29. Rook
I take the steps two at a time, each one echoing off the sterile walls like the ticking of a bomb. My heart’s doing this jackrabbit thing, pounding against my ribs as if trying to bust out. The heat spa is just an elevator ride away, but it feels like I’m heading into enemy territory.
Or worse, a place where all my self-control gets shredded to bits.
“You don’t have to fuck her, Rook,“ I mutter under my breath.
It’s useless telling myself that…when I really, really want to fuck her.
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open with a hiss. I step inside, jabbing the button for the spa level. The descent is smooth, too smooth, and I tap the tips of my boots against the steel floor, needing some noise to drown out the thoughts screaming in my head.
When the doors open again, it’s like stepping onto another planet. Two beta females man the front desk, clad in these crisp, white outfits that scream ‘clean’ and ‘pure’. But the atmosphere? It’s soaked in sex, thick enough to cut with a knife.
And damn it, Aisling’s voice is cutting through it all, unmistakable even among the symphony of moans and gasps echoing down the hall.
“Shit,” I hiss, feeling that familiar twist in my gut. My blood heats up, my body reacting despite every mental command to stand down.
This is Aisling, the Stargazer, and she’s setting off fireworks in my head without even being in sight. I rake a hand through my hair, though the action does nothing to cool me down.
I’m not a damn alpha. I can control myself.
…maybe.
“Sir?” One of the beta females eyes me, her voice a soft interruption to my inner turmoil. “Do you have an appointment?”
I drag in a breath, schooling my features into something less like a wolf on the edge. “Aisling Faye,” I manage to say, my voice gritty as if dragged over concrete. “I’m here to see her and her pack.”
The woman taps on her tablet, her fingers flying across the screen before she looks up with a smile that’s probably meant to be reassuring. “You’re on the list.”
I lift an eyebrow but don’t ask questions. Being on Aisling’s pack list isn’t something I expected, but it’s not the kind of surprise you question—not here, not now. It could have been Inari toying with us, or Oberon playing matchmaker…anyone, really.
Regardless, it’s working out in my favor.
“Follow me, please,” she says, standing with a grace that seems out of place in this den of debauchery.
I follow her down the hall, each step a deliberate effort to keep my cool. My boots are silent on the plush carpet, but the pounding of my heart is a relentless drumbeat in my ears.
The closer we get to the source of those sounds—the moans, the cries, the unmistakable cadence of pleasure—the tighter my chest gets. It’s like walking into a furnace, heat licking at every nerve ending, promising relief and agony all at once.
And then there’s Aisling’s voice, rising above the rest, a siren call that makes everything else fade away. Her pleasure is almost tangible, a living thing in the air around me. There’s another groan, lower, rougher—Luka’s, I’m betting—and it’s too much.
“Here we are,” the beta says, oblivious to the storm she’s leading me into. She stops beside a door that looks just like the others, except this one might as well be a gateway to hell for all the self-control I’m about to leave behind.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
My knuckles rap against the door in a staccato burst, more out of obligation than any real hope of decorum. It swings open to reveal Gunnar on the other side, his imposing frame barely contained by the sweatpants slung low on his hips. The musk of sex wafts out from the room behind him, thick and potent, but Aisling isn’t in sight.
“Rook,” he greets me, a smirk playing on his lips as though he knows exactly what kind of hell I’ve just walked through to get here. “Finally decided to join us?”
“You put me on the list?”
“No…that would be Oberon,” Gunnar says, gesturing over his shoulder. Oberon is similarly dressed in sweats—like I’ve walked into alpha night at the Moonshine Lounge.
“Well, here I am,” I say, trying to ignore the moans that plays like a sultry backdrop to our conversation. “Although it does seem I’m overdressed. Should I go change into a matching pair of sweats or…?”
Gunnar snorts before stepping aside, granting me passage. “Come on in.”
I step over the threshold, eyes immediately landing on Oberon. He’s lounging in a comfortable couch, snacking on some fruit that looks fresh and ripe. There’s a bowl of it on the counter of the kitchenette to the right—everything a pack might need to get through their omega’s heat.
“Take a seat,” Gunnar says, nodding to the chair opposite Oberon. I hesitate, feeling the tension coil in my gut like barbed wire. “You here to join the festivities or what?”
“Depends,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady as I lower myself onto the edge of the offered chair. “Does joining mean you’ve patched things up with Aisling? You giving this whole scene your blessing now?”
My question hangs in the air, and for a moment, the only sound is the distant cries of pleasure that are unmistakably Aisling. We all pause—like we’re listening to the crescendo of a song—but it doesn’t quite fade away as we continue.
Gunnar’s expression doesn’t change much, but the corner of his mouth twitches—a silent tell that he’s not entirely at ease with the situation either. He grabs an apple from the bowl on the kitchenette counter and bites into it with a crunch that seems too loud.
“Let’s just say we’re working through our issues,” he says after chewing thoughtfully. “One orgasm at a time.” His gaze flicks to Oberon, who nods as if confirming some unspoken understanding between them.
“Oberon says you and Aisling got something special already,” Gunnar continues, eyes narrowing slightly as they fix on me.
