with wild, mindless insanity.

The sand serpent, already capable of a symphony of disturbing cries, let out a shriek that pierced her bones, made them ache. The beast shuddered in the air, faltered. Hazarding a look down, she realized they were several hundred feet in the air. She managed a grim half chuckle. The least of her problems, truly. Hanging on to a corner of the magic, she clutched the serpent's ankle as its talons released, her blood painting every claw. Adrenaline pumped through her, making everything numb.

“Damn it, work,” she growled. She yel ed it, gripped that ankle for all she was worth. And beneath her grip, it began to change.

At first it looked like it was turning to stone, a gray tint running up the creature's leg, all the way to the skeletal features and the wings, freezing them in place. As they began to tumble out of the sky, that horrible screech came from its throat again. A terrible shudder and the beast exploded in midair, the inside coming outside, yanked there by her will .

Unfortunately, it left nothing to hold. She plummeted to earth among sharp shards of bone, gouts of blood and muscle, and a hailstorm of tiny sand stone, perhaps something it used for its digestion.

A piece of the wing slapped her face, cutting it open. She seized it. She was too close to the ground for it to slow her fal much, but it did help. That, coupled with the last scrap of magic she could command to summon air currents to fil it and slow her descent. As a result, she hit with a dul , bone jarring thud, instead of snapping her spine and paralyzing herself.

She lay there for long moments, wondering if she was about to die. She couldn't seem to move, though that could be her body's way of asking for a few moments to col ect itself from the huge power drain of the energy summoning, the blood loss from her leg, or the multiple stab wounds in her upper body. Or the fact she had one enormous, pounding headache. Probably from sunburn.

She hoped that would heal. If she had to emerge from this experience with permanently blistered, unattractive skin, she might choose to die here, with sincere apologies to Jacob and Kane. Family was one thing, a woman's vanity was entirely another. It almost made her smile, remembering how she'd teased Jacob about that not too long ago, at another equal y grim moment, when she'd had the Delilah virus.

How many times could she almost die before the Grim Reaper got tired of showing up at the door, only to find she wasn't ready? She hoped at least one more. But she was tired, and she had a plummeting feeling she had no more strength.

Perhaps if she just lay here a moment or two more, she could continue. Putting her hand to her chest, she felt a vague sense of alarm. The rose wasn't there. She twisted her head, gasping at the pain.

She was surrounded by the debris of an exploding sand monster. It could be anywhere. She looked in the other direction, managed to rol to her side.

There . . . was that a flash of red?

Her lips pul ed back in a twisted half smile. As she did, she tasted her own blood and that of the creature she'd kil ed. She'd laugh if it wouldn't hurt so badly. There was her pack, the rose laying neatly upon the top of it as if it had been placed there by a fussy maître d' at a restaurant.

And right next to it was a dried-up rose bush, the sun glittering off the red stone only half buried beneath it.

Her serpent monster had turned out to be a blessing in disguise. In its twisting arc through the sky, it had probably carried her several miles toward her destination, closing that last gap.

Blessings do exist here. In their usual, quite ironic way.

At the entrance to the desert portal, Keldwyn swung off his horse, gesturing to Jacob to draw close as he unhooked a saddle bag, tossed it to him. “More weapons, water.” Pul ing a pendant from his neck, he dropped it over his head. “This makes a ten foot perimeter of invisibility around you, so you will not be slowed down by enemies. It's a limited enchantment, a smal magic that won't last much longer than a day or two. I don't suspect you'l require more than that, however. Either your mind connection will bring you quickly to her side to help her finish the quest within the proscribed time period, or you will be dead.” He then pul ed out a seal that, as he chanted several words, started to glow red hot. “To get in, you must have the brand of the desert prisoner. It is tailored for Fae blood only, so after I mark you with it, you need to make all haste down that tunnel, because, being vampire, you will heal it rapidly.”

“And to get out?”

“That requires an executor on the outside. When Lyssa has what Rhoswen wants, that door will open.

Her possession of Reghan's soul essence will all ow her to exit. The lack of the brand should all ow you to do so, if you maintain contact with her.”

“Should?”

Keldwyn lifted a shoulder. “Take your chances, vampire. Unless you are suffering a sudden attack of faintheartedness.”

In answer, Jacob extended his hand. His skin was crawling, tingling, every muscle quivering with the need to go, to get through that tunnel and find her.

She needed him, now. Actual y, she'd needed him now an hour ago. “Do it.”

“I will bide here for a time, and leave runners when I must go, in case you need assistance when you emerge with her.”

“I stil don't trust you,” Jacob said, locking gazes with him. “But thank you.”

“I'm sure you are aware that thanking a Fae is an insult.”

When Jacob merely showed fangs, Keldwyn's lips quirked. “You are correct not to trust me, vampire. It's best not to trust anyone.” Gripping his wrist to steady the canvas he was about to mark, Keldwyn jammed the brand against the top of Jacob's hand.

Jacob shuddered, clenching the hand holding the saddlebag and his own pack. It was urgency more than pain, as well as a spurt of rage that they'd done this to his lady. When Keldwyn lifted the brand, he bolted for that darkness.

He couldn't see, an unusual thing for a vampire, but he stil ran ful tilt forward, assuming that the desert world was hungry for its victims and wouldn't trip him up. It didn't, not until the end, when he stumbled, rol ed out of pitch darkness and into blinding day, right into the base of a cactus.

“Ow, fuck.” Yanking the needles free that had driven into his side, he pul ed out the cowled robe Keldwyn had packed for him. Though it was brutal y hot, the sun reflecting the white and ecru landscape like a mirror flashing in his eyes, he wasn't bursting into flames. So far, so good. He squinted, pul ed the hood farther over his brow to help cut the glare, then took a closer look at that cactus.

The twisted, distorted shape was eerily familiar. It looked as if it had once been a different being, something humanlike, now forever caught inside the succulent. Two others near it had the same look. He bared his fangs in a savage grin. His lady had been here all right. But that same thought sobered him.

She'd had to hit the ground fighting. He studied the landscape, turning slowly to make sure tricks of the light and reflected sand didn't make him miss anything. There. He saw a blot that might have been another set of cacti, then farther on, something like a pile of sticks. A staggering but distinct line of direction, stretching away to the horizon.

Fuck. Panic gripped him as he realized he stil couldn't hear her. More than that, he wasn't feeling that buzz of connection that should have been there.

Lyssa? Lyssa, where are you? Help me find you.