Page 39

Callum

I followed 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.

"Hey." She reached up to touch my cheek. "Where'd you go just now?"

I tried to smile, but it felt brittle. "Just thinking."

She studied me for a moment, her eyes searching mine. Then, without warning, she pressed her sauce-covered finger to the tip of my nose. "Too much thinking," she declared. "Not enough fun."

The unexpected gesture startled a laugh out of me. She grinned triumphantly and moved to do it again, but this time I was ready. I caught her wrist before she could strike, holding it firmly in my grasp.

"Careful, little mate," I murmured, letting my voice drop to a register that made her pupils dilate. "I bite."

To prove my point, I brought her captured finger to my mouth and nipped at the pad of it, just hard enough to make her breath catch. The taste of tomato, spices, and her skin mingled on my tongue. Oddly intimate. Strangely arousing.

Her pulse jumped beneath my fingertips, and the scent of her desire unfurled in the air between us, sweet and heady.

"Gods, you're filthy," Rowen commented, his dark eyes raking over Sierra's flour and tomato-covered form with predatory interest. "Did any of the ingredients actually make it into the dish, or are you wearing most of them?"

Sierra stuck out her tongue at him, which only made him look more tempted to devour her on the spot.

"The timer says we have about forty-five minutes before the lasagna is done," Archer observed casually, wiping his hands on a nearby towel. His eyes, however, were anything but casual as they roamed over Sierra's body. "Seems we could make effective use of that time."

"What did you have in mind?" Sierra asked innocently, though the heated flush spreading down her neck belied her tone.

"A shower," I suggested, my voice rough with sudden hunger. "You're covered in flour and sauce, flower."

Before she could respond, I bent and hoisted her over my shoulder in one smooth motion, earning a surprised yelp from her lips. Her body was warm and soft against mine, her ass perfectly positioned for my hand to rest possessively on it.

"Why am I always being carried places?" she protested, swatting ineffectually at my back. "I do have legs, you know. Fully functional ones that work perfectly well!"

I landed a sharp smack on her ass that made her gasp. "It's all about the journey, not the destination," I informed her with mock solemnity. "Specifically, it's about being able to squeeze this perfect ass the entire way there."

To emphasize my point, I gave her another squeeze that made her squirm against me. The friction of her body against mine sent sparks of pleasure racing up my spine.

"We'll be back before the timer goes off," Rowen called to Archer, who was already following us from the kitchen, his eyes dark with anticipation.

I carried Sierra through the corridors, savoring the way she laughed and protested half-heartedly, her hands occasionally daring to slip under my shirt to rake her nails lightly down my back. Each touch sent shivers through me, building my need for her with every step.

By the time we reached the bathing chamber, the air between us was thick with tension.

Rowen pushed open the ornate doors, and the sight that greeted us was magnificent as always—a massive sunken tub in the center of the room, more like a small pool than a bath, with steaming water perpetually ready.

The walls gleamed with obsidian and gold, and the ceiling was open to the perpetual twilight of the Underworld sky.

I set Sierra on her feet, and immediately her hands went to the hem of her flour-covered shirt, pulling it over her head in one fluid motion.

The sight of her bare skin, curves spilling over the top of her lacy black bra, sent a surge of heat straight to my groin.

Rowen moved behind her, his large hands spanning her waist as he pressed his lips to her neck.

"You're beautiful," he murmured against her skin, "even covered in flour."

I stepped closer, my fingers finding the button of her jeans and flicking it open. "But I think you'll look even better covered in something else."

Her breath hitched as understanding flickered in her eyes—desire, anticipation, need. I slid the zipper down slowly, savoring the way her stomach muscles jumped beneath my touch.

Beside us, Archer had shed his shirt, revealing the lean, muscled torso that bore scars from countless battles. His ice-blue eyes never left Sierra as he unbuckled his belt with practiced ease.

I helped Sierra step out of her jeans, leaving her in just her matching black underwear, a stark contrast against her flour-dusted skin. Reaching behind her, I tangled my fingers in her silver hair, tilting her head back to meet my gaze.

"I want you on your knees for us, mate," I told her, my voice dropping to a growl that made her shiver visibly. "And when you're thoroughly coated in our cum, then we'll clean you up."

Her pupils dilated until only a thin ring of color remained, her lips parting as her breathing quickened. "Gods, yes," she whispered, and the raw need in her voice nearly undid me.

I loosened my grip on her hair, allowing her to slowly sink to her knees before us on the plush bath mat.

She looked up at the three of us—Rowen to her right, Archer to her left, and me directly before her—her silver hair falling around her shoulders like moonlit water against her flour-dusted skin.

The vulnerability in her upturned face struck something primal within me.

"You're a vision," I murmured, watching goosebumps rise on her skin at my words. The chamber's warm, steam-filled air seemed to crystallize around us, time slowing as we regarded one another.