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"What's troubling you, my omega?" he asked, though I suspected he already knew.

I nestled against his chest, drawing comfort from his steady heartbeat. "Archer won't talk to me. Won't talk to any of us. He's barricaded himself in that library with those damn books, and I'm worried about him."

Rowen's hand stroked my back in soothing circles. "He's trying to protect us the only way he knows how."

"By shutting us out?" I shook my head. "That's not protection, that's... martyrdom."

"It's both," Rowen said quietly. "Archer has always carried the weight of duty heavily. And now he faces losing what he's only just found."

"We all do," I reminded him, looking up to meet his obsidian eyes. "But we're supposed to be facing it together."

Rowen sighed, his breath warm against my forehead. "I'm worried about him too, Sierra. But pushing him won't help. All we can do right now is support each other and be ready when he's willing to let us in."

I twisted a strand of his hair around my finger, finding comfort in the simple gesture. "I hate feeling so powerless. Like we're just waiting for the executioner's axe to fall."

"You are far from powerless," Rowen stated firmly. "Your magic grows stronger every day."

"Not strong enough to fight this." The admission tasted bitter on my tongue.

"Perhaps not alone," he conceded. "But together?" His eyes held mine. "I've lived for centuries, Sierra, and I've never felt anything as powerful as what flows between the four of us."

I rested my head against his shoulder, considering his words. Sitting in Rowen's lap, surrounded by his scent and warmth, a different kind of need was building within me.

"Rowen," I whispered, shifting to face him more fully. "I need you to help me forget, just for a little while."

His eyes darkened, lust flickering in the depths as I felt his power curl around me. "Forget what, precisely?"

"Everything. The Shadow Beast. The prophecy. The choice hanging over our heads." I pressed closer, feeling the heat of his body through our clothes. "I can't explain it, but there's this feeling in the pit of my stomach. Not my heat, exactly, but... I need you. Need all of you."

To emphasize my point, I leaned forward and inhaled deeply at his neck, drawing his scent into my lungs. The familiar notes of sandalwood, smoke, and something uniquely Rowen filled me, stoking the fire building low in my belly.

"Please," I murmured against his skin before grazing my teeth lightly over the strong column of his throat.

A low growl rumbled through his chest, and his hands tightened on my hips. "Careful, little witch. You're playing with fire."

I nipped harder at his neck, a deliberate provocation. "Maybe I want to burn."

In one fluid motion, Rowen flipped our positions, pressing me into the couch cushions with the weight of his body. His eyes had gone completely black, no white visible at all, and the points of his fangs gleamed as he spoke.

"Is this what you want?" he asked, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that sent shivers down my spine. "To be dominated? Controlled? To surrender that clever mind of yours to sensation?"

"Yes," I breathed, arching against him. "Make me forget my own name."

His smile was predatory as he captured both my wrists in one large hand, pinning them above my head. "As you wish."

Rowen's free hand traced down my body, following the curve of my breast, the dip of my waist, the flare of my hip. Even through my clothes, his touch left a trail of fire in its wake.

"You think I don't know what you're doing?" he murmured, his lips hovering just above mine. "Using pleasure to escape your fears? You ask us to make you forget.”

I tried to kiss him, but he pulled back just enough to deny me. "Is it working?" I asked breathlessly.

"Not yet." His hand slipped under my shirt, his palm hot against my bare skin. "But I'm just getting started."

With a flick of his wrist, he tore my shirt open, buttons scattering across the floor. I gasped at the sudden exposure, and at the hunger in his eyes as he surveyed what he'd revealed.

"Beautiful," he growled, lowering his head to trace his tongue along the swell of my breast above my bra. "Mine."

"Yours," I agreed, straining against his hold. "Ours."