Page 47

Before any of us could respond, he stepped backward into the corner of the room where the shadows were deepest. One moment he was there, solid and real; the next, the darkness seemed to fold around him like a cloak, and he vanished completely.

Sierra gasped beside me, her fingers tightening around mine.

"I'll never get used to how he does that," she murmured, a hint of her usual spirit returning to her voice.

I squeezed her hand gently, relieved to hear something other than terror in her tone. "He's showing off. I can do the same thing, but with far more style."

That earned me a weak smile, which I counted as a victory.

I snapped my fingers and we were taken to the bathroom adjoining Rowen’s suite in the Underworld.

The trembling that had wracked her body since she'd awakened from that nightmare had finally subsided, though her skin remained cooler than normal beneath my touch. Her silver hair hung in damp tangles around her face, and dark circles shadowed her eyes. She looked utterly exhausted.

"Come," I said softly. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Rowen nodded in agreement, his obsidian eyes never leaving Sierra's face. My half-brother might rule the underworld with an iron fist, but his concern for our mate was painfully evident in the tight set of his jaw and the way his tail continued to lash behind him.

"I'll make preparations for our research," he said. "Meet me in the courtyard when you're ready."

I guided Sierra to the adjoining bathroom, a cavernous space of black marble and gold fixtures that somehow managed to be both intimidating and luxurious. Everything in Rowen's realm reflected his nature: Dark, imposing, yet undeniably beautiful.

"Arms up," I instructed gently, helping Sierra out of the thin nightdress she wore. It was damp with cold sweat, clinging to her curves in a way that would have been enticing under any other circumstances.

She complied without argument, allowing me to undress her with the docility of a child. So unlike her usual fiery independence that it sent a fresh wave of concern through me. The Shadow Beast had shaken her to her core.

I shed my own clothes and led her into the shower, adjusting the water temperature until steam billowed around us. As the hot spray hit her skin, Sierra let out a soft sigh, some of the tension visibly leaving her shoulders.

"Better?" I asked, reaching for a bottle of jasmine-scented shampoo. Her favorite. It enhanced the subtle notes of her scent that were layered beneath the honey sweetness.

She nodded, eyes closing as I began to work the lather through her long silver strands. My fingers massaged her scalp, and I took my time, wanting to wash away not just the physical remnants of her terror, but the lingering psychic chill as well.

"Thank you," she murmured after a while, leaning back against my chest. "For believing me. For not thinking I'm crazy."

I pressed a kiss to her temple, tasting the clean sweetness of her skin beneath my lips. "Nothing about you is crazy, little one. Stubborn, yes. Impulsive, certainly. But never crazy."

That earned me another smile, stronger this time, and I felt a flicker of hope. My Sierra was still in there, beneath the fear.

"I keep seeing it," she confessed quietly as I rinsed the suds from her hair. "Every time I close my eyes. Those... limbs. That voice."

I turned her to face me, tilting her chin up so she had to meet my gaze. "Then keep your eyes open," I told her firmly. "Look at me instead. Look at Rowen, or Archer. We're real. That thing can't reach you while you're with us."

I hoped that was true. The uncertainty gnawed at me. A feeling I despised. In the centuries of my existence, I'd learned to calculate risks, to anticipate threats, to always maintain control. But this Shadow Beast was an unknown variable, and I hated unknowns almost as much as I hated seeing Sierra afraid.

We finished washing in companionable silence, the hot water doing its work to ease the physical symptoms of her ordeal. When we stepped out, I wrapped her in one of the ridiculously plush black towels and set about the task of drying her hair.

It was a ritual I'd come to enjoy in our time together. The simple, intimate act of caring for her. I combed through the silver strands with careful attention, using my fingers to work out the tangles where the comb might pull too harshly.

"You're good at that," Sierra commented as I braided her hair in a simple plait. "Not what I expected from the prince of the Fae Court. Well, I guess now you're the king."

I chuckled. "I've had many unexpected skills over the centuries. Hair braiding is among the more innocuous ones. My father was one of eight siblings so I have a lot of cousins I've helped keep an eye on over the years."

She turned to face me when I finished, some of the old light returning to her eyes. "Will you tell me about them sometime? And the less innocuous talents?"

"Perhaps." I brushed my thumb across her lower lip, feeling the cool metal of her piercings. "When we're not hunting shadow monsters."

I helped her dress in simple comfort. Soft leggings, an oversized sweater that hung off one shoulder, and warm socks. In Rowen's realm, there was no need for court finery or the elaborate glamours of the Fae world. It was one of the few things I genuinely appreciated about my brother's domain. That freedom from pretense.

I dressed similarly in dark pants and a loose shirt, forgoing shoes. I never wore them if I could help it. I'd spent too many centuries confined in the rigid finery of the Fae Court; here, at least, I could feel the cool stone beneath my feet, another small freedom I cherished.