1. Rook
Chapter one
Rook
As I knock on Aisling’s door, my heart hammers against my ribcage—a mix of nerves and something deeper I’m not quite ready to name. The heavy door swings open, revealing her silhouette framed by the warm glow of her room.
“Hey,” I say, my voice steady despite the riot in my chest. “Ready for our date?”
Aisling steps out, a hint of rose blush on her cheeks. She’s wearing a plain black tank and jeans, a grey leather jacket with silver snaps draped over her shoulders. “I am. This is…nice, Rook. Really nice.”
“Promised you I’d do this properly.” I offer her my arm, old-school style, and she loops her own through it, her fingers brushing against mine, sending a jolt up my arm. “And that’s what we’re doing.”
“Don’t bring her back too late, Rook!” Oberon’s voice shouts from the other side of the door.
I snicker, looking past Aisling to roll my eyes at Oberon. “No promises!”
Aisling shakes her head, gesturing toward the elevator. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
We step out into the balmy Oasis evening, the fading sunlight casting long shadows on the pavement as we leave behind the security of her room for the pulsing life of the city streets.
“Where are you taking me?” Aisling’s voice cuts through the hum of the city, curiosity lacing her tone as we navigate the bustling sidewalk.
“Trust me,” I reply with a grin I hope looks more confident than I feel. The truth is, I want tonight to be perfect—something straight out of those cheesy romance flicks she likes.
“Should I?” She arches an eyebrow, but there’s laughter dancing in her eyes.
“Absolutely not.” My chuckle is dry, self-deprecating. “But tonight, I’m hoping you’ll make an exception.”
I lead her past storefronts with neon signs and windows full of shiny things that fail to steal my attention from her. As we reach a corner, I catch a whiff of spices and grilled meats—a scent that tugs at memories I haven’t visited in a long time. Without warning, I veer us down a dimly lit side street, the sounds of the main road fading behind us.
“Rook?” There’s a hint of uncertainty in her voice now, but when she looks at me, her lips curve into a questioning smile that sets off a flutter in my stomach.
“Almost there,” I say, squeezing her hand lightly for reassurance.
The tight alley opens up without warning, spilling us onto a lively street where vendors hawk their wares beneath strings of colorful lights. Food carts line the edges, each one surrounded by a small cluster of people eager for a taste of whatever’s cooking. The rich aromas blend together, creating an intoxicating mix that seems to draw Aisling in, her gaze flitting from one cart to another with growing interest.
“Wow,” she breathes out, and I can’t help but watch the way her eyes light up, reflecting all the colors that dance around us. It might be nothing new to me, this chaos of sights and smells, but seeing it through Aisling’s eyes feels like discovering it all over again.
“Welcome to the real heart of Oasis,” I say, half-proud, half-anxious for her approval.
“Come on.” I guide her by the elbow, navigating through the crowd with an ease born from familiarity. “There’s one truck here that does street tacos like nowhere else.”
“Street tacos?” she echoes, a playful skepticism in her tone.
“Trust me.” I shoot her a confident grin. “They’re legendary.”
We make our way arm in arm, the bustle of the market a vibrant backdrop to this little adventure. Each step we take together feels like it’s weaving us closer, the threads of whatever this is between us growing stronger.
“There.” I point to a cart adorned with strings of multicolored lights and a sign that proudly proclaims ‘Tito’s Tacos’ in bold, flamboyant letters. The line isn’t too long, but there’s a constant flow of people walking away, tacos in hand, expressions of sheer bliss on their faces.
“Two of everything,” I tell the man behind the counter, who greets me like an old friend. Aisling raises an eyebrow at the order, but I just wink at her. “Go big or go home, right?”
She laughs at that, a sound I realize I’d do a lot to hear again. We wait to one side, and soon enough we’re handed a tray piled high with tacos, the steam rising invitingly into the cool evening air.
“Here goes nothing,” she says, picking one up. She takes a bite, and for a moment there’s silence. Then her eyes meet mine, wide and shining.
“Rook, these are incredible.”
“Right?” I say, a satisfied chuckle escaping my throat as I watch her savor the flavors. We meander through the crowd, the noise and smells of the market adding to the night’s electric atmosphere.
“Oasis has changed,” I muse, “but some things stay the same. Good food is one of them.”
“Tell me about it,” Aisling encourages between bites, leaning closer to hear me over a particularly loud group that passes by.
I take a deep breath, the nostalgia hitting unexpectedly hard as I glance around at the familiar streets. “When I first moved here, I got a place at the Bellanova complex. It was nice, you know, but nothing beats having your own space.” My voice trails off for a moment as memories flood in. “Ended up renting this tiny apartment with a view of a brick wall. But it was mine.”
She grins at that, her eyes sparkling with an interest that warms me from the inside out. “And what did you do for Inari?”
“Mostly grunt work at first,” I admit. “But I learned fast. Ended up being their go-to guy for new cocktails—new, more effective Glitter, that kind of thing.”
“Because you’re a genius.”
I snort. “Sure, if you wanna call a drug manufacturer a genius, we can say that.”
We finish our tacos, tossing the paper wrappers into a nearby trash can, and I lead us down another street, this one quieter, lined with neon-lit bars and lounges. “And what did you do for fun?” she asks. “Any of these places worth checking out?”