It’s a scary look—one I’ve learned to avoid over the years. You don’t get between a pack leader and his omega, not if you want to stay alive.
“That’s one way to look at it,” I mutter, my fingers digging into the arms of the chair.
“Right,” Gunnar says, his tone laced with a hint of challenge as he tosses the apple core into a wastebasket. “Well, make yourself at home. We’re all friends here, aren’t we?”
I peer at him, trying to figure out what his deal is. Gunnar’s always been impulsive, but right now…I just can’t read him. He’s changed, and I’m not sure if it’s for the better.
“Full disclosure,” I say, my voice steady though my pulse isn’t, “I haven’t done more than kiss her.”
Just as the words leave my lips, a sharp cry pierces through the heavy door across the room. Aisling’s voice, raw and unrestrained, shreds the air with the sound of her pleasure. It echoes in the tight space of my chest, rattles around like a caged animal desperate to break free.
Silence crashes down on us, thick and electric. I can feel their eyes on me, measuring, weighing. My breath comes short and jagged, a stark rhythm against the distant moans that play out like an alluring siren song.
“Christ,” Gunnar mutters under his breath, his gaze flitting towards the source of the sounds then back to me.
Oberon’s jaw clenches, his fingers drumming a restless beat on the armrest of his chair. He looks about ready to bolt through that door and reclaim his place by Aisling’s side. But he doesn’t move, not yet.
“Rook,” Oberon starts, his tone expectant, “if you’re here, you may as well get in there and—“
I cut him off with a raised hand. “That’s not why,” I insist, pushing the words out before my resolve weakens. Before I give in to the desire clawing at my skin, begging to rip away the last threads of control I have left.
Their expressions shift almost imperceptibly, but I catch the flicker of impatience in Gunnar’s eyes, the hunger in Oberon’s. They’re alphas through and through, and right now, there’s only one thing they want more than anything.
Aisling.
“Right,” Gunnar says after a beat. “So why are you here?”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. “Listen, I need both of you to keep your cool when I say this.” The gravity in my voice seems to anchor them, for a moment at least.
“Spit it out,” Gunnar growls lowly, his patience wearing thin.
“Vance,” I start. That one word is enough to stiffen their spines. “I saw him today, meeting with some shadowy figure. And I got a real bad feeling about it.”
“That sounds bad…but I need a bit more detail than a bad feeling,” Oberon murmurs, skepticism shading his voice.
“More than that,” I say quickly, leaning forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped tight. “I think Vance set us up on the Mojave Skyway. Staged the hit, then framed Oberon and Gunnar.”
Gunnar’s fists clench, knuckles popping with the strain. His face darkens, anger boiling beneath the surface like molten lava ready to burst. Oberon’s eyes dart to the door and back to me, his glare sharp enough to slice through steel—like he’s waiting for more assassins to barrel inside.
Would be a bad idea…unless they want to get their heads torn off.
“Why would he do that?” Oberon’s voice is a dangerous rumble, a prelude to the storm that’s brewing.
“Simple,” Gunnar answers before I can, voice laced with venom. “To drive a wedge between us. He’s been playing a long game, but why?” His eyes narrow, a predator zeroing in on the scent of betrayal.
“Because he’s threatened,” I say, the words coming out more confident than I feel. “By what Aisling represents, by what we could be together.”
“Divide and conquer,” Oberon muses, the truth settling over us like an unwelcome fog.
“Exactly,” I press on. “He wants us off balance, looking over our shoulders. We can’t let him get the jump on us again.” I take a deep breath, my own frustration simmering. “I don’t think he’s out to kill any of us, just spook us. But we can’t afford to take any chances.”
Gunnar nods, his expression hardening into one of resolve. “We stay sharp, then. Keep our eyes open.”
“Right. So, what’s our move?” Oberon asks, focusing back on the immediate problem.
“Talk to Nero,” Gunnar suggests with a grim certainty, standing up and pacing a few steps before turning to face us. “Vance is on thin ice with him too—said he would help Nero, then threw him to the wolves back when Aisling went to Terra Vitae. Nero wants Vance gone as much as we all want Caius Rossi out of power. Time for a new generation of leadership in Pacific City.”
“Can we trust Nero?” Oberon’s voice is flat, skeptical.
“About as far as we can throw him,” Gunnar says. “But if there’s one thing Nero hates more than losing, it’s being played for a fool by Vance and Caius. He’s a wildcard, sure, but his hate for our older brothers might just make him the most reliable ally we could ask for in this mess.”
“And the plan is…what?” Oberon says. “To kill Vance?”
We all lose our words at that, my head spinning. It would be a major play—one I don’t think we’re ready for.
“Kill Vance? No.” I shake my head sharply, my voice a low growl. “Aisling wouldn’t stand for it, and neither would Luka.”
“Then what?” Gunnar crosses his arms, his posture all tension and barely contained aggression.
I take in a deep breath, tasting the charged air between us. It’s thick with unsaid possibilities, each more dangerous than the last. “We flip the script on him. We stage Vance’s murder, make it look like he’s out of the game. You, Gunnar, you step up as the new head honcho of the Angels. With Vance ‘dead,’ you could climb to Archangel status without breaking a sweat.”
