9. Nero
Chapter nine
Nero
“Your first course: seared scallops with compressed watermelon, toasted coconut, and black sesame.”
Aisling’s knee is pressed against mine as the waiter leaves us behind with our next course, hands reaching for the food. I could feed her all fucking night—and I’d like to feed her more than just this delicious food—but I suppose that would break the rules eventually.
I’m about ready to push those rules to their limit.
I can smell her sugary scent intensifying as we get into the first course, and I hear her moan softly at the flavor. I pick it up too—wishing I could taste it on her lips, that we were alone.
The scallops are delicious, but I can barely even focus on the flavor when the thing I really want to devour is the woman sitting beside me. I can tell Gunnar isn’t opposed, too—which makes it all the more enticing. Since I brought him into the fold, I’ve offered to share women with him numerous times, but he was always too wrapped up in Aisling Faye.
The two of us with her, though…?
Fuck me.
We really should have had this meeting in private.
“So,” I start as I finish the next course. “You have a proposal—an indecent one, I hope.”
I hear Gunnar choke on his food and I can’t help but laugh. “Are you sure it’s secure?” Gunnar asks quietly. “I don’t…I know you said this place is safe, but it seems like an awfully good spot for spying.”
“Or an assassination,” Aisling chimes in.
“Each table has its own private room—otherwise the foot traffic would be a disaster,” I tell them. “Trust me…I’ve survived enough assassination attempts from dear old Caius that I know how to keep myself safe.”
“Fair enough,” Gunnar grunts.
“Tell me what this is about, though,” I say. “Gunnar gave me the gist of it, but is there anything else I should be aware of?”
“Well…the proposal was actually Inari’s idea,” Aisling says. “And if we do this, we’re going to be in major hot water with your brother…”
“…so you would need to make it worth our while,” Gunnar says. “Once you’re pack, we protect you and you protect us—it’s that simple. What we need to know is if packing up with you will be to our benefit.”
“Other than my great personality and even better sex?”
I can practically hear Aisling roll her eyes, but Gunnar’s all business. “More like—can you pull enough of Caius’ men to your side that we can take on the Eclipse.”
“Wow…are you two generals now? Color me surprised,” I say, trying to fend off the fear threatening to fill my chest. Packing up with them for money, for a taste of power…that’s one thing.
But taking on Caius? That’s another entirely.
The scent of Aisling’s frustration swirls in the pitch-black room, a tangy note under the rich aroma of gourmet food. I can almost see her, sitting across from me, the Stargazer herself, her signature mix of defiance and allure filling the space between us.
“Surprised you didn’t guess that’s what the plan was,” Aisling’s voice cuts through the darkness, a velvet caress against my ears. “Figured you and Gunnar joined forces to get rid of your brothers.”
I lean back, stretching my legs under the table, amused by her candor. “And here I thought we were just bonding over our mutual distaste for family politics.”
She laughs shortly—but the moment breaks as the second course arrives, carried by the silent footsteps of the waiter, the red light of his goggles glowing in the void like an anglerfish. He sets down the plates with practiced ease, and I catch the subtle clink of fine china in the dark. The fragrance of Duck Confit wafts toward me, followed by the sweet allure of Spiced Fig Jam and the earthiness of Roasted Brussel Sprouts. My mouth waters at the combination.
“Tonight’s second course,” the waiter begins, his voice practiced and smooth, “features a succulent Duck Confit complemented by a Spiced Fig Jam, accompanied by Roasted Brussels Sprouts and topped with a Parmesan Crisp.”
Gunnar grunts across from me, clearly impatient with the interruption. I can’t help but smirk, knowing that annoyance is etched into every line of his body. I kick back, let myself enjoy the little things. After all, pleasure is a rare commodity in this brutal new world we navigate.
“Sounds delightful,” I say, picking up my fork. “Let’s hope it tastes as good as it smells.”
“Trust me, it does,” Aisling chimes in, clearly already having started.
I take a bite, the flavors exploding on my tongue, rich and perfectly balanced. Delicious. But then again, everything about this evening has been an unexpected treat. A dance of senses, a game of wits, and a chance to tilt the scales in this power-hungry city. And with Aisling and Gunnar, the stakes are always high.
