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“You’ve connected with her?” I already knew the answer so I wasn’t sure why I asked. Other than to make him say it out loud.

Rowen pinned me with an arched eyebrow stare. That was my answer.

“She’s different,” I commented as I explored his thoughts about her.

She had to be around thirteen years old. Born to a family of witches, she was abnormally gifted with the power to communicate with the dead.

In fact, they were drawn to her.

Even demons and other paranormal had been drawn to her as well. She was like a beacon in our otherwise dark and bleak world.

“That’s exactly what I thought too,” Rowen confessed and my eyes snapped open to take in the open honesty reflected through his expression.

“We have to protect her.” I surprised myself with the depth of my conviction. My voice was hoarse, my thoughts whirling at what this little girl may mean for our realm.

“You already know what I’m thinking.”

I nodded.

Because I knew as well as Rowen did that an omega who possessed magic was the only creature who could birth a demon lord. Or a lord of any other bloodline. Fae. Angel. It didn't matter what.

Something that all the unmated lords of Hell, and even lord of other realms— would be vying over.

5

Rowen

Callum let out a heavy breath as Archer took Sierra and portaled her into our realm of Hell. "Really, brother?" He drawled. "Did you think I wouldn't notice what he was doing?"

The mask of indifference remained on my face, even though I was fuming on the inside. My tail twitched against my will, betraying some of my inner turmoil, but Callum would probably just interpret that as an outward sign of aggression rather than the complicated mess of emotions churning beneath my obsidian eyes.

Although, being raised with him until we were close to twenty-one years old, he was the only being other than Archer that actually knew me beneath my hardened demon lord exterior. He'd seen me in moments of weakness I'd never show another soul, not even my most trusted guards.

Except Archer.

I shrugged, continuing to try and feign nonchalance while flexing my claws against my palm. "Why don't you tell me why you're here and why you've drawn my attention?" The coolness in my voice was practiced over centuries, a tool as essential to ruling as my throne.

Because I knew that he wanted to speak with me privately. That would be the only reason why he'd allowed Archer to take Sierra away without pursuing them. My half-brother never relinquished anything he wanted without purpose.

"Our mother is dead."

With one sentence it felt as if the world fell out from under me, as if the very foundations of Hell had cracked open beneath my feet. "What?" I gasped, my carefully constructed facade crumbling instantly.

Callum and I had different fathers, both royal jackasses with inflated egos and territorial streaks wider than the River Styx, but our mother was a powerful priestess and viewed as one of the most powerful magic users in all the realms. An omega the likes of which hadn’t been seen since. She had been untouchable. Immortal, or so I'd believed.

For a brief time, she'd been in a ménage relationship with both our fathers. It lasted all of a decade, both Callum and I were a result of the Union, but with different blood fathers. I could still remember the way she'd sing ancient incantations as lullabies, her magic flowing through our childhood home like a gentle current.

My mother had remained with Callum's father after my father died in battle, defending their relationship and the proposed joining of our kingdoms. I still had the ceremonial blade my father had carried into his final fight—locked away where I wouldn't have to look at it. It was too painful.

The other realms couldn't stand for that union. We'd gain too much power, they feared. Although that had never been the intention. Our fathers and mother loved each other dearly—a rarity in royal circles where marriages were typically political contracts sealed with blood and magic.

Callum ground his jaw together; the gesture all too familiar—that same tense flex of muscle I'd watched a thousand timeswhen we were younger. "Two nights ago. An invasion trying to get to my father." He swallowed, pain flickering behind his pale green eyes so like his father's. A man who had been as close to me as my own father until they left me.

"Is he?—?"

The question hung in the air between us, heavier than the chains that bound the ancient titans in the deepest pits of my realm.

"Wounded, but still alive. Barely." Callum sank down onto the bench of the picnic table behind him, his usually perfect posture crumbling. "His magic is depleted and his soul is wanting to join Mother on the other side."