6. Aisling
Chapter six
Aisling
I blink awake to the symphony of dawn—soft snores and the warmth from the bodies entwined with mine. Gunnar’s chest is my pillow; his arm slung over me like a protective shield. To my right, Luka’s breath fans against my neck, while Oberon’s head lays heavy on my hip. The safety of their presence is a balm to the chaos that has become my life.
It’s rare, moments like these—where we’re just us, no titles, no schemes, nothing but the raw pull that binds us. I let myself soak in it, wishing time could stand still, at least until the next disaster strikes.
But as if on cue, my phone chimes, a shard of reality piercing through the bubble. It’s resting on the nightstand, just out of reach. Leaning over Gunnar, I snag it, his muscles tensing under my touch as he surfaces from sleep.
“Morning,” he murmurs, voice husky.
“Hey,” I murmur back, thumb swiping across the screen. My heart sinks as I read the text—Inari, summoning me for breakfast with her and Isla.
“Something up?” Gunnar’s gaze is sharp now, the lazy intimacy of our waking moment evaporating.
“Breakfast invite from Inari,” I say, keeping my voice neutral. “Looks like I’m wanted at court.”
“Ah.” He stretches, the movement jostling both Luka and Oberon. They stir, disoriented grunts mingling with the rustle of sheets.
I can’t help but groan. Inari’s breakfasts are never just breakfasts, and with everything so precarious, this could tilt the scales in a direction I’m not ready for. But there’s no refusing an invitation from the omega crimelord of Oasis—not when you’re trying to survive in a world that’s always one wrong move away from catastrophe.
Luka’s nose finds the crook of my neck, breathing in deeply, his scent a mix of sleep and something wild. “Stay,” he mumbles against my skin, the word more plea than command.
Gunnar’s hand lands gently on my shoulder, a grounding touch. “You should go,” he says, firm yet not unkind. The underlying tension tells me he’s already thinking ahead, calculating our next move in this perilous game we’re caught in. “We need to start moving if we’re going to make a play.”
The words slice through the last threads of warmth from our tangled embrace. Reluctantly, I peel myself away from the comfort of my pack, feeling the loss of their heat immediately. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, feet finding the cold floor.
Behind me, Luka grunts softly, disappointment heavy in his voice as he rolls over, giving up the fight to keep me close. I can almost feel his eyes on me, but I don’t dare look back. If I do, I might just crawl back into the safety of his arms and forget the world that waits outside these walls.
Gunnar rises with me, his movements decisive, a silent signal that the time for rest is over. We shuffle into the bathroom, our bare feet padding against the cool tiles. The shower’s frosted glass beckons—a promise of wakefulness and a barrier from the world outside.
“Remember, Inari isn’t exactly known for her patience,” Gunnar reminds me as he turns the knobs, unleashing a cascade of water that fills the room with steam.
“I know,” I mutter, stepping into the shower beside him, “But I’m not keen on showing up sticky and covered in your cum—no offense.”
He grins at that, a chuckle in his throat as the water envelops us both, washing away the remnants of last night’s fervor. His hands start to roam, tracing familiar paths over my skin, but I bat them away playfully.
“Seriously, Gunnar,” I say, swatting at his wandering fingers. “I just said—”
“Alright, alright,” he laughs, the sound rich and warm in the enclosed space. He pulls back, giving me room, but still close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. Turning me gently, he reaches for the shampoo, his large hands suddenly tender as they begin to work the lather through my hair.
The careful motion of his fingers massaging my scalp is grounding, a reminder of the bond we share despite the chaos that swirls around us. It’s these moments, fleeting and intimate, that remind me why I fight—to protect this, whatever ‘this’ might be.
I used to be in it for omegas…Inari thinks I’m in it for power.
But really, it’s for them.
For Gunnar, Oberon, Luka…Rook.
“Sorry,” I whisper, the word barely audible above the rush of water. “For all the lies, Gunnar. For everything that’s come between us.”
His hands pause for a fraction of a moment before resuming their gentle rhythm. “We’re moving past that now,” he says, voice steady and sure. “You’re here, with me. That’s what matters.”
I close my eyes, letting his assurance wash over me as surely as the warm water cascades down my back. His forgiveness soothes the raw edges of guilt that have frayed my thoughts since everything unraveled.
The shower turns off and the world comes back into focus. I step out onto the damp tile, reaching for a towel. As I dry off, my mind churns with the day ahead. I slip into my clothes, a functional ensemble chosen more for the message it sends than for fashion: I’m here for work, not games.
“How should I play this with Inari?” I venture, breaking the silence while pull a black hoodie over my head. “We haven’t exactly strategized since she dropped that bombshell about me being queen of Pacific City.”
Gunnar leans against the door frame, arms crossed, still draped in nothing but a towel. He considers the question, the stubble on his jaw catching the light as he tilts his head.
