Page 25

Sierra

I traced my fingertip over the ancient text, watching with fascination as the strange symbols rearranged themselves into words I could understand.

The magic of Rowen's library still amazed me, even after hours of research.

Truth be told, focusing on these mysterious texts was a welcome distraction from the lingering tendrils of fear that still clutched at the edges of my mind.

The shadow beast. Even thinking about it made my skin crawl.

"Here's another mention of shadow entities," I said, tapping the page. "But this one describes them as servants, not independent beings."

Neither of my companions responded. I glanced up to find Callum still seated beside me.

He'd finally let go of my hand so we could work faster.

His green eyes were scanning his own text, while across the circular table, Rowen stood with his back to us, examining a shelf of particularly ancient-looking scrolls.

My gaze lingered on the ruler of the underworld.

His broad shoulders were tense beneath his black shirt, the powerful muscles of his back rigid with concentration.

Or frustration. Since that morning, since my nightmare and the breaking of my heat, he'd been strangely distant.

Present but removed, as if keeping himself carefully walled off.

I couldn't help but compare his demeanor now to the raw intensity he'd shown during my heat.

When his obsidian eyes had burned with possession, when his hands had claimed every inch of my body with desperate need.

The memory of it sent a flush of warmth through me that had nothing to do with the primal biological urge that had driven us then.

My heat might have broken, but my desire for him, for all of them, remained, transformed into something deeper and more complex.

Right now, I didn't much care for it.

Callum's fingers wrapped around mine once again, as if sensing the direction of my thoughts. I turned to find him watching me, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Getting distracted?" he murmured, his voice pitched low enough that only I could hear.

I felt my cheeks heat. "Just... thinking."

"About Rowen?" His smile widened slightly. "Or about Archer? Or perhaps about me?"

"Conceited much?" I returned, but there was no bite in my words. "If you must know, I was thinking about all of you."

And that was the truth. In the aftermath of my heat, I'd found myself taking stock of my feelings for each of my mates. It was still strange to think of them that way. As my mates. Three powerful, ancient beings who had somehow become mine as much as I had become theirs.

With Callum, things felt the most natural. From the beginning, not that it had been that long ago, he'd been my protector, my guide. His possessiveness was tempered by a genuine desire to see me happy. His sharp wit and sharper tongue hid a tenderness that still surprised me at times.

Archer was more of an enigma, the shadow assassin who moved through darkness with lethal grace. He was the newest of my bonds, and in many ways still the most mysterious. But there was a vulnerability to him that called to something protective in me.

And then there was Rowen.

My eyes drifted back to the demon king. The first to find me, the first to leave me. The one whose abandonment had hurt the most. I still hadn't fully forgiven him for that, for walking away with no explanation, leaving me to believe he'd merely used me and discarded me.

Yet I couldn't deny the pull I felt toward him. Couldn't ignore the way my body responded to his mere presence, the way my heart seemed to recognize something in him that my mind didn't fully understand.

"You're frowning again," Callum observed, interrupting my thoughts.

I sighed, closing the book in front of me. "Just frustrated. We've been at this for hours, and we're no closer to identifying what attacked me."

"We will," he assured me, raising my hand to press a kiss against my knuckles. The casual intimacy of the gesture made something in my chest flutter. "It's just a matter of time."

Across the table, Rowen made a sound of frustration, drawing both our gazes. He was holding an ancient tome bound in what looked like bronze, its pages yellow with age.

"More useless conjecture," he growled, snapping the book closed with enough force that dust plumed from its pages. "Nothing concrete, nothing we can use."

His tail had materialized again, lashing behind him in agitation. I watched as he set the book aside with barely controlled violence, then reached for another, his movements sharp and precise.

Hours passed this way, the artificial light outside the library's windows shifting to mimic the passage of time in the world above.

My eyes grew tired from the strain of reading, and my back ached from sitting in the same position for so long.

But I persisted, driven by the need to understand what had invaded my dreams.

Servants brought food at some point. Fruit, bread, and something that resembled meat but which I suspected came from no creature I'd ever heard of. I ate mechanically, barely tasting any of it, while continuing to scan the texts.

