19. Nero
Chapter nineteen
Nero
I stand in front of the mirror, fingers fumbling with the cufflinks—a simple silver, not too flashy. I don’t know why I’m so nervous…I put on cufflinks all the damn time…but I am.
Maybe because something about this is all wrong.
Aisling is in love with Gunnar; Gunnar is in love with Aisling. I truly enjoyed fucking them both, but love is another thing entirely. Oberon, Luka, and Rook are their family, Aisling’s lovers…Vance has a thing for her.
And what am I in all this?
Inari’s puppet?
“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath, a quiet curse for only me to hear. Aisling—she’s got Gunnar’s mark etched into her, a brand that screams she’s his above all else. And here I am, Nero Rossi, alpha through and through, playing dress-up for a proposal that scratches at my insides like a trapped animal desperate to break free.
Every instinct tells me to take charge, to claim what I want. But this isn’t about taking; it’s about joining. Joining a pack that’s tangled up in knots of loyalty, love, and power plays that make the old world’s politics look like child’s games.
I catch my own reflection staring back, brown eyes hard with determination and something else—doubt. “You’re doing this, Nero,” I say to the guy in the glass. “You’re proposing to an omega who should be someone else’s.”
Tomorrow night, everything is going to change.
My heart thumps against my ribs, a reminder that beneath all this alpha bravado, there’s flesh and blood. Vulnerability ain’t my usual style, but there’s something about Aisling that peels back the layers, leaving me raw.
With a final glance at the mirror, I shrug into the jacket, feeling the weight settle on my shoulders. It’s more than just fabric—it’s the weight of the future, a path I’m about to carve out with words I never thought I’d say.
Then the idea strikes me.
It’s stupid—reckless, totally out of order for Inari’s game.
But it feels like the right thing to do for my future pack, when they’ve offered to bring me in—not just as a political move, but as one of them.
I stride down the corridor, my steps resonant with a purpose that’s almost convincing. The door to their room looms ahead, and for a moment, I hesitate. Is this really the time? But hesitation is for the weak, and I press the buzzer with a determined thumb.
Oberon opens the door, his normally impeccable appearance slightly askew. There’s a flush on his cheeks, dark hair tousled, a hickey on his neck. He raises an eyebrow, a silent question on his face.
“Hope I’m not interrupting,” I say, though it’s more of a formality.
“Of course not,” Oberon replies with a dismissive wave, letting me into their sanctuary. “Aisling’s just with Luka and Gunnar. I just uh…left them there.”
We both glance toward the bedroom door, instinctively drawn by the unmistakable sounds of pleasure spilling through. My throat tightens at the realization of what’s happening behind that door—the intimacy I’m about to intrude upon, even if just with my presence.
“Seems like a pretty clear interruption to me,” I snort, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.
Oberon shrugs, the epitome of nonchalance. “That’s just life with an omega, Nero. You’ll get used to it.”
It’s supposed to be reassuring, but it reminds me that I’m still an outsider here. I’m proposing to join a pack bound by instincts and desires that I’ve only begun to understand. My own alpha urges claw at the inside of my chest, demanding dominance where I must offer partnership.
“Right,” I say, my mind battling between the primal urge to claim and the knowledge that I must adapt. “That’s just life with an omega.”
“Want a drink?” Oberon gestures towards the bar, a casual offer that I’m grateful for. It gives me something to focus on besides the tension coiling in my gut.
“Sure,” I respond with forced lightness, trying to shake off the gravity of my thoughts.
We settle onto the opulent sofas, the plush fabric a stark contrast to the hardness that’s taken residence inside me. Through the suite’s window, Oasis glimmers against the encroaching dusk, the Mojave sprawling beyond like a promise or a threat—I can’t decide which.
Silence stretches between us, heavy and expectant, until Oberon clears his throat. “Nero, I never got to thank you…for helping the girls at Dreamland.”
