Page 65

Archer

T he unease crawled under my skin like a living thing.

I paced the length of our chambers, my daggers materializing and disappearing between my fingers with each turn.

In thirty-six hours, we would descend to the deepest level of the Underworld, to the forge where Rowen's crown had been created, where his father had been born.

There, we would attempt to transform Lightsbane into Lightbringer, our only hope against the Shadow Beast.

And yet something felt wrong. Off. Like a puzzle with a piece that didn't quite fit.

I paused at the window, staring out at the perpetual twilight of Rowen's realm.

The ritual required precision, perfect timing, and a confluence of powers that had never been attempted before.

Sierra's quarter-angel blood, Callum's fae shadows, Rowen's demonic fire, and my own dual nature—all needed to work in perfect harmony.

But there was something I was missing. Some detail buried in the ancient texts that nagged at the edges of my consciousness.

"You're going to wear a path in the floor," Sierra's voice broke through my thoughts.

I turned to find her standing in the doorway, a tray balanced in her hands.

The scent of fresh coffee and sandwiches wafted toward me, reminding me I hadn't eaten in hours.

Her silver hair was pulled back in a loose braid, and she wore one of my shirts, the fabric hanging loose on her smaller frame.

"I brought lunch," she said, moving into the room. "Since you apparently forgot that eating is a thing people need to do. Even demon-angel hybrids."

A smile tugged at my lips despite my troubled thoughts. "Thank you."

She set the tray on the small table near the window and gestured for me to join her. I slid my daggers into their sheaths and took the seat across from her. As I reached for a sandwich, Sierra surprised me by sliding onto my lap instead of taking her own chair.

"This okay?" she asked, settling against me.

I wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her closer. "More than okay."

We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Sierra occasionally stealing bites from my sandwich. The weight of her in my lap was grounding, a physical reminder of what we were fighting for.

"Want to tell me what's bothering you?" she finally asked, turning to face me. "You've been distant since we decided on the timing for the ritual."

I sighed, setting down my coffee. "Something doesn't feel right. I can't put my finger on it, but there's a detail I'm missing. Something important about the forging."

Sierra's silver eyes studied my face. "Talk it through with me. Maybe saying it out loud will help."

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to organize my scattered thoughts.

"The ritual itself is clear enough. We go to the forge, Callum prepares Lightsbane, I use my angelic blood to activate the transformation, you contribute your celestial energy, and Rowen provides the demonic fire needed to temper the blade. "

"But?" Sierra prompted, her fingers absently playing with the collar of my shirt.

"But the timing feels wrong," I admitted. "Midnight on your birthday seems significant, but the texts don't specify why it has to be then. And there's something about the forge itself... it's not just a physical location. It exists at a nexus point between realms."

Sierra nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Could that be why the timing matters? Something about the alignment of the realms at that specific moment?"

"Possibly," I conceded. "But there's more to it. The texts mention a 'vessel of dual blood' repeatedly, which we assumed was me, but..." I trailed off, the pieces shifting in my mind.

"But what if it's not you?" Sierra finished for me, her intuition sharp as always. "What if it's me? I'm quarter-angel, after all."

I shook my head. "No, the texts are clear that it's someone of dual blood—half one thing, half another. You're more complex than that, with witch blood from your mother's side and celestial from your father's."

Sierra's fingers had moved to the nape of my neck, absently massaging the tension there. The simple touch was surprisingly intimate, her instinctive understanding of what I needed without me having to ask.

"What about the 'essence of the fallen'?" she suggested. "We thought that meant your mother's angel blood, but could it mean something else?"

That was it. The piece that had been nagging at me. I stiffened, my mind racing through the translations again.

"The essence of the fallen," I repeated slowly. "Not just any fallen angel, but a specific one. The text uses a particular form that indicates singularity, importance."

Sierra's eyes widened. "Azrael? My grandfather?"

The possibility sent a jolt through me. "It would make sense. He's not just any angel, but the Angel of Death. His essence would be incredibly powerful."

"But how would we get it?" Sierra asked, her brow furrowed. "It's not like we can just call him up and ask for a blood donation."

I smiled despite myself. "Actually, we might be able to. Through you."

Sierra looked skeptical. "Through me? How?"

"Your connection to him," I explained, excitement building as the pieces began to fall into place. "You've already communicated with him in the dream-state. If we could establish that connection again, deliberately this time, you might be able to ask for his help."

She bit her lower lip, a habit she had when uncertain. "I don't know, Archer. That wasn't exactly something I controlled. It just... happened."

I cupped her face in my hands, my thumbs stroking her cheeks. "You're stronger than you realize, Sierra. Your powers have grown exponentially since your heat broke. And this is your bloodline, your heritage. If anyone can reach Azrael, it's you."

She leaned into my touch, her eyes closing briefly. "And if I can't?"

"Then we proceed with the original plan," I said firmly. "But having Azrael's direct assistance would significantly increase our chances of success."

Sierra nodded, determination replacing the uncertainty in her expression. "Okay. I'll try. Tonight, when I sleep. I'll try to reach him."

I leaned forward, pressing my forehead against hers. "Thank you."

She smiled, her hands coming up to rest on my wrists. "Don't thank me yet. I have no idea if this will work."

"It will," I said with more confidence than I felt. "You're remarkable, Sierra. More powerful than you know."

A faint blush colored her cheeks at my praise. She shifted on my lap, and I became acutely aware of her warmth, the subtle weight of her body against mine. My body responded instantly, desire stirring despite the gravity of our conversation.

Sierra noticed, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Is that a dagger in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

I laughed, the sound rusty from disuse. "That's terrible."

"But effective," she countered, deliberately shifting again. "You're not thinking about the ritual now, are you?"

"I'm thinking about several things I'd like to do to you," I admitted, my hands moving to her hips. "None of which involve rituals or ancient prophecies."

Her silver eyes darkened with answering desire. "Such as?"

Instead of responding with words, I captured her mouth with mine. She melted against me, her lips parting in welcome as her arms wound around my neck. The kiss deepened, her tongue meeting mine in a slow, deliberate dance that sent heat pooling in my groin.

When we finally broke apart, both breathing harder, I noticed something in her expression, a knowing look that suggested she was holding something back.

"What is it?" I asked, studying her face.

Sierra shook her head, her smile enigmatic. "Nothing important."

I knew she was lying, but I let it go. Whatever she was keeping to herself, she had her reasons. Trust went both ways, and I'd learned over the centuries that some secrets revealed themselves in their own time.

"Let's go back to what we were doing," she suggested, leaning in for another kiss.

I obliged, pushing my concerns to the back of my mind for now. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, its own dangers. But for this moment, with Sierra in my arms and the taste of her on my lips, I allowed myself to simply be present, to savor what we had built together against all odds.

The puzzle of the ritual could wait a little longer.