25. Oberon
I don’t even like whiskey, but tonight feels like a whiskey kind of night.
The bar’s low hum of conversations and clinking glasses does nothing to soothe the irritation scratching up my insides. Luka’s screw-up keeps replaying in my head, his words to Gunnar about New Eden lighting a fuse I can’t snuff out. And Gunnar, that stubborn son of a bitch, just takes off.
But Aisling—Aisling’s lies are what really get me. I’ve stood by her this whole time, I understand why she does it…but it’s even starting to get to me.
Something’s gotta give.
We’re her pack, not her pawns.
“Another?” The bartender, a beta with more scars than skin showing, nods at my empty glass.
“Keep ’em coming until I stop frowning,” I say, pushing the glass toward him. It’s not his fault everything’s gone to hell, so I try to keep the edge out of my voice.
I fish my phone out of my pocket. Still no word from Aisling. She’s been with Inari for too long, and the silence is gnawing at me. I hate it, this feeling like I’m teetering on the edge of something dark and hollow. The screen stays stubbornly silent, and I resist the urge to hurl it across the room.
“Something’s not right,” I whisper to myself. Oasis is a snake pit at the best of times, but tonight there’s a different kind of venom in the air. I run a hand through my hair, the uneasy sensation creeping up my neck. Aisling should’ve checked in by now, especially after meeting with Inari. That omega might be crimelord of the Palms, but she’s as unpredictable as desert rain.
“Oberon, you look like you’re trying to pick a fight with your drink,” a voice says over my shoulder. “And I’ve got bad news—the drink’s gonna win.”
I look up as Rook slides into the barstool next to me, Irish accent over a gravelly voice. I give a half-hearted shrug.
“Drink?” I ask, not waiting for his nod before I signal for two more of whatever hell I’ve been pouring down my throat.
“Thanks,” he says, taking the glass the bartender slides over. He raises it in a silent salute before taking a sip, eyes scanning the dimly lit room like he’s reading a story in every shadow.
We sit there, the silence stretching between us like a challenge. It’s not comfortable, but it’s necessary. We’re both wound tight, ready to snap, and the quiet is the only thing keeping us from breaking.
“Where’d you run off to?” I finally break the silence, turning to face him.
“Needed some air,” Rook says, his gaze still fixed on something in the distance, something I can’t see. “Place was getting too close, too loud.”
“Find what you were looking for?” I’m not sure why I ask; maybe I’m looking for confirmation that we’re both still searching for something solid to hold onto in this shifting sandstorm of alliances and betrayals.
Rook turns to look at me then, his eyes a mirror of the night sky outside—dark, deep, and full of secrets. “Not yet,” he admits, and there’s a weight in his words that tells me he’s searching for more than just fresh air or a quiet corner.
I flick my gaze over to Rook, noticing the way his fingers trace the rim of his glass in an absent-minded gesture. “So, what’s the story?” I nudge, leaning back into the faux leather of the barstool.
“Hit up an old contact.” He takes a slow sip, eyes hooded. “Wanted to get the lay of the land, pick up anything that might give us an edge.”
“Any luck?”
“Nothing but nerves and dead ends.” Rook’s voice is gravel mixed with frustration. “She’s just as in the dark, biting her nails down to the quick.”
“Damn.” I drain the last of my drink, ice clinking emptily against glass. “Been one hell of a day.”
Rook nods, shifting in his seat, clearly restless. “Where’s everyone scattered off to now?”
“Vance disappeared into his hole, Nero slinked off to his lair,” I murmur, the words tasting bitter. “Gunnar and Luka needed some space to hash things out.”
“Alone?” Rook raises an eyebrow, skeptical.
“Seems like it.” I shrug. It’s not our place to question their methods, just to trust they won’t tear each other apart.
“And Aisling?”
“Still with Inari, far as I know.” My stomach tightens at the thought—Aisling alone with the omega crimelord. Dangerous waters for sure.
