20. Aisling
Chapter twenty
Aisling
“Where the hell are we going?” I grumble, casting a sidelong glance at Nero who strides ahead of us like he’s leading a parade. The street hums with life, the neon signs flickering their siren calls, but my gut churns with unease.
“Surprise,” Nero tosses over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at his lips. That word coming from him could mean anything from an impromptu party to a cage fight.
“Surprise” doesn’t sit well with me. Not here in this world where every corner hides a potential threat. Gunnar, solid and sure, is on my right, his hand a comforting weight on my arm. Rook flanks my left, mirroring Gunnar’s protective stance.
Nero’s idea of fun often spells trouble.
I don’t want to get mixed up in that.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask Gunnar, barely able to keep the skepticism out of my voice. “I mean, it’s not like Nero’s planning to off us, right?”
Gunnar’s brow furrows slightly as he sizes up Nero’s back. “He wouldn’t,” he starts, but there’s a hitch in his voice that doesn’t quite sell it. “At least, I don’t think so.”
“Comforting,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. But despite the sarcasm, my pulse races, half with annoyance, half with something dangerously close to excitement. It’s been a long time since anything felt certain in this mess we call life.
“Come on, Aisling,” Rook chimes in, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me, “when has life with the pack ever been boring?”
“Never wanted boring,” I shoot back, “just a heads-up would’ve been nice.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Nero calls out without turning around, and there’s laughter in his voice.
“Right,” I say, tightening my grip on Gunnar and Rook. “Because stumbling into the unknown is a real riot.”
“Exactly,” Nero throws back, and his confident stride never falters. Whatever his surprise, Nero seems convinced it will change everything.
And that’s what scares me the most.
The neon glow of the Oasis Strip splashes across our faces, painting us in strokes of wild color. The air hums with a techno beat that pulses from the open doors of clubs and the chatter of revellers dressed in their night’s best. It’s hard not to get swept up in the vibe of it all, but my gut tells me we’re not here for dancing.
“Are you sure he said ‘dress nice’ and not ‘bring a weapon’?” I quip, trying to ignore the knot forming in my stomach.
“Pretty sure,” Gunnar replies dryly, his arm tense under my grasp. “Though with Nero, one never quite knows.”
We round a corner, and suddenly the street widens into a plaza aglow with the kind of glitz that can only mean one thing: we’re stepping onto the set of some grand production.
And there, shining like a beacon of matrimonial hope, is a chapel—its big, glitzy white sign proclaiming “CHAPEL OF THE STARS” in bold, sparkling letters.
I halt so abruptly that Rook nearly barrels into me from behind. “No way,” I breathe out, feeling like I’ve been sucker-punched by fate. “He wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t what?” Gunnar follows my gaze and blanches. “Oh.”
“Is this some weird alpha power play?” I demand, my voice rising an octave as I pivot to face them both. “Because if so, count me out.”
Gunnar, still staring at the chapel, seems lost in thought. “Nero, are you—”
But before he can finish, Nero cuts him off. “No need to spoil the surprise, Gunnar. All will be revealed.” There’s a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that I don’t trust one bit.
“I’m not marrying you in a fucking Oasis chapel, Nero,” I snap, starting to turn around.
But Rook catches me by the arm, his eyes flitting over to Gunnar.
“Aisling—you’re not marrying Nero ,“ he says. “You’re marrying Gunnar. Now come on…we’ve got a reservation.”
He saunters away, leaving me staring at the chapel alongside Gunnar. It isn’t like I haven’t thought of it—being Aisling Finch, getting rid of the name of my horrible father…
…but tonight?
The others waltz ahead, their laughter and chatter fading into the chapel’s welcoming embrace. I glance over at Gunnar, who stands frozen, mouth agape, clearly blindsided by the evening’s turn.
“Are you okay with this?” I prod gently, a knot of concern tightening in my chest.
He blinks rapidly, as if snapping out of a trance, then shakes his head…and my face falls. No…of course he isn’t okay with it. He still hasn’t fully forgiven me after I hurt him, after everything I’ve done…
“I get it,” I whisper. “If you don’t want to…I understand.”
But Gunnar’s head snaps to mine—then he faces me fully. His hands envelop me in a warmth that steadies my racing heart. “Marry you? Hell, Aisling, there’s nothing I want more,” he says, voice a rugged whisper that coaxes a smile onto my lips despite the madness of it all.
“Really?” The word tumbles out—a half-question, half-plea for certainty.
“Really.” He answers with a conviction that anchors me.
