30. Gunnar
The world’s comes back to me in pieces.
My heat’s dwindling, leaving me with that odd sensation of having been someone else entirely—more primal, wild—and now I’m just…me again. The air in the Bellanova Heat Spa tastes heavy and musky, saturated with the scents of desire and release.
I blink away the haziness, my eyelids feeling like they’re lined with sandpaper, and I’m hit with a wave of comfort so intense it almost hurts. There’s warmth all around me, a living blanket made up of the two bodies curled against my own. Luka’s presence at my back is a constant, a reminder of chaos turned into a strange sort of kinship. His chest rises and falls against me in a steady rhythm, his breath a gentle brush on the nape of my neck.
And there’s Oberon, the loyal shadow who’s never left my side through all the madness. His head’s a comforting weight on my hip, his breathing soft and even as if he’s found peace in the midst of our shared storm.
And Gunnar…
He’s sitting in a chair across from me, his gaze locked onto mine. It’s like he’s trying to communicate with me soul to soul, no words needed. But that’s always been Gunnar’s way—intense, heartfelt.
I need to touch him in a way that has nothing to do with my heat.
Just…to remind myself he’s here.
“Feels weird, doesn’t it?” I murmur, trying to chase away the silence. “Coming back from the edge.”
“Like you’ve been running wild through the woods,” he replies, his voice rough but tender. It’s not an accusation, just a fact we both understand. “But you look like you’re still in one piece.”
I smile, a small tug at the corner of my lips, and I extract myself from Luka and Oberon to prop myself up, reach out to Gunnar. My fingertips graze his cheek, rough stubble pricking against my skin. His eyes flutter closed at the touch, and there’s something disarmingly vulnerable about Gunnar like this. Worn down to the raw edges but still standing strong.
Healing isn’t pretty, but it’s necessary, and we’re all muddling through it together.
“Is it over?” he asks, eyes opening to search mine. I nod, feeling the last vestiges of the feverish heat dissipate within me.
“Yeah, it’s done.” My voice is hoarse, sounding foreign even to my own ears. I’m aware of how dirty I feel–hair tangled, the scent of our mingled scents heavy on the sheets, an uncomfortable stickiness between my thighs. It’s not just physical grime; it’s the weight of everything we’ve been through, clinging to me.
Gunnar’s gaze sweeps over me, not missing a single detail. “I like you like this,” he admits, and there’s no shame in his tone, only raw honesty. “Thoroughly used and pleasured.”
His words ignite a flicker of something deep inside me–surprise, maybe, or pride. He’s changed, shed layers of himself that once seemed impenetrable. Now here he is, laid bare in a way that goes beyond the physical.
A shiver runs across my skin, not from the chill but from the realization of how far we’ve come, how different we all are now. I’m not the only one who’s been forged new in the crucible of our desires and fears. We’re all molten, reshaped by the flames we’ve walked through.
“Look at us,” I whisper, my throat tight with emotion as I echo the words I said to Luka on New Eden months ago. “Perfect fucking chaos.”
Gunnar’s lips curl into a half-smile, a silent acknowledgment of our shared history. He extends his hand to me. “Come on, let’s wash away the chaos. Bath?”
I nod, weary but grateful for the gesture. Rising from the bed, I leave Oberon and Luka nestled in the disarrayed sheets, their breathing deep and even. As I take a step away, Oberon’s eyes flutter open, and he offers me a soft, knowing smile.
He wants us to work this out.
We have to work this out.
With Gunnar’s hand gentle on my back, guiding me, we make our way to the bathroom. The Bellanova Heat Spa is extravagant with its amenities, and the tub is no exception. It’s a lavish affair, easily accommodating four people—though maybe we’ll have to save that for next time. Gunnar bends over to twist the faucet, and soon warm water gushes out with a soothing sound. Steam begins to fill the room as if conjuring a misty sanctuary from the world outside.
Leaning against the cool marble of the counter, I watch him move. There’s an ease to his actions now, a quiet strength that shows how much he’s changed—from awkward, impulsive, to…this. His muscles flex under his skin as he adjusts the temperature, and my gaze lingers on the long-healed bite mark that mars his neck—a permanent reminder of how deeply our lives are entwined.
“Good?” he asks, looking over his shoulder at me.
“Perfect,” I say, though I’m not just talking about the bathwater.