Rook’s sigh cuts through the hum of conversations around us, heavy with an edge that makes my skin prickle. “I don’t trust Inari.”
“Thought you two had history,” I remark, keeping my tone neutral even as my instincts go on high alert.
“Owe her more than I can count,” Rook concedes, his voice dropping to a murmur. “But Inari? She’s always got an ace up her sleeve. Might smile at you one moment and stab you in the back the next if it serves her purpose.”
“Kings and queens of the underworld,” I muse aloud, tipping my empty glass from side to side. “Caius Rossi was the same—always working an angle. You think you know them, but there’s layers you ain’t ever gonna peel back. Guess that’s just the way they keep their thrones.”
“Tricks, lies, secrets—they’re the currency they trade in.” Rook’s gaze is sharp, like he’s trying to carve out the truth from the shadows that cling to every corner of the bar. “You reckon Aisling will turn out like them one day?”
I pause, the question hanging heavy between us. Aisling’s not your typical omega; she’s got a fire that could either save her or singe us all.
But before I can answer, the sharp buzz of my phone cuts through the clinking glasses and low thrum of bass from the speakers.
“Damn.” I pull the cell from my pocket, Luka’s name flashing on the screen. My finger hovers, then swipes to answer. “Luka, what’s going on?”
“Oberon,” he starts, and there’s a strain in his voice that has me straightening up. “We need to talk.”
“Talk then,” I say, my eyes darting to Rook, who’s watching me with a look that says he knows this isn’t just another call. “Is it Aisling?”
“Yeah,” Luka’s voice is tight, urgent. “She’s in heat, asking for you. We need you to come down to the heat spa. And can you—can you make sure they’ve got a suite ready for us?”
I’m on my feet before I realize it, the stool scraping back against the floor. Heat. The word alone sends a jolt through me, instinctual and raw.
A suite means privacy, intensity, a place where the rest of the world can’t touch us.
“What the hell happened?” I ask. “I knew she was close, but this is…sudden.”
“Well…she kind of got between me and Gunnar,” he mutters. “And—“
“Gunnar’s with you?” My voice is a growl now, the implication hitting me like a freight train.
“Yeah,” Luka confirms, his tone guarded. “Gunnar’s with us.”
“Alright,” I say, my mind racing as I end the call, not bothering with goodbyes. I look down at my phone, the weight of it suddenly like lead in my hand.
“Something’s up?” Rook’s voice slices through the noise around us. His eyes are steady on mine, giving nothing away.
“Aisling’s in heat,” I spit out the words, still grappling with the surprise. “Wants me to join them downstairs. They’re with Gunnar.”
“Christ.” Rook leans back in his seat, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards like he’s fighting a smile or a grimace; with him, it’s hard to tell. “Didn’t see that one coming.”
“Neither did I.” My fingers tap against the sleek surface of the phone, a nervous tic. “And Luka—damn, I don’t know what the hell is going on anymore.”
“Need to go?” Rook nods towards the door, the dim lights casting shadows across his face, making him look all kinds of serious and aloof.
“Looks that way.” I stand there for a second longer than necessary, the dissonance of Oasis’ nighttime rhythm providing the perfect backdrop for the chaos inside my head.
“Let me cover this,” Rook gestures to our half-finished drinks, his eyes holding a glimmer of something unreadable.
“Stop,” I say, shaking my head and tossing back the last of my whiskey. The burn slides down easy, a temporary reprieve from the mess waiting for me. “Don’t be silly. You should come with us.”
Rook’s expression shifts from casual indifference to outright shock so fast it could give you whiplash. “You’re inviting me to an…orgy?” He raises an eyebrow, incredulity etched into every feature.
“More of a heat suite than an orgy,” I correct him, but the smirk playing on his lips tells me he’s less scandalized than he lets on.
“Thanks, but I’ll pass.” Rook’s eyes glint with a mix of amusement and something else—maybe pity, or is it envy? “Gunnar’s back in the picture, and Luka too, right? Sounds like Aisling will be more than satisfied.”
