Page 71 of Rook

Just as the words leave my lips, a sharp cry pierces through the heavy door across the room. Aisling’s voice, raw and unrestrained, shreds the air with the sound of her pleasure. It echoes in the tight space of my chest, rattles around like a caged animal desperate to break free.

Silence crashes down on us, thick and electric. I can feel their eyes on me, measuring, weighing. My breath comes short and jagged, a stark rhythm against the distant moans that play out like an alluring siren song.

“Christ,” Gunnar mutters under his breath, his gaze flitting towards the source of the sounds then back to me.

Oberon’s jaw clenches, his fingers drumming a restless beat on the armrest of his chair. He looks about ready to bolt through that door and reclaim his place by Aisling’s side. But he doesn’t move, not yet.

“Rook,” Oberon starts, his tone expectant, “if you’re here, you may as well get in there and—“

I cut him off with a raised hand. “That’s not why,” I insist, pushing the words out before my resolve weakens. Before I give in to the desire clawing at my skin, begging to rip away the last threads of control I have left.

Their expressions shift almost imperceptibly, but I catch the flicker of impatience in Gunnar’s eyes, the hunger in Oberon’s. They’re alphas through and through, and right now, there’s only one thing they want more than anything.

Aisling.

“Right,” Gunnar says after a beat. “So why are you here?”

I swallow hard, my mouth dry. “Listen, I need both of you to keep your cool when I say this.” The gravity in my voice seems to anchor them, for a moment at least.

“Spit it out,” Gunnar growls lowly, his patience wearing thin.

“Vance,” I start. That one word is enough to stiffen their spines. “I saw him today, meeting with some shadowy figure. And I got a real bad feeling about it.”

“That sounds bad…but I need a bit more detail than a bad feeling,” Oberon murmurs, skepticism shading his voice.

“More than that,” I say quickly, leaning forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped tight. “I think Vance set us up on the Mojave Skyway. Staged the hit, then framed Oberon and Gunnar.”

Gunnar’s fists clench, knuckles popping with the strain. His face darkens, anger boiling beneath the surface like molten lava ready to burst. Oberon’s eyes dart to the door and back to me, his glare sharp enough to slice through steel—like he’s waiting for more assassins to barrel inside.

Would be a bad idea…unless they want to get their heads torn off.

“Why would he do that?” Oberon’s voice is a dangerous rumble, a prelude to the storm that’s brewing.

“Simple,” Gunnar answers before I can, voice laced with venom. “To drive a wedge between us. He’s been playing a long game, but why?” His eyes narrow, a predator zeroing in on the scent of betrayal.

“Because he’s threatened,” I say, the words coming out more confident than I feel. “By what Aisling represents, by what we could be together.”

“Divide and conquer,” Oberon muses, the truth settling over us like an unwelcome fog.

“Exactly,” I press on. “He wants us off balance, looking over our shoulders. We can’t let him get the jump on us again.” I take a deep breath, my own frustration simmering. “I don’t think he’s out to kill any of us, just spook us. But we can’t afford to take any chances.”

Gunnar nods, his expression hardening into one of resolve. “We stay sharp, then. Keep our eyes open.”

“Right. So, what’s our move?” Oberon asks, focusing back on the immediate problem.

“Talk to Nero,” Gunnar suggests with a grim certainty, standing up and pacing a few steps before turning to face us. “Vance is on thin ice with him too—said he would help Nero, then threw him to the wolves back when Aisling went to Terra Vitae. Nero wants Vance gone as much as we all want Caius Rossi out of power. Time for a new generation of leadership in Pacific City.”

“Can we trust Nero?” Oberon’s voice is flat, skeptical.

“About as far as we can throw him,” Gunnar says. “But if there’s one thing Nero hates more than losing, it’s being played for a fool by Vance and Caius. He’s a wildcard, sure, but his hate for our older brothers might just make him the most reliable ally we could ask for in this mess.”

“And the plan is…what?” Oberon says. “To kill Vance?”

We all lose our words at that, my head spinning. It would be a major play—one I don’t think we’re ready for.

“Kill Vance? No.” I shake my head sharply, my voice a low growl. “Aisling wouldn’t stand for it, and neither would Luka.”

“Then what?” Gunnar crosses his arms, his posture all tension and barely contained aggression.

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