His hands find my hips, his fingers strong and sure. We’ve crossed so many lines, erased boundaries we once thought were sacred. Yet here, in this moment, it’s just us—no alpha commands, no omega responses. Just Aisling and Gunnar, messy humans in love and learning. Our lips meet, a soft interlude in the cacophony of our past, and then he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, the word sharp and brittle in the humid air. “I’m sorry for all the lies, the games. I was trying to protect myself, but somewhere along the way…I forgot about protecting us.”
His eyes search mine—still startlingly, beautifully blue.
“Out of everyone,” I continue, my voice barely above the hum of water filling the tub, “it’s you who I hurt the most. I wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t forgive me.”
For a heartbeat, it feels as if the whole world is holding its breath, waiting for his verdict. But Gunnar doesn’t speak right away. Instead, he holds me closer, his presence a silent promise that words can’t match. His forgiveness isn’t given lightly, but I see the beginning of absolution in the tilt of his head, the softening of his eyes.
“Can’t stay away from you,” he confesses, and I feel the truth of it vibrating between us. “No matter how mad I got…I want us to work through this. I love you, Aisling. Even with all the hurt.”
I don’t know if I deserve his love, his loyalty, but in his admission there’s a salve for wounds I didn’t realize were still bleeding. His words wrap around me like a blanket. We step into the steaming bath, the water a balm to the chaos that has become our lives.
Gunnar gets in first, reaching for me, and I groan as I submerge myself in the hot water and settle back against his broad chest. His heart beats strong against my spine, a reassuring rhythm in a world that’s been off-kilter. He presses a kiss to my temple, gentle, forgiving.
“Let’s sort this mess out,” he says, and I can almost hear the smile in his voice.
I don’t know if he’s talking about me or us.
It doesn’t matter.
He reaches for the shampoo, his hands leaving trails of warmth on my skin. I close my eyes as his fingers begin working the lather into my hair, massaging my scalp. It’s such an intimate act, one we haven’t shared in what feels like lifetimes. The motion of his hands is hypnotic, and for a few precious minutes, I forget about the burdens waiting for us outside this room.
“Thank you,” I whisper, not just for the shampooing, but for everything—his forgiveness, his strength, his relentless hope.
“Tell me everything,” he murmurs, his voice reverberating through the water.
“Where do I even start?” I sigh, feeling the soreness in my muscles.
“When you went to Terra Vitae,” he says. “Since you…since you left me.”
I pause, the ache of my actions making me want to sob.
But I do as he asks.
I tell him about how I offered myself up to the Eclipse in exchange for Gunnar’s safety, how I was given to Terra Vitae as breeding stock, how I was terrorized by Lianna Rossi and my father. How I never broke, and I held strong because all I wanted was him.
And then Luka came…and they destroyed us both.
I go on, describing how I worked things through with Oberon, how I fell for Rook. The tedium of the past few weeks…and how we searched for him. How Luka was desperate to find him, though the might be hurt.
And now we’re here, an hour past after I tell him everything, pruny and warm and safe.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you all where I was, but…I didn’t know who to trust,” Gunnar says. “Nero thinks Vance has it out for me, and I’m starting to think he’s right.”
I frown. “Really?”
He takes a deep breath. “Rook came by…told us he has good reason to believe that Vance staged the attack on the skyway to try to drive us apart.”
My heart stutters, and I freeze. “No…no way.”
“You don’t believe it?”
Fuck—of course I do. Vance has wanted me to himself ever since Gunnar and I were first confined to his house what feels like a lifetime ago. Gunnar’s voice cuts through the steam, as if he’s reading my mind. “He tried to play us against each other, Aisling. He’s used every dirty trick in the book.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. “And what now?”
“We’re going to figure it out, just…try to enjoy the next hour before the war starts,” Gunnar says.
But there’s something else I need to tell him, and I blurt it out before I can think better of it—because we agreed there would be no more lies.
“Inari wants me to be Archangel,” I murmur.
He stiffens behind me, his fingers pausing their gentle massage. “You? I mean…I can see it, actually.”
I laugh. “Really?”
“You’re bossy.”
I snort and shove his shoulder gently. “Thanks for the words of support.”
“No…I mean it,” he says. “You’ve changed everything already, and you didn’t even have power then. Now…well, think about what you could do.”
“I know,” I whisper.
Gunnar’s hands find my chin, guiding it upward until our eyes meet. His are a stormy sea, deep and fathomless. “But what about what you want, Aisling? Do you want that burden?”
I search his face, looking for an answer in his features, but all I see reflected back at me is my own uncertainty. “I don’t know anymore,” I confess, my voice barely above the sound of sloshing water. “I started this just trying to save myself, then it was about protecting my friends. Now it’s like this whole city needs my help, and…” I trail off, lost in the magnitude of the choice before me.