“Rook,” I start, leaning in a little closer, the words coming out low and firm. “It’s not like that.” His gaze meets mine, skeptical. “Aisling… she cares about you, man. And after all you’ve done—standing up for us, taking us in—you’re pack, whether you like it or not.”
His eyes shift away, landing on the array of bottles behind the bar. It’s clear he’s mulling it over, maybe even tempted, but there’s a wariness there too, a hesitation born of too many years spent relying only on himself.
The bartender saunters over, depositing the check on the counter with a clink of glass against wood. I reach for it without looking, keeping my attention on Rook. “I got this,” I say, pulling out my wallet and dropping enough cash to cover our drinks and a generous tip.
“Thanks man, but—“
“One more offer, for the road?” I try once more, half-hoping he’ll change his mind. There’s a part of me that knows Aisling sees something in Rook, something worthwhile, and it’s not just about tonight—it’s about the bonds we’re all still trying to figure out.
“Oberon, really.” Rook shakes his head, his decision stamped clear across his face. “Go take care of your omega. I’m good here.”
“Suit yourself.” I stand, feeling the weight of the night heavy on my shoulders. “You know where to find us if you change your mind.”
I leave the words hanging between us like an open door, knowing full well he won’t walk through it. But the offer stands, as much a testament to our tangled connections as anything else.
With one last nod, I turn away from the bar, from Rook, and the familiar static of Oasis’ nightlife fills the space where our conversation used to be.
The descent downstairs feels longer than it should, each step dragging me deeper into an inevitable maelstrom of emotion and flesh. The air grows denser with the perfume of omegas and the primal musk of alphas, mingling in a way that sets my instincts on edge.
“Keep it together,” I mutter under my breath, my hand trailing along the cool metal railing. The heat spa’s entrance looms ahead, its muted lighting doing little to calm the storm brewing in my gut.
I pause at the door, hands jammed in my pockets, feeling the vibration of my phone against my thigh—a silent reminder of why I’m here, of Aisling’s need. My fingers twitch, itching for another drink, something to numb the edges of this night, but there’s no time for that now.
With a deep breath, I push the door open, stepping into the hushed sanctity of the spa. It’s oddly serene inside, two beta females sitting at a desk, wearing what really do look like spa uniforms.
“Name?” she asks.
“Oberon Vega,” I mutter. “But I don’t have a reservation—“
“No, you do—with Aisling Faye? I see it right here.” She checks something off on a clipboard. “I can take you back. Your pack is waiting.”
“Really?”
“Mmhm,” she says with a picture perfect smile. “Miss Toure made the reservation herself.”
I scowl, paranoia coursing through me. Once we’re down here…we’ll be vulnerable. If Inari has plans for us…
“Right this way, Mr. Vega.”
It’s too late anyway.
Aisling’s in heat, and we’re in enemy territory.
She takes me down a hallway with warm lighting, the moans of omegas, betas, and alphas alike rising in a chorus all around. The scents alone have me practically feral, and I start to wonder what the concept of worrying even means.
“Your pack just arrived, but are already engaged,” the attendant says. She stops at a door, and opens it for me with a passkey that she hands over. “You’re welcome to come and go as you please, but everything you need for your omega’s heat should be in that room. You can call for assistance if you need anything else.”
“Thanks,” I murmur.
Then I step inside.
As the door to the suite closes behind me, sealing me off from the rest of the world, I can’t shake off the image of Rook sitting at the bar, alone with his thoughts. Part of me wants to believe he’ll come, that the bond we’re forging isn’t just a figment of my hopeful imagination.
“Deal with it later,” I tell myself, because right now, Aisling needs me—all of us—and I won’t let her down.
Steeling myself, I move toward the inner door where soft moans and the scent of heat already seep through the cracks. This is our reality, twisted and beautiful and fucked up all at once.
“Ready or not,” I whisper, gripping the handle, and step into the tempest that awaits.