I let out a breath and allow his fingers to weave through mine, guiding me forward…and we cross the threshold of the Chapel of the Stars together.
Inside, the air is thick with the scent of possibilities. Twinkle lights drape from every corner, weaving gold, purple, and blue hues across the ceiling painted like a never-ending night sky. It’s a galaxy unto itself, a universe where only we exist. It’s not nearly as corny as I would have expected, given all the things I’ve heard about places like this.
At the front desk, Nero chats up the hostess, his charisma no doubt smoothing whatever path lies before us. He glances over his shoulder, catching our approach, and gestures grandly towards us. “These two lovebirds are here to tie the knot,” he says, a playful edge to his tone.
The hostess beams at us, her smile a beacon of commercial cheer. “Mr. Rossi here already made a reservation,” she chirps, and Gunnar’s scowl is almost audible.
“He could’ve told us,” he mutters under his breath, side-eyeing Nero with an intensity I know all too well.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Nero fires back, his grin as devilish as his reputation.
My heart’s doing this funny little dance, tripping over itself in a rhythm of surprise and excitement. It’s not every day you get whisked away to an impromptu wedding in a chapel that looks like it belongs in a fairytale.
“Actually…” The hostess’s voice wavers slightly as she glances at our pack, an eyebrow raised in question. “We do offer something special for larger groups—the Whole Pack-age.”
Rook snorts, Oberon covering his mouth. Even Luka laughs softly, shaking his head.
Gunnar opens his mouth, probably to agree, but Oberon steps in smoothly, his hand resting on Gunnar’s arm—a silent bid for attention. “We all agreed that tonight is about you two,” Oberon says, his voice low and steady. “This is your moment, officially. The rest of us…we can wait for our own times with Aisling.”
A lump forms in my throat, gratitude swelling alongside love. They’re giving us this—giving me this—and it feels more sacred than I’d ever imagined. I meet Gunnar’s gaze, searching for any hint of hesitation, any shadow of doubt.
“Do you want this?” he asks, words laden with the weight of our shared past and uncertain future.
“Yes.” My reply comes strong and sure. “Absolutely yes.”
Gunnar’s face softens into a rare, unguarded smile that cuts right through me. In that instant, the chaos of our world all fades into the background.
“Then let’s do this,” he says with a newfound resolve. “Let’s start our forever now.”
The hostess gestures to me with a smile that holds both excitement and a flicker of the same overwhelming sensation coursing through me. “Right this way, Aisling.”
An attendant appears from seemingly nowhere, his gaze fixed on Gunnar. “Sir, if you’ll follow me, we have a selection of rings for you to choose from.”
Gunnar nods, sending me a reassuring look before he’s whisked away. My heart races, but I manage to follow the hostess down a narrow hallway lined with framed pictures of couples under the glimmer of twinkle lights. The ambiance is an odd mix of romance and commercialism, yet it stirs something in my chest.
“Here,” the hostess says, opening a door to reveal a small dressing room dominated by a rack of dresses. “Take your time. I’ll just be outside getting your bouquet ready.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, but she’s already gone, the click of the closing door punctuating her departure.
Alone, my fingers tremble as they work the zipper of my dress, slipping it off to pool on the floor. I’m wearing a set of black lace underwear and a bra underneath—not exactly the best underthings for a wedding.
My gaze settles on the first gown—a vision of ethereal beauty made real. It’s a sleeveless number, the bodice embroidered with intricate silver threads that weave into patterns reminiscent of stars and constellations. The skirt cascades in layers of tulle that seem to capture the very essence of moonlight.
The second dress beckons, its off-the-shoulder design framing what would be a delicate display of collarbones and shoulders. Made of rich, deep blue velvet, it clings to imaginary curves before flaring out into a mermaid tail, the hem adorned with crystal beads that catch the light with every movement.
And then, there’s the third—a daring backless gown in a striking midnight black, a stark contrast against my pale skin. It’s simple yet bold, with a plunging neckline and a fitted silhouette that flares at the knees. On the back, a subtle embroidery of a phoenix rising from ashes speaks to a tale of rebirth and resilience.
Each dress is more stunning than the last, each crafted to make the wearer feel like the center of their own universe. And tonight, in this surreal chapel on the Oasis Strip, I am that center—unsteady, uncertain, but undeniably alive.
“Choices, choices,” I whisper to myself, reaching out to brush my fingers over the fabrics, imagining how each one would feel against my skin, how each would draw Gunnar’s eyes, and how each would seal our fates in this bizarre yet beautiful moment.
