Page 59 of Rook

“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.

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