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He clapped a hand on my shoulder, the weight of it familiar and strange simultaneously. "Well, I'm glad you didn't eviscerate me when I showed up with Sierra. Though I saw you consider it."

"It was a near thing," I admitted. "You always did have impeccable timing."

"I know." His expression grew more serious, the levity fading from his eyes. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for all the wasted years. We should have found a way to move past it sooner. Mother tried?—"

"I know she did," I cut him off, unwilling to revisit those particular failures just yet. "And I wasn't ready to listen."

I nodded, the weight of old grief and new understanding settling between us like a physical presence. "Better late than never, I suppose."

"Speaking of which," Callum said, straightening up, the moment passing naturally, "it's time for dinner. Sierra's been in the kitchen with Archer all afternoon, apparently creating some human dish she insists we all need to try. Something called lasagna, I believe?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Archer? In the kitchen?" The image of my deadly, disciplined second-in-command engaged in domestic activities was difficult to reconcile. Baffling, but I'd take it over him basically barricading himself in the library with that fucking book. "I didn't think he knew how to use a spoon, let alone cook."

"I know." Callum grinned, his amusement infectious. "I've been told there was an incident with the flour that will require extensive cleaning, but they seem quite proud of whatever they've concocted. Sierra was covered in tomato sauce when I passed by, and Archer had flour in his hair." He paused. "Hedidn't seem to mind, which was perhaps the most surprising part."

The image of my normally pristine second-in-command covered in flour while Sierra laughed was enough to lift my mood considerably. It was a vast improvement over him brooding and consumed with books in the library.

"We'd better not keep them waiting, then. I'm curious to see what culinary disaster awaits us."

As we walked through the corridors of my palace, the obsidian walls reflecting our forms like dark mirrors, I found myself grateful for this unexpected turn my life had taken. Each step we took seemed to erase a small portion of the distance that had grown between us over centuries. The threat of the Shadow Beast still loomed, the prophecy still hung over our heads like a sword, but for now, I had this. Brother regained, a mate who filled my days with light, and a family pieced together from the most unlikely parts.

Whatever came next, we would face it together.

And that made all the difference in a world where I had ruled alone for far too long.

32

Callum

Ifollowed my brother through the winding obsidian corridors, our footsteps echoing in perfect synchronicity. The weight of our conversation still hung heavy between us, centuries of misunderstanding finally being addressed. It felt both liberating and painful, like lancing a festering wound—necessary but excruciating.

Rowen moved with that predatory grace he'd always possessed, even as children. I always tried to mimic it, but my Fae heritage gave me a different kind of movement. Lighter, more fluid. Watching him now, commanding every inch of space he occupied, I felt that old familiar pang of both admiration and envy. The ruler of the Underworld. My brother. The family I'd lost and somehow, against all odds, found again.

As we neared the kitchen, the scent of garlic, tomatoes, and herbs grew stronger, a surprisingly homey aroma to find in the depths of Hell. Laughter echoed down the hallway. Sierra's bright and musical, followed by a deeper sound that I recognized as Archer's.

We rounded the corner and stopped short at the threshold of the kitchen. The scene before us was nothing short of chaotic. Flour dusted every surface like a strange, localized snowfall.Pots and pans littered the countertops, and something bubbled ominously on the stove, threatening to boil over.

And in the center of it all stood Sierra and Archer, completely oblivious to our arrival.

She was pressed against the marble island, her silver hair dusted with flour that made it shimmer like starlight. Archer had her caged between his arms, his usually disciplined demeanor utterly abandoned as he kissed her with single-minded intensity. One of his hands tangled in her hair while the other gripped her hip, pulling her closer against him.

Sierra's fingers clutched at the front of Archer's shirt, leaving floury handprints across the black fabric. She made a soft, needy sound against his mouth that sent heat curling through my veins.

I should have felt jealousy. I would have, before all this. Instead, I found myself smiling at the sight of them together, even as my heart ached with a deeper, older pain that our earlier conversation had unearthed. Seeing them like this, so abandoned to the moment, only underscored what I'd been missing all these centuries. What we'd all been missing.

Rowen cleared his throat beside me, his lips quirked in amusement.

Sierra broke away from Archer with a startled gasp, her cheeks flushing a delicious pink beneath smudges of tomato sauce. Archer, ever the warrior, didn't even look surprised—he'd probably sensed our approach before we'd even reached the doorway.

"We're... cooking," Sierra offered unnecessarily, gesturing to the chaos around them. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and I noticed a smear of flour across her nose and cheek.

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" Rowen drawled, stepping into the kitchen and surveying the damage with mock despair.

Archer's mouth twitched in what might have been embarrassment, but he made no move to step away from Sierra. The easy possessiveness in his stance, the way his hand still rested at the small of her back. It sent a complicated wave of emotions through me. Pleasure at seeing them happy, but also a sharp reminder of the family I'd lost.

My mind drifted back to our conversation in Rowen's chambers. The day his father died. I'd been so young, but some memories remained painfully vivid. The metallic scent of blood on obsidian floors, my mother's keening cries, my father carrying me away through shadow paths, my small hand reaching back toward Rowen and screaming as we left...

Sierra's gaze suddenly fixed on me, her smile faltering as she took in whatever expression had settled on my face. She disentangled herself from Archer and moved toward me with that uncanny perception she always seemed to have for our moods.