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And that was for half-angels.

What would happen to Sierra, with her quarter-angel blood coming from one of the most powerful angels in existence? Would she survive it? Would we be enough to help her through it?

But she was an omega. What role did that play in the fates' plans?

The uncertainty was eating me alive. For the first time in centuries, I felt utterly useless. All my skills, fighting, killing, infiltration, meant nothing against this invisible enemy attacking Sierra from within.

I reached for another tome, this one bound in what looked like petrified wood. Its pages were translucent, like insect wings, and crackled beneath my fingertips. I'd been avoiding this particular text because of its fragility, but desperation was winning out over caution.

My mother's face flashed in my mind, not as I'd last seen her, worn down by centuries of servitude and regret, but as Sierra had described her from the dream-state.Lovely, Sierra had called her. With eyes just like mine. Something tightened in my chest at the thought.

Where was my mother now? Was she truly with Azrael in that in-between place? And why hadn't she ever mentioned her connection to one of the most powerful angels in creation?

I supposed I'd never given her much chance. Our infrequent meetings had been stilted, awkward things. She'd been too traumatized by my father's manipulations to be a real mother, and I'd been too angry at her apparent abandonment to be a real son. Another relationship I'd fucked up beyond repair.

I turned another delicate page, scanning the ancient angelic script for any mention of quarter-blooded offspring. There had to be something here. Some precedent, some solution, some way to ensure Sierra's survival.

Because the alternative was unthinkable.

In the short time since she'd entered our lives, Sierra had become essential to me in ways I couldn't fully articulate. Her silver hair fanned across my chest as she slept. The small, contented sounds she made when I kissed that sensitive spot just below her ear. The fearless way she challenged Rowen when he was being unreasonable. The understanding in her eyes when she looked at me—really looked at me—as if she saw all the broken, jagged pieces and wanted them anyway.

The thought of losing her made my chest constrict so painfully I could barely breathe.

And then there were the others. For centuries, Rowen had been my only constant—the closest thing to family I'd ever known. But now, our circle had expanded. My relationship with Rowen's mate was... complicated, intense, and surprisingly essential. The four of us together formed something I'd never dared hope for—a family. My family.

I couldn't lose them. Not when I'd just found them.

My vision blurred, and I realized I was trembling with exhaustion. When was the last time I'd slept? Forty-eight hours ago? More? I couldn't afford weakness now. Not with the clock ticking down relentlessly toward Sierra's twenty-ninth birthday.

I forced my eyes to focus on the text before me, my finger tracing the elaborate script. The ancient language was difficulteven at the best of times, and my current state made translation even harder. Still, I persisted, translating one word at a time.

Quarter-blood... celestial... maturation... binding...

The words swam before my eyes, rearranging themselves into meaningless patterns. I blinked hard, trying to clear my vision. This was important. I needed to understand this. Sierra's life might depend on it.

Binding through... consummation... power transference...

There was something here. Something crucial. I could feel it hovering just beyond my comprehension. If I could just stay awake a little longer, push a little harder...

I didn't hear the footsteps approaching. Didn't notice anything until a soft knock broke through my concentration. I looked up, blinking against the sudden intrusion.

Sierra stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. The soft glow of the corridor lights behind her cast a halo around her silver hair. She wore one of my shirts, the fabric hanging loose on her smaller frame, the hem hitting her mid-thigh. Her bare legs seemed to go on forever despite her petite stature.

Even exhausted as I was, my body responded to the sight of her. Some primal part of me recognizing her asmine.

"Archer," she said softly, her voice carrying across the library. "It's three in the morning."

Was it? I had no idea. Time had ceased to have meaning hours—or was it days?—ago.

"I'm working," I replied, my voice rough from disuse. I gestured vaguely at the books spread before me. "There's something here about binding and power transference during maturation. It might help with your heat."

Sierra stepped fully into the library, padding toward me on bare feet. As she drew closer, I could see the strain on her face, the lingering pain from her latest bout of cramps, the worry thathad become her constant companion. Yet somehow, she still looked at me with tenderness that made my chest ache.

"You haven't slept in two days," she said, stopping beside my chair. She reached out, her fingers gently brushing the dark circles I knew must be under my eyes. "You haven't eaten either, have you?"

I caught her wrist, pressing my lips to her palm. The scent of her, honey and that new electric undertone, filled my senses. "I'm fine. This is more important."

"No, it's not," she said firmly. She tugged her hand free and held it out to me. "Come to bed, Archer. I'm not taking no for an answer."