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I cleared my throat, forcing my thoughts back to the task at hand. "What about this section?" I asked, pointing to another passage.

Archer leaned in closer, his shoulder brushing against my chest. "It's discussing the conditions needed for the revelation."His brow furrowed. "Something about... 'When shadow meets starlight, when heaven's blood mingles with earth's essence, the true nature shall be revealed.'"

"Poetic," I muttered.

"And frustratingly vague," Archer agreed, flipping through several more pages. "I need something concrete. A ritual, a specific incantation, anything..."

He reached for another ancient tome, this one bound in what appeared to be some sort of scaled hide. The pages crackled as he turned them, dust motes dancing in the air around us.

For hours, we pored over text after text, my attention divided between the ancient words and Archer himself. The way he bit his lower lip when concentrating. How he'd occasionally mutter curses under his breath when a translation proved particularly difficult. The flex of his forearms as he moved heavy books around the desk.

My awareness of him was a constant undercurrent, intensifying each time our hands brushed or our bodies came close. I wondered if he felt it too—this electric tension between us.

Finally, Archer slammed the book closed with a sound of pure frustration. "Nothing," he spat. "Hours of research, and nothing concrete." With a surge of movement, he grabbed the book and hurled it across the room. It hit the far wall with a dull thud, pages fluttering.

I moved without thinking, stepping behind him and placing a hand on his shoulder. The muscle beneath my palm was rock-hard with tension. "Archer," I said quietly, my voice lower than I'd intended. "We'll figure it out."

He didn't shrug off my touch. Instead, he leaned into it almost imperceptibly, his head dropping forward slightly. "Sierra nearly died because we don't know enough," he said,his voice tight with anger and something deeper—fear, perhaps. "Because I don't know enough."

"We're not going to lose her," I said firmly, squeezing his shoulder. "Any of us."

He turned to face me then, and the raw emotion in his ice-blue eyes caught me off guard. There was vulnerability there, buried beneath layers of control and discipline. It called to something primal in me—the urge to claim, to possess, to comfort through dominance.

The air between us changed, charging with a different kind of tension. My hand was still on his shoulder, and I became acutely aware of the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. His eyes dropped to my mouth for just a moment before meeting my gaze again, a question in their depths.

"Come back to the bedroom with me," I said, the words more command than suggestion.

His pupils dilated slightly, the blue of his irises nearly swallowed by black. "Sierra needs rest," he began, but the objection was halfhearted at best.

"Sierra will enjoy watching," I countered, my voice dropping even lower. "You know she does."

A muscle in his jaw twitched, and I knew I had him. Without another word, we left the library, our stride purposeful as we navigated the corridors back to our shared chambers.

When we entered, the room was bathed in soft golden light. Rowen was still on the bed, propped against the headboard with Sierra's sleeping form curled against him. His obsidian eyes tracked our movement across the room, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Find anything useful?" he asked quietly, his deep voice rumbling through the stillness.

"Not enough," Archer replied tersely.

I guided Archer toward the foot of the bed, positioning us where Sierra would be able to see when she woke. Her silver hair was spread across the pillow like quicksilver, her full lips slightly parted in sleep. Even in repose, she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

But right now, my focus was on Archer.

I stood before him, my height advantage more pronounced with our proximity. Slowly, deliberately, I threaded my fingers through his dark hair, watching his eyes darken as I tightened my grip. His lips parted slightly, his breathing already growing heavier.

"You need to let go," I murmured, tugging his head back to expose the column of his throat. "Stop thinking for a while."

Before he could respond, I claimed his mouth in a bruising kiss. There was nothing gentle about it—our lips crashed together with barely restrained violence, teeth scraping, tongues battling for dominance. I poured all my frustration and desire into the kiss, and he met me measure for measure, his hands coming up to fist in my shirt.

When we broke apart, both breathing hard, I saw Sierra's eyes were open, watching us with naked interest from the bed. Rowen's hand was stroking her silver hair, but his gaze was fixed on Archer and me, dark and intent.

"On your knees," I ordered Archer, my voice rough with need.

He complied without hesitation, sinking gracefully to the floor before me. The sight of him like this—this deadly, skilled warrior on his knees, looking up at me with those ice-blue eyes—sent a surge of heat through my body that pooled hot and heavy in my groin.

I loosened my belt slowly, deliberately, knowing Sierra was watching every move. "Show me how good that mouth of yours is for something other than ancient languages," I said, thecrudeness of my words deliberate, knowing how it affected both Archer and Sierra.

His hands were steady as they freed me from my clothing, his eyes never leaving mine. The first touch of his mouth was like a brand, hot and wet and perfect. I hissed through my teeth, one hand returning to tangle in his dark hair, guiding him.