Page 12 of Tainted Hearts (Dark Witchy Omegaverse #1)

Sierra

T he heat beneath my skin pulsed like a second heartbeat. My body felt foreign.

Too warm. Too sensitive. My nerves were singing with each accidental brush of his fingers against my bare skin. The thin sheet was my only covering, and even that felt abrasive against my hypersensitive flesh.

"Here," Archer said, setting me down on the edge of his bed. "I have clothes that will suit you better for the Fae realm."

He moved to a massive wardrobe carved from some midnight-black wood, his daggers catching the light as he reached inside. I couldn't help but watch the play of muscles across his back, the way his dark hair fell forward as he bent to retrieve something from a lower drawer.

My mouth went dry. Gods, what was happening to me? Every movement, every subtle shift of his body registered like a physical touch. The bond. The heat. Whatever this was, it was growing stronger by the minute.

"Try these," he said, turning with a bundle of fabric in his arms. If he noticed my flushed cheeks or dilated pupils, he didn't comment.

The clothing was exquisite—a silver-blue tunic that shimmered with an almost liquid quality, paired with supple black leggings and a short jacket that reminded me of armor with its structured shoulders and intricate fastenings.

"This isn't yours," I observed, letting my fingers trace over the delicate embroidery at the cuffs.

Archer's mouth quirked. "No. It belonged to a Fae princess who once sought sanctuary in the Underworld. She left it behind when she... departed."

There was a story there, but now wasn't the time to ask. I stood, clutching the sheet around me with one hand while holding the clothes in the other.

"I'll give you privacy," Archer said, turning to leave.

"Wait," I called, surprising myself. "I... I might need help. My legs still feel shaky."

That was only partly true. What I couldn't say was that the thought of him leaving, even for a moment, sent a spike of panic through me. The bond was making me clingy, desperate for physical contact.

Archer paused, his ice-blue eyes assessing me. "Alright," he said simply, though I caught the subtle flare of his nostrils as he scented the air between us.

He turned his back as I let the sheet fall, giving me the illusion of privacy while remaining close enough to assist if needed. My fingers fumbled with the unfamiliar fastenings, and I swore under my breath.

"May I?" Archer asked, still facing away.

"Yes," I whispered.

He turned, his gaze carefully neutral as he helped me into the tunic. It fit surprisingly well, though perhaps a bit snug across my chest. As his fingers worked the intricate clasps at my sides, I struggled to control my breathing.

"The Fae are particular about presentation," he explained, his voice low and steady. "These clothes will help you blend in—though nothing could truly hide what you are."

"And what am I, exactly?" I asked, lifting my chin to meet his gaze.

His hands stilled at my waist. "Power," he said simply. "Raw, untamed power on the verge of awakening. Every supernatural creature in that realm will sense it."

The weight of his words settled over me as he helped me into the leggings and soft leather boots. By the time he fastened the armored jacket around my shoulders, I felt more steady, both physically and emotionally.

"Thank you," I said, stepping back to look down at myself. The outfit was unlike anything I'd ever worn—beautiful yet practical, feminine yet strong.

"One last thing," Archer said, retrieving something from a drawer. It was a slender dagger in a sheath, the handle inlaid with what looked like moonstones. "Keep this hidden, but accessible."

I took it, surprised by its weight. "I don't know how to use this."

"Let's hope you won't need to," he replied, showing me how to strap it against my forearm, hidden beneath the sleeve of the jacket. "But if you do—aim for the throat or the heart. Don't hesitate. Pointy end goes in the bad person."

His matter-of-fact tone sent a chill down my spine, a stark reminder of who and what he was—an assassin who had served the Lord of the Underworld for centuries.

A knock at the door announced Rowen's return.

He'd changed as well, his usual black leather replaced with something more formal—a high-collared jacket with intricate silver embroidery that emphasized his regal bearing.

His horns were gone, his tail hidden, his appearance almost human if not for those fathomless obsidian eyes.

"Ready?" he asked, his gaze lingering on me a moment longer than necessary.

I nodded, though 'ready' seemed laughably inadequate for whatever we were about to face.

"Remember," Archer said as he stepped between us, "stay close to me when we enter the shadows. Don't let go, no matter what you see or hear. The paths aren't meant for the living—they can play tricks on your mind."

"Comforting," I muttered, but I gripped his hand tightly. "Although you do know that I'm used to speaking with the dead, right?"

Rowen took my other hand, his skin surprisingly warm against mine. The contact sent a surge of heat through my veins, and I gasped softly. The bond between us flared, bright and demanding.

"Focus, Sierra," Rowen murmured, though I noticed his pupils had dilated at the contact as well. "We can address... other matters... once we reach my brother."

Archer led us to what appeared to be an ordinary wall in his chamber. He pressed his palm against the stone, and darkness bloomed outward from his touch like spilled ink. The shadows deepened, coalesced, until a doorway of pure darkness stood before us.

"Don't let go," he reminded us, and then stepped forward, pulling us into the void.

The shadow path wasn't what I expected. Rather than the cool mist Archer had described, it felt like stepping into a dream.

Weightless. Timeless. With whispers at the edge of my consciousness.

Darkness pressed against me from all sides, not threatening but curious, as if the shadows themselves were sentient and wondering what living thing dared to walk among them.

I couldn't see Archer or Rowen, but I felt their hands clasping mine, anchoring me as we moved through the nothingness. Occasionally, glimmers of light would appear in the distance. I felt the souls pulsing from the lights. But they felt like nothing I'd ever encountered.

A rich blue light illuminated, and I felt drawn to it. But before I could think about my actions, Rowen stopped me. Whispers reached my ears, the language ancient and foreign.

"Sierra," Rowen's voice cut through the shadows, sharp and commanding. "Focus on me. On us."