“Used to spend a lot of time in one of these places,” I nod towards a nondescript door with a faded sign above it: ‘Moonshine Lounge’.
“Looks cozy,” Aisling observes, peering curiously at the entrance.
“Cozy is one word for it,” I reply. “Owned by a woman named Luna. She and I…” I hesitate, wondering how much to share. “Let’s just say we had history. On and off thing.”
Aisling’s laughter fades as she processes this. She bites her lip, a slight crease forming between her brows. “Not gonna lie,” she starts, the words timid in the growing dusk, “hearing that kinda makes me…jealous? Is that wrong?”
“Jealous?” I echo, surprised at the confession and the small thrill it gives me. It’s strangely satisfying to know she cares that much. “I mean—says the girl with three boyfriends.”
“You’re right, it isn’t fair,” she flushes bright pink, making her glow like a star. “I just—”
“Hey,” I say, stopping us in our tracks. I slide my arms around her, pulling her close until there’s no space left between us. My hands find the small of her back, pressing her into me. “You have no reason to be jealous.”
“None?” Her voice is hopeful, teasing almost, but there’s a vulnerability there that tells me she needs to hear it.
“None,” I confirm firmly. “My past doesn’t hold a candle to what’s happening right here.” My grip tightens just a fraction, affirming my words. “Because how could you care about the moon when there’s a shining star right in front of you?”
“Rook,” she laughs, shaking her head slightly. “That’s so corny.”
“Is it working?” I ask with a grin, knowing full well the answer.
“Maybe a little,” she confesses, her smile betraying her attempt at nonchalance.
Then, without another word, we’re kissing. It’s not just lips touching; it’s a conversation, an admission of everything we’ve been too scared to say out loud—our first kiss since the couch at my place, a kiss I’ve been dying for. Her hands are on my chest, mine are still at her waist, and for a moment, Oasis and its hustling streets fade into nothingness.
Later, as the last whispers of sunlight surrender to night, we walk back to the Bellanova, our steps instinctively syncing up, our fingers intertwined. Anticipation hums between us, a live wire charged with every glance and accidental brush of skin. We reach the hotel, and it looms over us, a silent judge waiting for a decision.
My heart races, every beat screaming at me to be brave, to take what I want—to take her hand and not let go. But then fear slinks in, whispering doubts and old insecurities that never really left.
I stop, looking at her, wanting her more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
“Want to call it a night?” I ask, my voice strained with the effort of keeping it casual. “Go back to your room?”
“Sure,” she replies, her voice steady but her eyes searching mine for an answer I’m not sure I have.
We reach her door, and I can’t help but feel the night is ending too soon. The hallway is quiet, save for the soft hum of the AC. She turns to face me, a ghost of disappointment in her eyes.
“Thanks for tonight,” Aisling says, her voice lower than before, tinged with something that sounds like regret.
“Anytime,” I respond, my words a lame attempt to lift the mood.
I lean in, placing a kiss on her lips—a farewell, a promise, or maybe a plea. It’s gentle, lingering, filled with all the things I’m too afraid to say.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come inside?” Aisling asks, her gaze holding mine. There’s an invitation there, one that sends my heart into overdrive.
“I…uh, don’t want to bother the guys,” I stammer out. And call me a coward, but I really just don’t want to go in there and engage with all of them—because being with her means being with them, and there’s four alphas waiting to show me up.
They can give her things I never can.
I don’t know where I fit in all of that.
“Right,” she nods, understanding dawning on her face even as her shoulders drop just a fraction.
“Goodnight, Aisling,” I manage, my voice steady despite the storm raging in my chest.
“Night, Rook,” she whispers back, and there’s a warmth there that almost makes me turn back.
But I don’t.
I watch her slip inside her room, the click of the lock sounding like a verdict. As I walk away, my steps are heavier than they’ve ever been. The corridor seems to stretch on forever, my own personal purgatory lined with indifferent doors and flickering lights.
The moment I’m alone, the self-recriminations start. What kind of man walks away from that? I clench my fists, feeling the bite of my nails against my palms—a pathetic attempt to anchor myself to something other than this gnawing sense of inadequacy.
“Damn it, Rook,” I mutter under my breath, my words a hushed curse in the empty hall. “You’re never going to be good enough for her, are you?”
It’s not just about being a beta—it’s about being her beta, when she has a pack of powerful alphas. And right now, I feel nothing like the sort who can protect, provide, or even please.
She deserves someone who doesn’t hesitate, who isn’t afraid to step into the light with her.
As I round the corner, heading toward my own lonely room, I realize I’m walking away from more than just her door—I’m walking away from the possibility of us, all because I can’t shake the feeling that I’m just not enough.
“Get it together, man,” I scold myself, knowing full well that confidence isn’t something you can just summon. It’s earned. And tonight, I’m bankrupt.
But as I shove my hands into my pockets and trudge forward, there’s a spark of something stubborn buried beneath the layers of doubt—a defiant hope that maybe, just maybe, she sees something in me that I don’t.
And tomorrow, I swear to whatever fates are listening, I’ll try to see it too.