Page 33 of Rook

I guess it’s past time we started expecting the unexpected.

The morning sun is a traitor, all warm and comforting against my skin while tension coils in my stomach. We step out the front door just as the engines cut off, four black SUVs settling into an uneasy stillness that’s got nothing to do with peace. Vance is the first to emerge, stepping out of the lead vehicle like he owns the place—followed on the other side of the car by Luka, who takes me by surprise. I gaze at him for just a moment before looking at Vance again, my heart pounding.

“Vance,” Rook’s voice is level, almost casual if you don’t know him. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Word on the street is, you’re planning a getaway,” Vance says, his bright blue eyes scanning our little trio like we’re a puzzle he’s already solved.

“Word travels fast,” Rook quips. “Did Luka spill the beans?”

Luka shakes his head. “I’m as surprised as you are.”

“Then how—“ Rook starts but then stops himself, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’ve been watching us.”

“Wouldn’t be much of an Archangel if I didn’t keep tabs on my men,” he says, stepping forward with that regal kind of swagger that comes from knowing you’re the apex predator in any given room. “Are we going to stand out here all day, or are you going to invite me in?”

“House is open to you, as always,” Rook answers, and steps back, swinging his arm in a wide, dramatic arc of welcome.

Somehow, it doesn’t seem welcoming at all.

We all start to move inside, and Oberon’s hand brushes against my lower back, a silent promise he’s not going anywhere. I draw in a quick breath, feeling the weight of his solidarity. Vance circles to my other side, and damn it all if he doesn’t make the air feel charged just by breathing.

His knuckles graze mine, intentional and electrifying. “How have you been, Stargazer?” he asks, those blue eyes of his drilling into mine.

“Fine,” I tell him, because what else can I say? That the chaos of our lives has been a storm I’m somehow at the center of? No, I keep it short, keep it simple. “Just… a lot happening.”

“Chaos seems to be a recurring theme with us.” He gives me this half-smile, like he knows exactly how deep the currents run beneath my cool exterior.

“Seems so,” I agree, my voice steady despite the tremors his touch sends skittering up my arm. “But I think I’m more worried about the whirlwind I’ve whipped up for everyone else.”

“Chaos isn’t a pit,” Vance murmurs, echoing closer than I expect, the scent of his cologne a mix of danger and something disarmingly warm. “It’s a ladder. And we climb it together.”

“Or fall trying,” I shoot back, unable to stop the corner of my mouth from twitching upward. It’s not a grin, not quite, but it’s more than he usually gets from me.

“Exactly.” His voice is a low rumble, confident as sin. “Good thing angels have wings, huh?”

The morning sun cuts through the blinds, throwing slats of light across the room. Rook’s in his element, playing host while he offers up cups of black liquid salvation. “Coffee, anyone?”

“You’re welcome,” Oberon mutters.

Luka leans against the doorframe, arms folded, nodding his acceptance. Vance takes a cup too, his movements all casual dominance. “So, this means we’re all heading to Oasis?” Rook asks, his voice deceptively light.

“Of course we are,” Vance answers without missing a beat, his blue eyes flicking over to me for just a heartbeat longer than necessary. “Gunnar’s been busy in my absence, moving his pieces into place.”

“Doesn’t sound like your style to let someone else set up the board,” I prod, trying to gauge how deep the trouble runs.

“Sometimes you let the opponent think they’ve got the upper hand.” The way Vance watches me, it’s like he’s laying out a challenge. “But it’s time I had a little chat with Inari Toure, sweet-talked her into seeing things my way.”

“And Nero Rossi?” I lean back against the counter, crossing my arms over my chest. “What’s your play there?”

Vance sets his cup down, his stare boring into me. “Nero thinks he’s a wildcard,” he starts, “but wildcards still fit in the deck. It’s high time he learned where he ranks.”

I peel my gaze from Vance’s determined stare and glance at the clock above the kitchen sink. Morning’s barely got its boots on, and yet here we are, plotting a course through a minefield of alphas with egos too big for the city.

“Okay, when do we roll out?” I ask, sliding off the counter, where I’ve been perched like some bird of prey nursing a coffee instead of a kill.

“Pack your bags,” Vance says, his voice a low rumble that feels like it vibrates through the floorboards. “We’re ready to move out now.”

“Give me ten minutes.” I push away from the counter, already mentally sifting through what I’ll need. My fingers twitch, itching for the comfort of a blade or a gun tucked within easy reach.

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