I shut my eyes, though in the absolute darkness it made no difference, and concentrated on the feel of their hands in mine. The voices faded.

After what could have been minutes or hours, Archer slowed.

"Here," he said softly. "This is the entrance to Callum's private sanctuary."

Before us, a doorway of silver light shimmered into existence. Unlike the lights, this one seemed to ripple and shift, like sunlight on water.

"It's beautiful," I whispered.

"Like calls to like," Archer replied cryptically, then stepped forward, pulling us through.

The transition was jarring—from absolute darkness to brilliant light, from weightlessness to solid ground. I stumbled, my eyes watering as they adjusted to the change. Then I gasped.

We stood in what could only be described as a living cathedral.

Towering trees formed natural pillars, their trunks wider than I could have encircled with my arms, rising hundreds of feet into the air where their branches wove together to create a canopy roof.

Sunlight filtered through in dappled patterns, highlighting the riot of flowers that carpeted the forest floor in jewel tones—sapphire blue, ruby red, amethyst purple, and gold so bright it seemed to glow from within.

"This is... incredible," I breathed, turning in a slow circle to take it all in. The air itself seemed alive, laden with fragrance and a subtle hum of magic that vibrated against my skin.

Yet beneath the beauty, I sensed something else—a faint undercurrent of wrongness, like the lingering scent of smoke after a fire has been extinguished.

Through my tenuous bond with Callum, I could feel it more clearly—this place was healing, recovering from a long illness that had nearly destroyed it.

"It wasn't always like this," I murmured. "It was dying while the old king was sick, wasn't it?"

Rowen's jaw tightened. "Yes. The Fae realm is directly tied to its monarch in ways even the Underworld is not.

When my father died, it nearly took this place with him, even though he was a demon.

But since he was bonded to the King and Queen, it did severe damage.

But losing Maxiun had to be devastating for the realm, even though Callum was right there to take over.

"It's healing now," I said, reaching out to brush my fingers against a nearby flower. It seemed to lean into my touch, its color intensifying. "I can feel it through Callum."

Archer moved ahead of us, his posture alert, fingers constantly drifting toward the hilts of his daggers. His eyes never stopped moving, scanning the trees, the shadows, even the seemingly innocent flowers at our feet.

"It's beautiful, yes," he said, noticing my appreciative gaze. "But don't be fooled. The Fae are masters of creating deadly beauty. That flower you just touched? In the wrong season, its pollen can paralyze a full-grown man within seconds."

I snatched my hand back, eyeing the innocent-looking bloom with new wariness.

"The people here are the same," Archer continued as we followed a winding path deeper into the forest. "Exquisite, alluring, and absolutely lethal when they wish to be. Trust no one except Callum."

"Especially not the court ladies," Rowen added darkly. "They'll smile while sliding a knife between your ribs."

"Charming," I muttered. "Remind me again why we're so eager to reach this place?"

"Because Callum needs us," Archer replied simply. "And because you need him."

As if on cue, a wave of heat rippled through me, making me stumble. The bond with Callum pulsed, stronger now that we were in his realm. I could feel him more clearly. His pain, his determination, and underneath it all, a fierce longing that mirrored my own.

Suddenly, a rustle from the trees ahead had Archer stepping in front of me, daggers appearing in his hands so quickly I hadn't seen him draw them. Rowen's stance shifted as well, his human appearance flickering as his more demonic aspects threatened to emerge.

A Fae sentry stepped onto the path, his armor gleaming like liquid moonlight. His face was inhumanly perfect, with high cheekbones and eyes the color of spring leaves. Those eyes widened in shock as they fell on Rowen.

"Lord Rowen," he gasped, immediately dropping to one knee in a formal bow. "My lord, we—we had no word of your arrival."

"That was the intention," Rowen replied coolly.

The sentry's gaze darted between the three of us, lingering on me with obvious curiosity before snapping back to Rowen in poorly concealed fear.

"I'll fetch King Callum at once," he stammered, rising. "He—he's in the Throne Room with the Council, but he'll want to know immediately that you're here. Please, follow me to the palace?—"

"We'll wait here," Archer interrupted, his daggers still visible. "Bring Callum to us. Alone. Tell no one else of our arrival."

The sentry swallowed visibly, then nodded. "As you wish." He backed away several paces before turning and sprinting down the path, faster than any human could move.

"Well," I said into the silence that followed, "That was interesting. He seemed terrified of you."

Rowen's smile was sharp and humorless. "The Fae have long memories. The last time I visited this realm, I left... an impression."

"What he means," Archer clarified, finally sheathing his daggers, "is that he nearly burned the palace to the ground."

"It was a mild disagreement with the Council," Rowen shrugged, though the tense set of his shoulders belied his casual tone.

I opened my mouth to ask for details, but the words died on my tongue as another surge of heat washed through me, more intense than before. My knees nearly buckled as desire pooled low in my belly, hot and insistent.

"Sierra?" Archer was at my side instantly, his arm around my waist.

"He's coming," I whispered, my voice strained. "I can feel him getting closer."

Rowen and Archer exchanged a look I couldn't interpret. Then Rowen stepped closer, his hand settling on the small of my back, just below where Archer's arm supported me. The contact of both men sent electricity skittering across my skin.

"Remember to breathe," Rowen murmured in my ear. "The first meeting between bonded mates after separation can be overwhelming."

"That's an understatement," Archer added, his ice-blue eyes darkening as he looked down at me. "Especially with your heat accelerating."

I drew in a shaky breath, trying to center myself as we waited. Through the trees, I could already sense Callum approaching—a magnetic pull that grew stronger with each passing second. The forest around us seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of its king's arrival.

And deep inside me, something wild and primal stirred, awakening from a long slumber.