His words throw me off balance. I frown, unsure how to take the gratitude for something I’m not even certain I’ve done. “I don’t feel like I did all that much,” I admit, looking into my glass rather than meeting his eyes.
“Before you stepped in, Caius was letting those girls get abused by staff and customers alike.” His voice is flat, matter-of-fact, but there’s an undercurrent of anger there that resonates with my own. “Once you had your hand in things, the abuse stopped…well, right before Aisling escaped, anyway.”
Thinking of Aisling—of what she endured before finding sanctuary with Gunnar and his gang—stirs something fierce and protective within me. The knowledge that I played any part in ending her suffering, in stopping the abuse of any omega, fills me with a reluctant sense of pride.
“Guess I did something right then,” I murmur, finally lifting my gaze to meet Oberon’s steady one. “I just wish I could’ve done more sooner.”
“Sometimes it’s about doing what you can, when you can,” he replies, raising his glass in a silent toast to unsung victories and the hope of better days ahead.
I clink my glass against his, the sound echoing like a vow. We drink, and for a moment, we’re just two alphas sharing a quiet understanding in the eye of the storm that’s our lives.
“Actually, I should be thanking you,” I say, setting my glass down with a soft clink against the marble table. “For getting me in touch with Vance, for helping me escape Pacific City.” My mouth twists into a wry grin, thinking of the narrow escape and the odd turn of events that lead me to where I am now.
Oberon waves a dismissive hand, chuckling in response. “It was nothing. We look out for our own, and you…” He pauses, his eyes thoughtful as they lock onto mine. “You’re one of us now.”
The weight of his gaze is like a physical touch, grounding and real. It’s an acknowledgment of the shift in my world, the choices I’ve made leading me to this moment.
“Are you alright with it?” I ask, the question hanging between us like a challenge—my place among them still new, still uncertain.
Oberon leans back, his posture relaxed but his attention sharp. “I am. It feels like it was meant to be,” he admits, a rare vulnerability slipping through his usually guarded demeanor. “I’ve known for a while that you’d end up being one of us.”
“Have you now?” I can’t help the skepticism that laces my tone. Foresight isn’t something I put much stock in—not in a city that thrives on chaos and power plays.
“Sure have. You had a certain…chemistry with Ais the first night you met at Dreamland.” Oberon smirks, and there’s a glint in his eyes that speaks to unspoken stories and shared secrets. “But then again, that’s Ais for you. She has a way of charming the pants off anyone who crosses her path.”
“And Gunnar?” The memory of tangled limbs and shared breaths with both Aisling and Gunnar still leaves me off-kilter, a sensation that’s foreign yet intoxicating.
“From what I can tell, yes,” Oberon answers without hesitation. “Gunnar doesn’t let anything happen he’s not okay with. Not these days.”
I nod slowly, digesting this. Gunnar’s approval means more than it should—more than I’m willing to admit even to myself. “And the proposal? What’s his take on that?” The words slip out before I fully register the tension they evoke.
Oberon’s posture stiffens ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing as he considers his answer. It’s a subtle shift, but I catch the change instantly—we alphas are attuned to the slightest hints of discord.
“Marriage is…complicated,” Oberon admits after a beat. His voice carries a weight that belies the casualness of the conversation. “Gunnar knows what needs to be done for the pack, for the city. But there’s always more at play—the bigger picture, the world’s demands. It’s never just about him and Aisling.” He exhales a humorless chuckle. “Bla bla bla…you know how it goes.”
“Yeah, I get it.” I lean back into the plush sofa, the leather cool against my skin. The pull between duty and desire isn’t unfamiliar to me. “The tug-of-war between personal wants and greater needs. It’s a bitch, isn’t it?”
“Always is.” Oberon gives a rueful smile, one that speaks volumes about the sacrifices made in the name of power and position. “Sometimes I wonder if we’ll ever get a moment of peace. Just a damn second where it’s not about strategy or survival.”
The pause between us stretches, filled with unspoken understanding. It’s the life of an alpha—constant vigilance, endless battles. But tonight, for a fleeting moment, I want to imagine something different.
