Page 36 of Rook

We’re under attack, no doubt about it.

And I have to get to Aisling now.

Chapter sixteen

Oberon

The Mojave Skyway cuts through the heat like a blade, and I can feel the dry air trying to leech whatever moisture it can find. Even with the AC on full blast in this blacked-out SUV, summer clings to my skin. The hum of the engine is a monotonous lullaby, and Aisling’s breathing against my shoulder is slow and even—she’s out cold, finally succumbing to exhaustion.

In the front seat, Vance hasn’t said a damn word since we rolled out. He’s just another shadow behind tinted glass, stewing in his thoughts. Maybe he’s plotting, or maybe he’s lost in his own twisted version of heartache over Aisling. It’s always hard to tell with him.

“Hey, Oberon,” Vance suddenly pipes up, his voice cutting through the silence like he’s not used to being ignored. He doesn’t turn around, but I catch his eyes on me in the rearview mirror. “How are you two holding up? Really?”

I shift a bit, careful not to disturb Aisling. She looks small curled up beside me, her blonde hair a stark contrast against the black leather of my jacket. “We’re hanging in there,” I respond, keeping my tone neutral. It’s a dance, talking with Vance—give too much away and he’ll twist it to his advantage.

“Seems like she’s putting on quite the show of strength.” Vance’s voice has that edge, the one that says he’s fishing for something beneath the surface, something he can use.

“Isn’t that what we all do?” I retort, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “Put on our best faces while everything crumbles around us?”

A flicker of something crosses his eyes—annoyance, maybe respect. Hard to tell with the sun glaring off the chrome. But it’s gone before I can read it properly.

“Just looking out for her,” he mutters.

I cock my head, giving Vance a once-over in the rearview. “Do you actually care, or are you just digging for intel? You wanna know if she misses you?”

Vance’s eyes catch mine in the mirror, and he smirks—a sharp, knowing curve of his lips that doesn’t reach those bright blue eyes. “Oh, I know she does,” he says with a chuckle that doesn’t quite sound like mirth. “Could scent it the moment I stepped out of the car. Saw it flash in her eyes, too.”

His words hang heavy in the hot, dry air of the car, and something akin to a growl rumbles in my chest. I bite it back, keeping my voice steady. “Your nose must be playing tricks on you, Solace.”

I sit back against the leather seat, heat seeping into my bones from the afternoon sun beating down on the car. The air is thick with silence and the faint scent of Aisling’s sugary perfume. She’s out cold on my shoulder, her breaths steady despite the chaos swirling around us.

Vance’s eyes flicker to me in the rearview mirror, sharp as broken glass. “You don’t trust me, do you, Oberon?” His voice is smoky, a low rumble that rolls through the cramped space of the car.

“Trust is earned,” I say, keeping my gaze fixed on the horizon. “And you’ve got a hell of a debt.”

“Still loyal to Gunnar, even if the man’s being foolish?” There’s a bite to his words, like he’s tasting something bitter.

“Damn right.” Words slip out raw, unfiltered. “Gunnar might be losing his grip, but he’s pack. And pack means something to me.”

“Even if it costs you everything?” Vance’s voice is softer now, probing at the edges of my resolve.

“Especially then.” My fingers tighten around Aisling’s hand where it rests against my thigh. She doesn’t stir, lost in the oblivion of sleep. I’d follow her into hell if she asked—it’s just my luck she’s chosen a place not too different.

“Pack loyalty… I respect that,” Vance says, a shadow passing over his face before he looks away. “But remember, Oberon, every alpha for himself in this city.”

“Is that a threat?” I ask, but Vance only smiles, a jagged line cutting across his face.

“Consider it friendly advice.”

“Vance,” I start, breaking the silence that’s settled thick as dust since we left the city limits. “I don’t buy into Gunnar’s grand plan. Taking over the Angels? That’s a death wish.”

He shoots me a sidelong glance, eyebrows arching. “Didn’t peg you for the type to bail on a power play. You think Gunnar’s lost it?”

“Lost it? Maybe. But this ain’t about Gunnar’s grip on reality. It’s about survival.” My throat feels like sandpaper. “If I had my way, we’d be out of Pacific City so fast it’d make your head spin. Start fresh somewhere without ghosts or gunfights at every corner.”

“And Aisling?” His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it, honed sharp and dangerous.

“She’s her own person,” I say, feeling Aisling’s breath warm against my neck as she sleeps on. “But she won’t leave. Got too many ties, too much unfinished business.”

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