“Stay sharp, don’t reveal too much. We still don’t know where she stands,” he advises, his tone even but firm. “And remember, you’re not just Aisling Faye anymore—you’re Stargazer, with all the weight that name carries in this city now.”
“Right,” I reply, smoothing down my shirt and meeting his gaze in the mirror. “Stargazer—seer of paths, navigator of destinies.”
He laughs softly. “You’re a bit of a superhero.”
“I’m not,” I mutter, squeezing his shoulder as I walk past. His skin is hot from the shower, his hard muscles more enticing than I’d like to admit…but there’s no time to hop back in for a quickie. “I’d better get going, but I do appreciate your vote of confidence.”
He grins. “Go get ’em, tiger.”
I leave Gunnar leaning there, his support a silent escort as I walk away from our room, each step a small echo in the empty hallway. The pack’s scent lingers on my skin—Gunnar’s earthy musk, Luka’s hint of cedar, Oberon’s understated spice. It’s comforting but also a reminder of what I’m stepping out into: a world where alliances are fragile and power is a game played with lives as chips.
I take the elevator to the rooftop, the doors sliding open with a ding upon arrival. The light is blazing bright out here, blinding me for a moment before I blink the pain away and head out onto the warm rooftop.
“Ah, there you are, Aisling,” Inari calls out, her voice smooth as the silk scarf wrapped around her neck. She waves me over, a practiced smile on her lips that doesn’t quite reach her calculating eyes.
“Sorry I’m late,” I say, though punctuality was never specified. It’s a small challenge thrown down, a reminder that I’m not at her beck and call.
“Sit, sit,” she insists, gesturing to the empty chair beside her. “We wouldn’t dream of starting without you.”
As I take the seat, I can feel Isla’s gaze on me, assessing. I nod to her, an acknowledgment of the complex threads that tie us together—grief, loss, a shared history of fighting for omegas. She nods back, a ghost of a smile touching her lips, as if to say, ‘here we are, playing the game.’
A guard, silent and expressionless, steps forward and pours a mimosa into a glass before me. The fizzing sound is oddly loud in the quiet morning air. I wrap my fingers around the stem, the chill of the glass seeping into my skin.
It’s all so civilized, this dance of power and politics, yet beneath the surface, I know the currents run dark and treacherous.
“Thank you,” I murmur, taking a sip to buy myself a moment. The bubbles tickle my throat, a sharp contrast to the unease settling in my stomach. I set the glass down, ready to face whatever comes next with these omegas who’ve turned survival into an art form.
“Business or pleasure?” I ask, meeting Inari’s gaze head-on. Her smile widens just a fraction, and I brace myself for the answer that could change everything.
“Why not both?” Inari’s voice is smooth as silk, but there’s an edge to it that makes me sit up straighter. She taps her perfectly manicured nails on the tabletop, a rhythmic sound that seems to echo the beat of my racing heart.
Isla chuckles softly beside her, shaking her head with a mixture of amusement and something else—resignation, maybe, or anticipation. It’s hard to read, but then again, Isla has always been good at keeping her cards close to her chest.
“Enjoy your breakfast, Aisling,” Inari insists, gesturing to the spread before us. “We’ll delve into the nitty-gritty soon enough.”
I nod, reaching for a delicate pastry. We eat in relative silence, the clinking of cutlery punctuating the stillness.
“Did you see the latest installation at Mercer Park?” Isla asks casually, breaking the silence. Her question is light, a thread of normalcy amidst the tension. I have seen it—a memorial to the omega revolution in Solstice Bay a few years back, put up with Inari’s funding.
“Art and revolution often go hand in hand,” I reply, playing along. “It’s…provocative.”
“Art reflects life,” Inari adds, her eyes never leaving mine. “And life in Oasis is nothing if not provocative.”
Crumbs tumble from my fork as I place it down, the last bite of breakfast settling uneasily in my stomach. The finality of the moment sits heavy in the air, and then Inari clears her throat, a sharp, calculated sound that wipes all pretense of leisure from the table.
“Business, then,” she announces, and with a subtle flick of her wrist, the guards who have been standing at a respectful distance vanish, melting into the recesses of the rooftop like phantoms at daybreak. My pulse ticks up a notch, the sudden privacy both intimate and unnerving.
“Right.” I swallow hard, licking remnants of sweetness from my lips. “Business.”
Inari leans forward, elbows on the table, dark eyes locking onto mine. They’re sharp, those eyes, like the edge of a knife—beautiful but dangerous. “Aisling, darling,” she begins, her tone deceptively soft, “it’s no secret you’ve mended fences with Gunnar. You’ve been seen together, looking rather…cozy.”
I stiffen, my back straight as a rod. “Yes,” I concede, because there’s no use denying what’s plain for everyone to see. “We’re doing better.”