The waiter’s presence fades away, swallowed by the engulfing darkness of Aetherius. I lean back, savoring the lingering taste of the duck, feeling the comfortable weight of potential allies in this void with me.
“Alright,” I begin, my voice a low hum that seems to vibrate in the absence of light. “Yes, I think I can sway enough Eclipse to join me. There’s a rumble in the ranks—discontent has been brewing.”
“Because of Caius and Lianna?” Aisling asks, her tone curious yet edged with caution. She knows as well as I do how swiftly tides can change in our world.
“Partly.” I take another bite, letting the silence stretch a moment. “They lost New Eden, and with it, Terra Vitae’s support. That kind of failure doesn’t inspire confidence.”
“Lianna’s grip was always tentative at best,” Gunnar says, his voice reflecting a hint of satisfaction. “This just proves what we’ve suspected.”
“Exactly. It’s left them vulnerable.” I run my tongue over my teeth, tasting victory amidst the remnants of dinner. “We need to exploit that weakness before they recover.”
“Agreed,” Aisling says, and there’s steel in her words—a promise of action. “But first, we have a more pressing issue to address—the final eros lab.”
The darkness feels charged now, the weight of her words heavy with implication. “Taking out that lab cuts off the Eclipse’s lifeline from the former ACB,” I agree, turning my head slightly towards where I sense her presence. The faint scent of her, that heady aroma of toasted sugar, teases my senses.
“Exactly. No lab, no funding, no weapons,” she affirms, and I can nearly hear the strategic gears turning in her mind. “Rook is already on it. He’s been scouring the desert for the Mojave lab.”
“Is he close?” I ask, interested despite myself.
“He has to be,” Aisling replies confidently. “I’ll swing by his room on the way back tonight, see what progress he’s made.”
“Good.” I nod, even though nobody can see it. “That lab is the linchpin. We pull it, and everything holding the Eclipse together starts to crumble.”
That’s when the scent of seared meat and herbs wafts towards us, cutting through the charged atmosphere like a knife through butter. The clink of porcelain and the soft swish of fabric announce the arrival of the main course before the waiter’s hushed voice confirms it. “Wagyu Beef with Smoked Paprika Glaze, Roasted Asparagus, and Potato Fondue.” His words are precise, deliberate, painting a picture we can’t see but can almost taste on our tongues.
“Thank you,” I murmur, and sense Aisling’s nod beside me. Gunnar’s grunt from across the way is acknowledgement enough for all of us. We wait in a collective breath held until we feel the presence of the waiter dissipate, swallowed up by the blackness that surrounds us.
The moment he’s gone, I reach out, my fingers finding the edge of the plate with practiced ease. The tender cut of beef yields to my touch, and I bring the first bite to my lips. The flavors explode—rich, smoky, with a hint of sweetness from the glaze. It’s a symphony of taste, each note perfectly balanced against the others.
It’s nothing short of culinary artistry, and I lose myself in the experience. For a brief interlude, the complexity of our situation fades into the background, giving way to the simple pleasure of eating. The darkness encourages an intimacy with the food that sight would only distract from. I savor every morsel, the texture of the asparagus just so, the fondue adding a creamy decadence that makes my mouth water.
Beside me, Aisling’s quiet movements suggest she’s doing the same, and even Gunnar’s occasional sighs speak volumes about his enjoyment despite his earlier annoyance.
There’s something to be said for moments like this, where the world narrows down to just the senses—taste, smell, the sound of our breathing, the distant melody playing somewhere beyond us.
It’s a reprieve from the reality waiting outside, a chance to fortify ourselves for what’s to come.
I set my fork down with a soft clink against the plate, signaling I’ve had my fill. The chair beneath me creaks slightly as I lean back and exhale, contented yet contemplative. “You know,” I start in a tone that’s half amusement, half reproach, “for all the talk of alliances and power plays, I’m beginning to think this isn’t even a proposal. This has been mostly business and barely any pleasure—not the way I like to operate.”
The darkness doesn’t let me see Gunnar’s reaction, but I can hear the smirk in his voice as he chuckles—a low, rumbling sound that resonates even in the pitch black. “Is that so? How would you have liked it?”