I’m still mid-thought when the door eases open again, and Rook’s familiar frame fills the doorway. I glance over, taking in his easy grin and the casual way he stands there with his hands tucked away, his foot kicking back to close the door with a soft thud .
“Hey,” I say, relief washing over me. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he replies, sauntering closer.
I can’t help but study him as he approaches, his presence grounding amidst the chaos of tonight. “Are you…okay with this?” The question feels heavy on my tongue, weighted with the complexities of our pack dynamics.
“Okay with it?” He wraps his arms around me, his embrace warm and reassuring. His lips brush against mine—a touch so feather-light it’s almost a whisper—and I feel a surge of affection for him. “Aisling, the pack is already bonded. This is just making things official.”
“Even if it’s so sudden?” My voice is barely above a murmur as I lean into his hold, seeking comfort in his certainty.
“Even then.” He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze squarely. “Look, I know it’s fast, but that doesn’t change how I feel. And Gunnar…” A soft chuckle escapes him, tinged with respect. “He was first. He’s the prime of our pack. It’s right that he goes first with you.”
“And you’re really okay with being…second?” The word feels wrong as soon as it leaves my mouth, because Rook isn’t second to anyone in my heart.
“Second, third—it doesn’t matter.” His smile is genuine, reaching all the way to his eyes. “I’ve known since the start that I’m in love with Gunnar’s girl. That’s not changing anytime soon.”
The admission ignites something fierce and tender within me. Rook has never been one to hide his feelings, but hearing those words out loud, in this moment, solidifies what we all are to each other.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice steady even as my heart races. “For understanding, for being here.”
“Always,” he murmurs, pulling me close once more.
“There’s just…there’s just one thing I want,” I whisper, biting my lip. I gaze up into his hazel eyes, searching them for what I hope will be a yes. “I want you to bite me.”
He laughs, brow furrowing. “You—what?”
“Like the others,” I say, one hand reaching up to touch the bite marks across my neck—Gunnar, Oberon, Luka. “I know you’re a beta, that it’s not the same, but…just a little. Just so you’re with me, too, when I make this official.”
Rook’s eyes smolder with a mix of surprise and desire, his lips parting slightly as if to speak, but no words come. “You’re serious?” he finally whispers, his voice husky.
“Dead serious.” I take his hand in mine, threading our fingers together. “Because I’m not just Gunnar’s…I’m yours too, Rook. I belong to all of you, and you all belong to me.”
I tilt my head and move my hair aside, baring my neck. Rook leans in, breath ghosting over the bite marks on my skin…and then he kisses me softly.
“After,” he purrs. “When we’re all together. Then , I’ll claim you…my selkie.”
I swallow hard, suddenly overcome with emotion as I meet his eyes again. The selkie…that’s the story he told me what feels like a lifetime ago on Luka’s couch, about the unattainable girl who ran back to the ocean.
“You know I’m not running away, right?” I ask.
He nods. “I know. We’re going to get our happy ending.”
I start to kiss him again—but the door swings open with a soft creak. The attendant is back, her expression one of polite professionalism marred by a hint of shock, as though she’s walked in on something forbidden.
“Am I interrupting?” she asks, her gaze darting between Rook’s flushed face and my half-dressed form.
“No, not at all,” I say quickly, dropping Rook’s hand as I step toward the dressing room’s collection of gowns. “Rook here is going to help me pick out a dress.”
“Is that so?” She still looks uncertain, but she doesn’t push it, instead retreating a step to give us space.
“Absolutely,” Rook confirms, his voice a touch breathless from our earlier exchange. His eyes linger on me for a moment longer before he turns his attention to the dresses. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”
I follow his lead, my heart still racing from the intimate promise we just shared. We stand side by side, scanning the rows of gowns, each one more stunning than the last. It’s a decision I never expected to make, least of all with Rook, but there’s a thrill in that unexpectedness—a spark of rebellion against a world that has tried to dictate our fates from the start.
“Which one do you think?” I ask Rook, genuinely curious about his opinion.
He reaches out, running his fingers along the delicate embroidery of a silvery gown. “You’d look incredible in any of these. But this one…” He pulls the hanger free, holding it up against me. “This one’s special.”
“Like a star shining in the night,” I murmur, gazing at the way the fabric seems to catch the light and twinkle.
“Exactly.” His smile is tender now, devoid of any teasing. “Like the Stargazer you are.”
The nickname sends a shiver of pride through me, not of fear or apprehension but of ownership—of who I am, of who we are together. This might be moving fast, but it feels right in a way few things ever have.
Tonight, I’m marrying Gunnar.
And I have my whole pack here with me.