Page 19 of Rook

I catch the shift in her eyes before the dam breaks. Tears spill over, carving wet tracks down her pale cheeks. She’s a raw nerve, frayed ends sparking with emotion.

“Bad,” she chokes out, voice thick with grief. “He’s…he’s not himself, Oberon. The eros—it did something to him. And he told me that Gunnar…” She swallows hard, the effort etching lines around her mouth. “I think he’s spiraling too. Luka said he’s been spending time with Nero Rossi, but he lost track of him.”

“Rossi?” My brow furrows as I pull her closer, if that’s even possible. That name’s a grenade with the pin loose—Nero Rossi’s the kind of trouble that doesn’t knock.

“Yeah.” A shudder wracks her frame, like the weight of the name alone is too heavy. “I’m scared for them, both of them. If Gunnar’s mixed up with Nero, this is all gonna get a hell of a lot worse.”

“Look at me, Aisling.” I tilt her chin up, making sure she sees the resolve in my gaze. “We’ll handle it. We always do.”

Her grey eyes are stormy seas, and I’m reaching through the tempest trying to find her anchor. It’s a mess, the whole damn situation, but right now, the only thing that matters is the omega in my arms coming apart at the seams.

“Listen,” I start, my voice rough from a night spent on high alert, “this mess—it’s not on you.”

“Cut the shit, Oberon.” Her words are razor-sharp, her voice doesn’t waver. “This is on me. Every piece of it.”

“Hey—“ I try, but she’s got that look in her eye, the one that says she’s miles away and sinking fast.

“Every bad choice, every wrong turn. I’m at the center of it.” She pushes back from my chest, standing her ground, and I can see the fight in her despite the tear tracks staining her face. “I’ve played into our enemy’s hands every time, haven’t I? Let my guard down, given myself over…”

I can see her spiraling, see the panic in her eyes. Images come unbidden to my mind—things she’s describe to me from New Eden. Aisling in the dark, her clothes torn, Luka out of his mind and rutting her while she cries…

“Enough,” I cut in, firm but not unkind. I step close again, refusing to let her lose herself to the despair, the trauma. “You didn’t ask for any of this, Aisling. You hear me?”

There’s a fire in her grey eyes, kindling behind the storm clouds. “I should’ve seen all this coming,” she insists, her fists clenching at her sides. “I should’ve known better.”

“Coulda, woulda, shoulda,” I say, shaking my head. “It doesn’t change where we are now.”

The sun hasn’t even bothered to climb all the way up yet, and here we are, in the thick of it. Aisling’s standing there like she’s carved from ice, her voice a blade slicing through the quiet.

“Until yesterday,” she says, her grey eyes drilling into mine, “it never occurred to me that maybe none of you actually want me. Maybe it’s just the perfume, the eros.“ She laughs, but it’s hollow, void of any real humor. “Hell of a thing, huh?”

“Stop,” I say, stepping closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her despite the chill she’s wrapped herself in. “You think I’m here because of some chemical high? Because your scent hooks into me?”

I reach out, my fingers brushing against her cheek, and she doesn’t pull away. Her skin’s soft under my touch, her breath hitching just slightly. I lean in, and when my lips meet hers, it’s like a silent promise, an oath that doesn’t need words.

I pull back just enough to speak, my forehead resting against hers. “Aisling, I’m with you because you’re fierce, because when the world tried to grind you down, you stood up taller.” My thumb traces the line of her jaw. “Because you fight for those who can’t, and because when I look into your eyes, I see something worth risking it all for.”

“Oberon,” she whispers, and there’s a tremor in her voice that tells me I’m getting through, that maybe, just maybe, she believes me.

“Look at me,” I insist. “I’ve had my share of warm bodies, fleeting pleasures. That’s not what I’m after with you. What we have… it’s raw, it’s real. And hell if I’ll let you doubt that, not even for a second.”

The air feels thick with tension, but it’s not the kind that suffocates—it’s the kind that promises something raw, something real.

“Every day in Dreamland, I’d watch you,” I confess, voice low as if the walls have ears. “You were caged, but your spirit? It was untamable. You had this…light. Even when they tried snuffing it out.”

She pulls back slightly, and I catch her eyes searching mine for the truth. The gray of her irises is like a storm brewing over the ocean—wild and unpredictable.

“Kind and brave,” I continue, my hand finding its way to tangle in her blonde hair. “That’s what you are, Aisling Faye. Not because you had to be, but because it’s who you are.”

“Oberon, I…” Her words falter, get lost somewhere between her lips and mine.

“Shh,” I say, leaning in to seal her hesitation with another kiss. This time, it’s deeper, hungrier. She responds with equal fervor, her fingers digging into my back through the thin fabric of my shirt. Our breaths mingle, hot and desperate.

“Tell me you feel this,” I challenge, my lips trailing from hers down to the tender skin of her neck. “Tell me it’s not just our bodies talking.”

Her hands roam over my chest, curl in my t-shirt.

“It’s not,” she gasps, arching against me, and I can feel her pulse racing under my mouth. “It’s not just that.”

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