Page 89

Callum

Istepped out of our chambers, closing the door behind me with a soft click. Sierra was finally resting, the pain medication and heating pad doing their work. Rowen had shifted into a comfortable position beside her, one massive arm draped protectively over her waist as she slept. The sight of them together—her silver hair stark against his tanned skin, her small frame nearly swallowed by his—had stirred something possessive and tender in my chest.

But there was work to be done.

Archer was waiting for me in the corridor, his ice-blue eyes alert despite the exhaustion etched into his face. The daggers he constantly twirled were nowhere to be seen—a testament to how focused he was on our current predicament.

"Library?" he suggested, already turning in that direction.

I nodded, falling into step beside him. "Sierra's resting. Rowen's with her."

"Good. She needs it." Archer's voice was tight with concern. "This primal heat business... it could get worse before it gets better."

"Which is why we need to understand these weapons," I replied. "The sooner we deal with the Shadow Beast, the sooner we can focus on helping Sierra through what's coming."

The library was dimly lit when we arrived, the ancient tomes casting long shadows on the walls. The scent of old parchment and leather hung in the air—a smell I'd grown accustomed to over the centuries. Archer immediately moved to the desk where he'd been working earlier, his notes spread out in controlled chaos.

I watched him for a moment, admiring the practiced efficiency with which he moved. There was something compelling about Archer when he was like this—fully absorbed in a task, his warrior's instincts channeled into scholarly pursuit. The contradiction was... fascinating.

"I need to see Lightsbane," Archer said, breaking into my thoughts.

I flexed my hand, calling to the shadows that lived between realms. The familiar weight of the sword materialized in my palm, its blade gleaming darkly in the low light. The hilt fit perfectly against my palm, as if it had been forged for me alone.

Archer's eyes widened slightly as he took in the weapon. "May I?"

I hesitated for a fraction of a second—no one but me had held Lightsbane in centuries—before extending the hilt toward him. "Be careful. It chooses who wields it."

He took the sword with reverence, balancing it expertly in his hand. Though he was a dagger man by preference, Archer knew his way around every weapon ever forged. The blade glinted dangerously as he turned it in the light, studying the ancient runes etched along its length.

"The craftsmanship is incredible," he murmured, running a finger along the flat of the blade. "And these markings... they're similar to what I found in the text." He set the sword downgently on the desk and pulled a massive tome toward him, flipping through the pages with practiced ease.

"Here," he said, pointing to a passage written in flowing script. "This describes a weapon of shadow and light—'dual in nature as the wielder must be.' That has to refer to Lightsbane and Lightbringer being two aspects of the same weapon."

I leaned over his shoulder, my eyes scanning the text. The ancient language was familiar to me, though aspects of it remained obscure even after centuries of study. "What's this part here?" I asked, pointing to a particularly dense passage.

Archer frowned, his brow furrowing in concentration. "It's describing the transformation process... I think. The translation is tricky." He ran a hand through his dark hair, pushing it back from his face. "Something about blood and intent forming a bridge between states."

"Read it aloud," I suggested, remembering Sierra's unexpected facility with the ancient tongue. "Sometimes hearing it rather than seeing it can help catch nuances."

He raised an eyebrow but complied, his voice dropping into a lower register as he carefully pronounced each syllable of the dead language. I watched his throat work, the column of his neck flexing with each carefully articulated sound. The way his lips shaped around the ancient words was almost hypnotic.

Fuck. I shouldn't be thinking about his mouth right now.

I forced my attention back to the text, analyzing the words as he spoke them. "Wait," I interrupted, placing a finger on a particular phrase. "Try that again, but emphasize the third syllable."

Archer repeated the phrase, changing the emphasis as I'd suggested. The meaning shifted subtly, like a lock tumbling into place.

"It's not 'blood forms a bridge,'" I said slowly. "It's 'blood reveals the bridge.' The transformation isn't about creating something new—it's about uncovering what's already there."

Archer's eyes lit up with understanding. "That makes much more sense. My healing power wouldn't be creating Lightbringer—it would be revealing what Lightsbane already contains." He flipped to another page, scanning it rapidly. "Here, check this passage."

I bent closer, my chest nearly touching his back as I peered over his shoulder. The scent of him—pine and steel and something uniquely Archer—filled my nostrils. My body reacted immediately, a low curl of heat unfurling in my gut. I'd always found Archer attractive, but since Sierra had come into our lives, the dynamic between all of us had shifted into something new and intensely pleasurable.

Focus, I chided myself, trying to concentrate on the text before us.

Archer was completely absorbed in his work, his finger tracing the ancient script as he muttered translations under his breath. I couldn't help but admire the sharp line of his jaw, the way his dark lashes cast shadows on his cheeks in the low light. His lips, usually set in a hard line, were slightly parted in concentration.

Gods, he was fucking sexy when he was like this—all intense focus and sharp intellect wrapped in that lethal body. The memory of his mouth on me, of his hands gripping my thighs, flashed unbidden through my mind. And Sierra watching us together, her eyes wide and dark with arousal...