Page 60 of Rook

“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.

---