“Does he want to marry Aisling?” The question escapes me before caution can catch it, raw and loaded.
“One day, I’m sure he does,” Oberon nods. “And you know…pack marriages are changing all the time, those bonds getting more and more common. But—”
“Not one day,” I interrupt. “What about tonight?”
Oberon frowns. “But…but what about you?”
“What about me?” I shrug. “If I’m with the pack, I’m with you—a marriage doesn’t matter so long as we’re publicly pack bonded with a bite. But marriage…I don’t know, man. I don’t want to take that away from Gunnar. The way he talks about her…”
It reminds me that Gunnar isn’t just an ally, not just a packmate…and not just a lover. Before all of that, he was my friend —and I know how much he loves Aisling.
“She should be his,” I finish. “I truly believe that.”
Oberon’s brow furrows, his fingers curling on his knees. I can tell it’s hard for him—hard for any of us to think she belongs to any one of us more than the other. I was more worried about asking the pack than asking Gunnar, who I’m sure will say yes…
…but he surprises me by nodding.
“They have something special,” Oberon says. “She had his bite first—and he did so much to get her safe from the Eclipse from the beginning. When I was losing my mind…he was protecting her. He’s earned this. So…yeah, I guess. I don’t think I’d mind throwing a wedding tonight.”
Before we can say another word, the door to the bedroom creaks open and Luka saunters out, the waistband of his sweats hanging low on his hips. I can’t help the smirk that plays across my lips as my gaze skims over his broad shoulders and the cut lines at his abdomen. For a moment, I indulge in the sight before me; it’s not every day you see a walking temptation like Luka Petrov looking so disheveled and yet utterly unbothered by it.
If nothing else, I’ll never be lacking for eye candy in this pack.
“Got a minute?” I call out, raising an eyebrow at him.
He stops, his frown deepening, green eyes curious. “For what?”
“Your blessing,” I say with a casual tilt of my head. My heart thuds a wild rhythm against my ribs at the prospect of what I’m about to propose. “For Gunnar to marry Aisling.”
His frown shifts into a laugh, a genuine amusement lighting up those eyes that have seen far too many shadows. He leans back against the doorframe, arms crossed, a picture of ease but there’s a sharpness there—a readiness—that speaks of his alpha nature. I hear footsteps in the bedroom, soft voice, then a shower turning on—there’s no chance Aisling and Gunnar will hear us from in the bathroom.
“Maybe you should ask them?” he suggests, a hint of challenge in his tone, but his grin tells me he’s on board. It’s a strange camaraderie we’ve stitched together, but it’s real and raw and right now, it feels like it could carry us through anything—even this.
I nod, more sure of this than anything else. “Yeah, we’ll ask. But you think it’ll work?”
“Ask and you shall receive,” Luka says with a wink, then shrugs nonchalantly. “Or so they say. But yeah, I reckon it will. We’re all in this tangled mess together, might as well tie a knot and make it official.”
“Was that a pun?” Oberon chides Luka.
Luka rolls his eyes. “Absolutely not.”
“Good—because I was about to say Rook must be rubbing off on you.”
There’s a beat of silence, a current of understanding that flows between us. We all want what’s best for Aisling, for the pack.
And somehow, despite the chaos that is our existence, this feels like a step toward something resembling stability.
“What if we surprised them?” Oberon asks suddenly. “Tell them we should all go out to dinner, get to know each other…make sure Rook is in the loop. I don’t want to surprise him.”
“All good by me,” I tell Oberon as Luka nods along. “I trust your judgment.”
“I’m already texting him,” Luka says, and I glance over to see him picking up his phone off a table by the window. “He’s on his way.”
“Great,” I say with a grin. This feels crazy—as I guess most shotgun weddings do—but it also feels right. “So…are you all ready to walk our girl down the aisle?”
Oberon smiles. “More than ready,” he says. “I think we’ve all earned a little bit of joy for once.”