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When it subsided, I gently placed my father's hand back on his chest. I leaned forward and pressed my forehead to his, one last moment of connection.

"Goodbye," I whispered. "Give Mother my love."

Then I straightened, squared my shoulders, and turned to face a realm that was now mine to protect. Mine to rebuild. Mine to unite with others.

Outside the windows, the first leaves on the dying trees turned green again, responding to a new king's power.

And somewhere, in a different realm entirely, I could feel Sierra—a bright pulse of connection that I would follow across worlds.

8

Sierra

Iwoke up disoriented, my mind foggy with sleep and something else—something hotter, more insistent. The sheets beneath me felt like silk against my bare skin, but they weren't mine. The pillow cradling my head carried a scent that made my insides clench with want. Masculine. Dangerous. Familiar.

Archer.

My eyes fluttered open to take in unfamiliar surroundings. Dark wood paneling lined walls that stretched up to a vaulted ceiling. Heavy crimson drapes blocked most of the light, casting the massive bedroom in a sultry glow. The bed I was sprawled across could have comfortably fit six people.

Memories from the previous night flooded back. Archer carrying me through shadows, his arms strong and secure around me. Rowen's obsidian eyes watching me with possession and hunger. Their voices, deep and soothing, promising me everything would be alright.

"You're in the underworld now, little necromancer," Rowen had said. "You're safe here."

Safe. I almost laughed at the word. I didn't feel safe. I felt... on fire.

I turned my face into Archer's pillow, inhaling deeply. His scent, like dark forests and steel and something uniquely him. wrapped around me like a physical touch. God, it was intoxicating. I pressed my thighs together, suddenly aware of the slick heat pooling between them.

"Fuck," I whispered, burying my face deeper into his pillow.

Something was happening to me. Something primal and urgent. Every nerve ending in my body felt hypersensitive, like my skin was one trigger away from burning up. Was this what Gran had meant when she'd warned me about my heat? The mating heat that would come for me when I turned twenty-nine?

I'd laughed it off as another one of her superstitions. Now, as need clawed through my insides like a living thing, I wasn't laughing anymore.

I rolled onto my back, the sheet sliding away to expose my naked body to the cool air. When had I taken off my clothes? I couldn't remember. All I knew was that the caress of air against my nipples made them tighten almost painfully. I ran my hands over my flushed skin, my own touch both a relief and a torment.

"Gran, you could have been more specific about what this feels like," I muttered to the empty room.

No ghosts appeared to answer me. That was unusual. For as long as I could remember, the dead had always been near, watching over me, protecting me. But here, in the underworld, perhaps even they couldn't reach me.

I was alone with this building inferno.

My fingers slid lower, over the slight swell of my stomach, tracing the curve of my hip. I was so wet already, so ready. For what, and for who, I wasn't entirely sure. Images flashed through my mind: Archer's ice-blue eyes darkening with lust, Rowen's obsidian gaze consuming me, both of them touching me, claiming me.

A whimper escaped my lips as my fingers found my clit, already swollen and desperate for attention.

The bedroom door swung open.

I froze, my hand still between my thighs, my eyes widening as Archer stepped into the room. His dark hair was tied back, exposing the sharp angles of his face. Those ice-blue eyes locked onto mine, then dropped to where my hand disappeared between my legs.

"Fuck me," he breathed, the two words sounding like both a curse and a prayer.

Heat flooded my cheeks, but I couldn't bring myself to move my hand. If anything, the pressure of my fingers against my clit intensified as he watched.

"I can smell you," Archer's voice dropping an octave as he closed the door behind him. "Your slick. It's driving me insane."

He moved closer, each step deliberate, predatory. The daggers strapped to his thighs glinted in the dim light. I should have been frightened—a dangerous assassin stalking toward me while I lay naked and vulnerable on his bed. Instead, anticipation coiled tighter in my belly.

"How long have you been awake?" he asked, stopping at the foot of the bed.