“Good,” she says, nodding slowly. “Good for you. But that brings us to the heart of the matter.” Her fingers tap-dance across the tabletop, a silent drumming that seems to echo in my chest. “Do you and Gunnar intend to challenge Vance’s authority?”
My mouth goes dry. Trust Inari to cut straight to the chase. “That’s…” I pause, weighing each word like it’s gold. “That’s not something I’m comfortable discussing.”
From the corner of my eye, I catch Isla’s reaction. Her snort is a sharp, derisive punctuation to my evasion—a verbal eyeroll that leaves no room for doubt about her interpretation. “We can take that as a yes,” she says, and there’s a smirk tugging at her lips.
Inari’s nod is slow, calculated. “That’s good.” The morning sun catches in her hair, making it look like spun silk. She leans back in her chair, appraising me with an unreadable expression. “But have you thought about how this might affect your standing with the Eclipse? If you and Gunnar step up to lead the Angels, you won’t just be challenging Vance. You’ll be painting targets on your backs.”
I blink at the sudden shift in topic. “The Eclipse isn’t part of the plan,” I reply, my voice steady despite the churning in my stomach. “This isn’t about power grabs or territory wars.”
“Isn’t it?” Inari’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. It’s more of a baring of teeth—predatory, even in its subtlety. “If you do manage to unseat Vance, whether you like it or not, you’ll become a beacon for all kinds of attention. Some will want to join you. Others…” She lets the word hang, heavy with implication.
“Will want to stop us,” I finish for her, the weight of her words settling like lead in my belly. It’s one thing to know it intellectually; it’s another to hear it spoken aloud, turned into an undeniable truth by the sharp tongue of Oasis’ omega crimelord.
“Exactly.” Inari’s gaze never falters, locking onto mine with the force of a vise. “You need to be prepared for that. And that means considering alliances you may not have considered before.”
Alliances. Just another word for bonds, for ties that could either lift us up or drag us down. The game of power is a precarious one, and Inari plays it like a maestro. I’m suddenly very aware that I’m just a novice here, trying to find my footing on a board where every move could be fatal.
“Like what?” I ask, though I’m not sure I want to hear the answer. But ignorance isn’t bliss; it’s a death sentence in this new world we’ve been thrown into.
Inari leans back, her fingers lightly tapping on the edge of the glass table. “Nero Rossi,” she drops casually, as if discussing the weather rather than proposing an alliance that could shift the very foundations of our precarious existence.
I stiffen at the mention of his name. Nero, with his dark hair and even darker reputation, a man whose allegiance shifts like sand beneath the tides. Gunnar might be working something out with him, but that doesn’t mean I trust him. It certainly doesn’t mean I want him in my pack—in my life—any more than he already is.
He hasn’t been shy about his interest in me, going all the way back to when I was still trapped in Dreamland—but that interest hasn’t exactly been welcome.
“He’s…complicated,” I respond after a moment, my words careful, measured.
“Complicated can be good,” Inari counters smoothly. “It means he’s adaptable. And having Nero Rossi in your pack could unify the Angels and the Eclipse around you.”
I shake my head, a flicker of irritation sparking within me. “I barely know him, Inari. And from what I do know, he’s always had this…sketchy vibe. Plus, I’m not exactly in the habit of taking on mates for strategic reasons.”
“Strategic mating has been a cornerstone of omega survival since the Mutation,” Inari says, her voice taking on the lecturing tone of a mentor schooling a pupil. “People do it all the time in Solstice Bay, Europe, across the globe…and it’s always to the omega’s detriment. Why not turn the table? Use their game to your advantage?”
Her words hang heavy between us. In the silence that follows, I feel the gravity of what she proposes. It’s tempting—aligning with Nero could solidify my position, give me real power.
But at what cost?
“Maybe,” I admit, the word slipping out like a betrayal to my own convictions. “But this isn’t something I can decide on a whim. I need to talk to Gunnar first.”
Inari leans back, her eyes assessing me with a shrewdness that makes me uncomfortable. She gives a slow nod, as if granting me permission to consider my options.
“Fair enough,” she says. “But remember, Aisling, opportunities like this don’t linger. You’re an omega with rising influence. It’s time you start wielding it.”
I stand up from the table, smoothing out the fabric of my pants, feeling the weight of her gaze upon me. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I reply, even though my stomach churns at the thought of being manipulated like a chess piece—even by an omega as powerful as Inari.
“Good,” she replies, her tone light, but there’s an edge to it that tells me she’s already calculating her next move.
As I walk away, I can’t shake off the frustration gnawing at the edges of my composure. Despite her advice, despite the potential benefits, I can’t ignore the bitter tang of being treated like just another commodity.
Even by someone who should understand the value of freedom better than most.