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I nodded, allowing Rowen to help me drink more water. The bottle was soon empty, and I sighed in relief as the cool liquid soothed my abused throat.

"Bath?" I asked hopefully, looking down at my body. I was a mess—covered in dried sweat, cum, and who knew what else. My skin felt tacky and uncomfortable, my hair a tangled disaster.

"Of course," Rowen said, setting the empty bottle aside. Before I could protest, he'd scooped me into his arms as if I weighed nothing, cradling me against his broad chest.

"I can walk," I objected weakly, even as I nestled closer to his warmth.

"You can barely move," he countered, carrying me toward the bathroom. "Let me take care of you."

The massive bathroom was already prepared, the sunken tub filled with steaming water that smelled faintly of lavender and eucalyptus. Rowen had planned ahead, anticipating my needs before I'd even awakened.

He lowered me into the water with surprising gentleness, and I couldn't suppress a moan of pleasure as the heat enveloped my sore muscles. Rowen knelt beside the tub, rolling up his sleeves before reaching for a soft cloth and soap.

"You don't have to—" I began, but he silenced me with a look.

"Let me," he said simply, and there was something in his voice that made further argument impossible.

I surrendered to his ministrations, closing my eyes as he began to wash me with careful, thorough movements. He started with my face, wiping away the evidence of tears and sweat, then moved to my neck, working his way down my body with methodical attention.

There was nothing sexual about his touch, only tender care that made my chest ache with emotion. This was Rowen, the feared ruler of the underworld, washing my body with the reverence one might show a priceless artifact.

"I remember bits and pieces," I murmured as he lifted one of my arms to wash it. "The heat... it was like being lost in a fog. Everything was sensation and need."

"You were magnificent," Rowen said, his voice low and serious. "Even in the depths of your heat, you never truly lost yourself. You were always our Sierra."

I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes, touched by his words. "Did I... did I do anything embarrassing?"

A rare, genuine laugh escaped him. "Besides begging all three of us to fuck you senseless? Or demanding we fill you with our cum until you overflowed? Or the time you?—"

"Okay, okay," I interrupted, feeling heat rise to my cheeks that had nothing to do with the bath. "I get the picture."

Rowen's smile remained as he continued washing me, his large hands impossibly gentle as they moved over my tender skin. I noticed bruises and bite marks scattered across my body, evidence of the passion we'd shared.

"You're marked all over," he observed, tracing a particularly vivid bruise on my hip with his thumb. "Mostly Callum's work. He got a bit... enthusiastic."

I smiled despite my embarrassment. "I don't mind. I like carrying the marks. It makes me feel..." I searched for the right word. "Claimed. Protected."

Something possessive flashed in Rowen's eyes. "You are claimed. Thoroughly." His hand moved to my neck, where I knew all three of them had left their marks. "No one will ever doubt who you belong to now."

He helped me wash my hair next, his strong fingers massaging my scalp with just the right pressure. I practically purred under his attention, the last of the tension draining from my body.

When I was finally clean, Rowen helped me from the bath, wrapping me in a massive fluffy towel before drying me with the same careful attention he'd shown while washing me. He slipped one of his shirts over my head, the fabric swallowing my smallerframe, and I breathed in his scent, finding comfort in being surrounded by it.

"Better?" he asked, his eyes searching my face.

I nodded, leaning forward to press a kiss to his jaw. "Thank you."

Despite my protests that I could walk, Rowen insisted on carrying me back to the bedroom and then to the kitchen. I gave up arguing and simply enjoyed being cradled against his chest, my head resting on his shoulder.

The kitchen was filled with the mouthwatering scent of breakfast when we arrived. Callum stood at the stove, his back to us as he flipped pancakes with practiced ease. Archer sat at the table, a mug of coffee cradled between his hands.

Archer looked up as we entered, his ice-blue eyes warming at the sight of me. "There she is," he said, rising to his feet. He crossed the room in a few quick strides, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore," I admitted with a small smile. "But good. Really good."

"She's hungry," Rowen informed them, carrying me to the table.

Instead of setting me in my own chair, Archer pulled me onto his lap as soon as Rowen released me. I settled against him, enjoying the solid warmth of his body against mine.