It was during one of these moments, when my concentration had begun to waver, that I heard a particularly vicious curse from Rowen's direction.

I looked up in time to see him hurl a book across the room.

It hit the far wall with a loud thud before falling to the floor, its pages splayed open like broken wings.

"Rowen," Callum admonished, but there was understanding in his tone.

The demon king ignored him, bracing his hands on the table, his head bowed. His tail whipped back and forth with increasing agitation, and I could see the tips of his claws extending, scraping against the ancient wood.

Without conscious thought, I rose from my seat. Callum made a small sound of surprise as I pulled my hand from his, but he didn't try to stop me as I rounded the table and approached Rowen.

I moved slowly, instinctively cautious. Not because I feared him, I'd never truly feared Rowen, even when common sense said I should, but because the raw frustration emanating from him was almost palpable.

"Hey," I said softly when I reached his side.

He didn't respond, didn't look up. I could see the tension in every line of his body, could almost feel it radiating from him in waves.

After a moment's hesitation, I placed my hand on his shoulder. The muscle beneath my palm was rock-hard, coiled tight with strain. Through the fabric of his shirt, I could feel the unnatural heat of his skin, a sign of the demonic blood that ran hot in his veins.

"Rowen," I tried again, letting my fingers press gently into his shoulder. "Take a breath."

For a long moment, he remained motionless. Then, with agonizing slowness, the rigid tension in his shoulders began to ease, just a fraction. His head remained bowed, his dark hair falling forward to obscure his face, but I could see his chest expand as he drew in a deep breath.

"That's it," I encouraged, moving my hand in small, soothing circles. "No book is worth destroying your library over."

A sound escaped him, not quite a laugh, but close. "Some might be."

His voice was rougher than usual, with an underlying rumble that reminded me of distant thunder.

When he finally straightened and turned to face me, I had to suppress a gasp.

His eyes were completely black, not just the irises, but the entirety of his eyes, as if the darkness of his demon nature had consumed them whole.

"Sierra." My name tumbling from his lips sounded like both a plea and a warning.

I should have stepped back. Should have given him space to collect himself, to rein in the demonic aspect that was clearly close to the surface. Instead, I kept my hand on his shoulder, my gaze steady on his face.

"Talk to me," I urged softly. "What's going on with you?"

His jaw clenched, the muscles working beneath his skin. "Nothing that concerns you."

The dismissal stung, sharpening my own frustration. "Bullshit."

His eyes narrowed at my tone, and I saw his tail twitch sharply. "Watch your language."

"Watch my— Are you fucking kidding me?" I couldn't help but laugh, though there was no humor in it. "I'm not one of your underworld subjects, Your Majesty. I don't take orders from you."

Something dangerous flickered in his expression. "Perhaps you should. It would keep you safer."

"Safe from what, exactly?" I challenged, letting my hand fall from his shoulder to plant both fists on my hips.

"Because right now, the only thing making me feel unsafe is your attitude.

You've been distant since my heat broke.

Hell, you've been distant since you showed up again after abandoning me in the first place. "

I saw the impact of my words, the slight flinch, quickly masked by anger. Good. I was tired of his stoic facade, tired of the walls he kept erecting between us.

"I did what was necessary," he growled, his voice dropping to a register that seemed to vibrate in my bones.

"Necessary for who?" I pressed. "Because it sure as hell wasn't necessary for me to be left thinking I meant nothing to you."

Across the table, Callum cleared his throat pointedly. "Perhaps I should leave you two to?—"

"Stay," Rowen and I commanded in unison, though neither of us looked away from each other.

The air between us seemed charged, crackling with tension. I wasn't sure if we were on the verge of a fight or something else entirely, but I refused to back down. I'd spent too long wondering, too long hurting over his unexplained departure.

"Rowen," I said, softer now but no less determined. "Just talk to me. Please."

Something in my plea must have reached him because I saw the rigid set of his shoulders slump slightly. He exhaled heavily, passing a hand over his face. When he looked at me again, his eyes had returned to normal, or as normal as they ever were, black irises against white.