Page 64 of Rook

“Can’t believe how strong it is this time,” I mutter, half to myself, half to him. My words are slurred with pleasure, barely able to form them given the way she clenches my cock. “Her heat’s never hit this hard before.”

“Because she has us,” Oberon replies, understanding without needing an explanation. “Her pack.”

Aisling moans softly, and I refocus on her, the rest of the world narrowing down to the woman in my arms. Her skin glistens with sweat, her body trembling with want and need.

“Shh, baby, we’ve got you,” I reassure her, kissing her forehead as I feel her clench around me. I can sense the tension coiling within her, the storm about to break.

“Let’s give her what she needs,” I say, looking into Oberon’s eyes. “Together.”

And as we fall into rhythm, a perfect, desperate harmony, I realize that this isn’t just a heat—it’s a homecoming.

Chapter twenty-seven

Rook

The neon glow of The Bellanova’s sign flickers in a lazy rhythm, painting the night with its sleazy promise. Inside, it’s all clinking glasses and low murmurs, the scent of cheap perfume mingling with the lingering trace of spilled whiskey.

I’m hunched over my laptop at the far corner of the bar, where the shadows are thickest, nursing a glass of something strong enough to scorch away my worries for a minute or two.

Aisling’s heat—it’s like a damn siren call that sent half the crew scattering, chasing after that impossible high. Me? I’m stuck here trying not to think about her curled up in some spa, body lit up like a Christmas tree, while my mind races through all our screwed-up plans.

We were supposed to be talking to Inari, squaring things with Gunnar and Nero, hunting down that damned lab in the Mojave.

Instead, here I am, playing detective in this den of sin, trying to piece together where everything went to hell.

“Another?” The bartender raises an eyebrow as he points at my empty glass.

“Hit me,” I grunt, tapping keys in a futile attempt to track the Mojave lab we supposedly came here to shut down. I’m scrolling through pages of encrypted messages, burner phone records, anything that might give up the location.

So far, it’s a bust.

They’ve covered their tracks like pros.

“Here.” The bartender slides another drink toward me, the liquid dark and promising oblivion.

“Thanks.” I nod, taking a sip that burns all the way down. It’s going to be a long night.

“Trouble?” he asks, leaning in close enough for me to catch a whiff of cigarettes on his breath.

“Something like that,” I reply, eyes still glued to the screen.

“Good luck with that.” He smirks before moving down the bar to flirt with a couple of omegas who look young enough to be fresh out of high school.

“Damn right I’ll need it,” I mutter under my breath.

I can feel the weight of Aisling’s absence, heavy on my chest, even as I try to push away thoughts of her lost in the throes of heat. I won’t be one of those bastards who sees her as nothing more than flesh and pheromones.

She’s more, damn it. She’s always been more.

Closing the laptop with a sigh that seems to carry all my frustrations, I push away from the bar. The wood creaks under my hands, the noise lost in the din of the crowd.

If I’m not going down to the heat spa, I may as well find my only other ally here.

Vance Solace.

The Archangel himself.

The hallways of The Bellanova are all polished brass and dark carpets, the kind of place where secrets are currency and the walls have ears. I keep my steps light, my eyes sharp. You never know what you might walk into in these parts.

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