“Hey,” he says softly, his thumbs brushing away the lines of worry from my brow. “We’ll figure this out together.”
“Would you really want that?” My voice is a whisper, fragile like the steam around us. “Ruling…together?”
He twines his fingers with mine, giving them a gentle squeeze, grounding me in the moment. “I’d prefer it,” Gunnar admits, his voice holding a weight that’s more than just the warmth of the water. “With you, I reckon we could do some good for Pacific City.”
A smile tugs at my lips despite the ache in my heart, the fear that threatens to overwhelm me. “I would like that too.”
For a moment we just float there, our linked hands a silent vow in the rising mist. Then, spurred by a need to reaffirm the bond between us, I shift. My muscles protest, but the soreness is a distant second to the pull of connection. I turn in his arms, meeting his gaze head-on.
“Easy,” he murmurs, steadying me with his hands as I straddle him. His touch is reverent, worshipful of every bruise and memory written on my skin.
The soreness fades into insignificance as I sink down, enveloping him. There’s a simplicity in the act, a return to something fundamental—like finding my way back to a place I never realized I’d left. It’s not just flesh joining, but the rekindling of something raw and untamed; the very essence of what it means to be omega and alpha, united.
“Home,” I breathe out, the word encompassing everything we’ve been through—the fights, the passion, the pain, and now, this tender communion.
“Home,” he echoes, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through my body.
The water laps gently against our skin as we move together in a slow dance. There’s no rush, no urgency, just the ebb and flow of connection, as if we’re adrift on some tranquil sea. His hands roam my back, tracing the contours of my weary muscles with such care it borders on reverence. Every touch, every glide of his palms, seems to draw apologies from my lips—a silent litany of remorse for the rifts I’ve caused, for the games I unwittingly played with his heart.
“Sorry,” I whisper against the column of his neck, my breath hot in the coolness of the steam-filled room. “For everything.”
“Shh.” Gunnar’s fingers thread through my hair, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. His kiss then is a seal over those whispered regrets, a promise in the press of lips that speaks louder than words ever could.
I nod, lost for a moment in the depths of his blue eyes that don’t just see me but understand the tangle of my soul. And as we move together, there’s a healing in the rhythm, an unspoken forgiveness that melds our bodies and minds into one singular being.
The water cradles us, a warm embrace that allows for the gentle rocking, the soft sighs that mingle with the sound of droplets cascading off the edge of the tub. It’s not about pleasure, not this time—it’s about healing, about stitching back together what was torn apart.
“Thank you,” I murmur, because gratitude is all I have left to offer—the thankfulness for his presence, for his unwavering strength, for the love that refuses to be dimmed by past hurts.
“Always, Aisling,” he replies, his grip tightening just enough to anchor me, to remind me that whatever comes our way, we’ll face it as one.
Time drips away with the water that cools around us, and eventually, the languid motion of our bodies stills. My head finds its way to Gunnar’s chest, a broad expanse of muscle, where his heartbeat thunders steadily beneath my ear. It’s a sound I’ve come to know as well as my own—a rhythm tied to the pulse of my life.
“God, your heart,” I whisper, pressing a kiss against his skin, tasting the salt and soap there. “It’s like it’s beating for both of us.”
“Because it is,” he says, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me. His chest rises and falls with a deep breath, and I feel the expansion, the life in him that spills over to fill the spaces within me.
I lift my gaze, our eyes locking in the steamy half-light. The silent exchange is intimate, more revealing than any words could be. But still, there are things I need to say—things he deserves to hear.
“I love you, Gunnar. And I…I won’t lie to you again.” It’s a vow, a raw truth that peels back the layers of who we’ve been, exposing the core of who we are together.
His hand cradles the back of my head, fingers splayed wide. “I know, Aisling. I love you too. We’re messy, complicated, but that’s just us. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
The declaration settles over us, a blanket woven from threads of shared understanding and renewed trust. In this moment, surrounded by the dissipating steam and the echoes of our confessions, I let myself believe in the possibility of us—a future forged not in spite of our flaws but because of them.
“Let’s just stay here a while,” I murmur, content to remain in the shelter of his arms, where every beat of his heart promises a tomorrow where we stand united.
“Whatever you want,” he agrees, his lips pressing to my hair in an affirmation of our connection—the kind that doesn’t need grand gestures or epic declarations.
Just the quiet certainty that comes from two people who have seen the worst in each other and still choose to stay.