Gunnar’s eyes light up with a dark glint, a predator smelling blood. “And how exactly do we pull this off?”
“Oasis,” I say, the word slipping from my tongue like a key fitting into a lock. “We’re here now, and Inari Toure clearly wanted to talk—to us, not to Vance. We get her help, stage the whole thing on her turf. She’s got the resources, the influence. And she’s cunning enough to make it look real.”
“Vance out of the picture…” Oberon trails off, pondering the implications.
“More than that,” I add, my words measured, “it puts us at an advantage. No one will see it coming. Not Caius Rossi, not the Eclipse, not the rest of the Angels. They’ll be scrambling while we’re already ten steps ahead.”
“Shit, that might just work.” Gunnar’s face splits into a rare grin, savage as it is satisfied. “That omega’s got brains to match her bite, and if we play our cards right, we’ll have Pacific City eating out of our hands.”
“Exactly.” I nod, feeling the thrill of the hunt surge within me. “We stay low, let Inari’s shadow cover our tracks. Then, when the dust settles, we reveal the truth. Vance gets to disappear, we get control, and everyone’s happy.”
“Except Vance,” Oberon points out, but there’s a note of admiration in his voice.
“Vance gets to keep his life. That’s more than he’d get from Nero or Caius,” I reply, my tone leaving no room for argument.
“Alright then.” Gunnar claps his hands together, decisive. “Let’s set the stage for the greatest vanishing act Pacific City has ever seen.”
“Good,” I say. “I’ll start putting the pieces into place.”
“Only one hiccup,” Gunnar’s voice cuts through the thick air as another muffled cry of ecstasy seeps through the walls. “This…it’s going to have to wait until her heat is over.” He jerks his head towards the sound, a wry smile pulling at his lips. “None of us can focus properly with Aisling burning up like that.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Oberon murmurs, eying the door with an intensity that speaks volumes.
“Her heat takes precedence,” I admit, though my thoughts are already churning with plans and contingencies. The need to protect, to strategize, runs deep in my veins. “But once it’s done, we move fast.”
“Agreed,” Gunnar says, standing with a stretch that rolls his shoulders. “We play the waiting game for now. But when it’s time to strike, we hit hard and we hit fast.”
“Exactly.” I stand too, feeling the coil of readiness within me. “Let me handle the groundwork. When Aisling’s back on her feet, we’ll be ready to roll out the plan.”
“Sounds good,” Oberon nods, his gaze still flickering toward the source of Aisling’s cries. “Just make sure you’re ready for anything. Vance isn’t the kind to go down without a fight, even if it’s just for show.”
“Understood,” I say, and there’s a finality to my tone that signals the end of the discussion. “I’ll keep you both updated. For now, you tend to your omega.”
Gunnar is already moving toward the door, like he can’t take the wait anymore as we all get up—me to go to the exit, Gunnar and Oberon back to Aisling.
“Later then,” Gunnar says with a nod, and he pivots to step back into the inner sanctum of Aisling’s heat.
In that split second when the door swings open, my eyes catch a snapshot that brands itself on my brain: Aisling’s pale skin glistening with sweat, her body moving rhythmically atop Luka’s. She’s facing me, legs spread, her hands gripping Luka’s chest, her body rolling in graceful rhythm.
She’s a vision of raw, unbridled desire, and as she lifts her eyes to the open door, our gazes lock.
It’s like a bolt of lightning through my chest, the connection immediate and electric.
“Rook.” Oberon’s voice cuts through the haze of my thoughts as the door closes again, his tone an anchor in the storm of my senses. “She’d want you in there, you know that.”
“Maybe,” I grunt, tearing my gaze away from the door as it closes, severing the visual link between me and Aisling. “But this isn’t about what she wants right now.”
“Isn’t it?” he challenges, one eyebrow raised in silent question.
“Look, she’s riding the crest of her heat. She might want me, but not like this,” I say, my voice firm even as my body screams otherwise. “I’m not just another body to warm her bed. What I want…what we could have, it’s gotta be more than that.”
Oberon nods slowly, understanding etched into the hard lines of his face. “You’re playing the long game, huh?”
“Something like that,” I admit, my lips twitching with a rueful smile. “Besides, someone’s gotta keep their head while everyone else is losing theirs to pheromones and pleasure.”
“Fair enough.” He claps me on the shoulder, a gesture heavy with camaraderie and respect. “Just remember, she’ll still want you after. And we’ll need you clear-headed then too.”
“Count on it,” I reply, stepping back from the threshold of temptation. The sounds from within are muffled now, but they still reach deep, reminding me of what I’m walking away from—for now.
“Stay safe, Rook,” Oberon calls out as I turn to leave.
“Always do,” I throw over my shoulder, already plotting my next move in the quiet hallways of The Bellanova. Behind me, the door seals shut, and I’m left in the cool silence of the corridor, the weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders like a familiar cloak.
Aisling’s heat will end soon.
And when it does, we’ll be ready for whatever comes next.