“Ah, Gunnar,” I say, leaning forward now, elbows on the table, feeling for the edge with my fingertips. “I thought you’d never ask.” My voice is a silky drawl, a playful tease that dances between us like the shadows we cannot see. “Not sure…just figured there’d be more wooing.”
“Alright then,” I can almost feel Gunnar’s presence across from me, a palpable energy even in the absence of light. “Tell me then—how would you want to be wooed?”
“I can think of one thing,” I venture, the words slipping from my tongue with ease, “Aisling, do you dance anymore? I missed my chance at Dreamland.”
The air thickens suddenly; I can feel the shift even though I see nothing. Aisling’s presence is like a charged storm, and her silence speaks volumes before she gives voice to the tension.
“No,” she says finally, and the single word hits like a thunderclap in the void. “Dancing as a slave…it made it lose its lustre.”
Gunnar’s voice cuts through the heavy atmosphere, as rich and commanding as his physical presence. “Aisling does what she wants now,” he states, firm and unyielding. It’s not just a fact; it’s a declaration of her reclaimed autonomy—a prize hard-won in this brutal world.
Curiosity piqued, I tilt my head, directing my unseen gaze toward where her voice last came from. “And what is it that you want, Aisling?”
The pause before her answer is pregnant with possibilities, stretching out like the endless night surrounding us. Then her voice emerges, softer but edged with steel. “I want to protect my pack. Gunnar, Oberon, Luka, Rook—all of them.” Her words weave through the darkness, stitching a tapestry of solidarity and strength. “And I’ll take you in too if you’re willing to fight with us.”
It’s enticing, even if I play it cool. I appreciate an omega who feels that same kind of protectiveness toward her pack as she does toward them. And damn, there’s something about her conviction that gets under my skin, makes me want to see this invisible woman who commands her life with such fierce determination.
“Is that all you want, Aisling?” I probe further, leaning back in my chair, my senses sharpening as I try to read between the lines of her spoken desires. “Just security?”
There’s a moment of silence, a brief interlude where I sense her considering her next words—a strategic player contemplating her move on the chessboard of our conversation.
Then, without warning, I feel it—the unexpected touch of her foot sliding up the length of my calf. A bold move that sends a jolt through me, more potent than any words. It’s an intimacy that is both startling and intriguing in the pitch-black veil of this place.
“Security?” Her voice is a velvet caress against the backdrop of darkness, her foot inching higher, deliberate and provocative as it finds its way onto my lap. “In the post-Mutation world, it’s never just about security, is it?”
The audacity in her gesture stirs something primal within me. There’s a smugness to her tone, an unspoken challenge that she knows exactly what kind of game she’s playing—and how well she’s playing it.
“Never,” I agree, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth, even though she can’t see it. My own hand hovers above the table, tempted to reciprocate her daring with a brush of fingertips along her skin. But before I can act on the impulse, the waiter returns, his footsteps a soft shuffle against the carpet.
“Your dessert,” he announces, setting down plates with a practiced precision that comes from navigating in the dark. “Chocolate mousse with raspberry coulis and toasted hazelnuts.”
“Speaking of dessert…” I murmur, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a wad of cash thicker than the plot we’re weaving. The bills pass from my hand to the waiters with a rustle and a whisper of promise. “We’ll be needing some privacy for the next half-hour.”
“Of course.” His response is immediate, obsequious—a testament to the power of currency over courtesy. Then he’s gone, his footsteps retreating into the soundless abyss that swallows him whole.
“Thirty minutes?” Aisling’s voice cuts through the darkness, laced with amusement and something else—curiosity? Anticipation? “Do we need that long for dessert?”
“That,” I say, leaning back in my chair, the ghost of her touch still lingering on my leg, “is entirely up to Gunnar.”
There’s a comfort in the anonymity of this pitch-black space—the way I can’t see Aisling or Gunnar, but feel them, their energies mingling with mine in a dance that has no steps.
“Maybe,” Gunnar’s voice rumbles from across from me, a laugh hidden within the single word. It’s a sound that pulls at the corners of my lips, tugging them into an involuntary smirk. “What do you think, Aisling? Want to take this engagement for a test drive?”