12. Rook
Chapter twelve
Rook
The sheets are a twisted mess around my legs, a physical echo of the snarl in my thoughts.
Luka’s words, heavy with unspoken implications, still hang in the air.
She cares…keep the faith .
This is so bloody stupid.
My eyes snap open to the ceiling above, tracing the golden crown molding. I can’t shake the image of Aisling, her pale skin and those storm-grey eyes, possibly pressed up against Nero right now.
My gut twists.
I roll over, punching my pillow in a vain attempt to find some comfort or escape. There’s no room for sleep when your mind is a battlefield of what-ifs and could-have-beens.
“Dammit,” I mutter under my breath, sitting up with a groan. I scrub a hand over my face, feeling the prickle of stubble and the weight of exhaustion. But rest won’t come, not when every fiber of my being is strung tight with the anticipation of tomorrow’s plans, whatever they may be.
We’re playing a dangerous game, one wrong move away from disaster.
A sharp knock cuts through the silence, sudden and intrusive. Who the hell? My heart kicks against my ribcage, a rapid thud-thud that echoes the knocking. It’s late, too late for visitors, and the knot of anxiety in my stomach pulls tighter.
“Who’s there?” I call out, voice rough with disuse and edged with suspicion. It could be anyone—a threat, a message, an uninvited ghost from a past I’m trying to outrun. I slip out of the tangled bedclothes and pad silently to the door, every muscle tensed and ready.
“Rook,” comes the hushed reply from the other side, a voice I’d recognize anywhere.
Aisling.
What the hell is she doing here?
“Open up.”
My hand hovers over the lock, hesitation warring with curiosity. I glance back at the bed, an island of unrest, before making my decision. Whatever she wants, Aisling Faye isn’t someone you leave waiting on the doorstep.
And despite everything, I’m not sure I want to.
I unlatch the door and pull it open, my brows knitting in confusion as I take her in. Aisling stands there, a vision that knocks the breath from me—determined but with a tremor of nerves. She’s poured into a glittery, short red dress that clings to her curves like a second skin, shimmering under the dim hallway lights. Her face is flushed, cheeks tinged pink, and her silver-blonde hair tumbles around her shoulders in a mussed halo as if she’s been through a storm—or someone’s sheets.
“Jesus, Aisling,” I mutter under my breath, my gaze sweeping over her. The sight of her scrambles my thoughts, sends my senses into overdrive. There’s an aura about her that pulls me in, a mix of vulnerability and raw, unfiltered power that only an omega of her caliber possesses.
“Rook,” she says, her voice steady despite the clear signs of her earlier activities, “aren’t you going to invite me in?”
I do no such thing.
“Your date with Nero,” I start, leaning against the doorframe, striving for casualness though my heart’s still hammering away. There’s sarcasm in my voice, sure, but I can’t deny the thread of genuine curiosity. “How did that play out?”
Her eyes meet mine, grey like a stormy sky, holding secrets and emotions I can’t read just yet. She doesn’t answer immediately, and I’m left hanging on the silence, my question echoing between us.
“Let’s just say it wasn’t quite the highlight of my evening,” Aisling replies, her tone playful but with a serious edge that suggests she means more than she’s saying. There’s a glint in her eye that tells me this is not just some post-date courtesy call.
“Okay…so then what are you doing here?” I ask, my confusion apparent as I eye her suspiciously. “It’s late, and—” I hesitate, my nose catching the tangled scents clinging to her. The musky traces of alpha—Gunnar and Nero—it’s unmistakable and it grates on my nerves.
I haven’t budged from the doorway. Part of me wants to slam it shut—it’d be easier than dealing with whatever this is. But another part, a part I’m not too keen to examine, urges me to pull her into the safety of my room, away from whatever chaos she’s entangled herself in.
“Rook,” she says, stepping closer. Her proximity is disarming, and I’m acutely aware of the heat radiating from her body. “I had to see you. I needed—”
The words hang there, suspended in the narrow space that separates us, a confession half-formed. Her eyes search mine, like she’s looking for an anchor in the midst of a raging sea. And for a moment, despite all the questions burning on the tip of my tongue, despite the scent of other alphas on her skin, I consider letting go of my reservations and pulling her into my world, consequences be damned.
Aisling’s grey eyes lock onto mine, a storm brewing within them. The distance between us is scant now, her breaths mingling with my own. “There’s something I should’ve done a long time ago,” she whispers, her voice quivering with emotion.
“Which is?” I manage to ask, though the close proximity of our bodies makes it difficult to focus. I’m bracing myself for whatever might come next—a confession, a plea, a declaration. I’m convinced she’s about to tell me she doesn’t need me in the pack, that we’re done…
But nothing could prepare me for the way she closes the remaining inches between us with purpose and determination.
Without waiting for my response or permission, Aisling presses her lips against mine fiercely, her hands finding their way around my neck, pulling me closer. There’s no hesitation in her touch, no doubt in her actions. She kisses me like she’s trying to communicate every unsaid thing that’s been weighing on her—her fears, her desires, her regrets—all pouring into this single act.
I’m caught off guard by the intensity, by the honesty in the way she clings to me. Her kiss isn’t gentle or tentative—it’s raw and demanding, and it speaks volumes more than any words could. It’s an admission, a claim, a crossing of lines we can never uncross.
And damn if I don’t want to cross them all for her.
For a heartbeat, my brain short-circuits, the surprise of her lips on mine like a jolt to my system. But I’m not frozen for long. Instinct and longing take over, and I respond with an equal measure of passion. My arms wrap around her in a fierce embrace, pulling her body flush against mine. Each doubt that’s been gnawing at my mind evaporates under the heat of Aisling’s kiss.
“Fuck,” I mutter against her lips, all pretense of control slipping away.
Aisling’s answer is to push me back into the room, and I stagger backward, my back hitting the door as it slams shut behind us. The sound is like a starter pistol—our signal to abandon all restraint, to give in to the torrent of emotions that’s threatening to drown us both.
Her hands are everywhere all at once, stroking down my torso. My own fingers are just as frantic, trailing down her spine to the hem of her glittering red dress, bunching the fabric in my fists and pulling it upwards.
“Rook,” she says again, and this time there’s no hesitation, only need.
“Right here, Aisling,” I assure her, my voice gravelly with desire.
We’re lost in each other, in the intensity of the moment, writing the first lines of a new chapter—one where rules are rewritten, and the past becomes a ghost that can’t haunt us here.
Not now.
Not when every touch is setting a course for something neither of us fully understand but are too desperate to explore to care.