Page 46 of Rook

“Enough!” Vance barks. “We’ve got bigger problems than this pointless brawl. We need to find out who’s behind this, and why.”

“Agreed,” Nero says, finally letting go of my arm. “But for now, let’s keep our heads and not give them the satisfaction of watching us tear each other apart.”

I nod, tight-lipped, my mind racing. Someone out there is trying to kill us, and they’ve just made it personal. Whoever it is, they’re going to regret crossing me.

But for now, I have to play it smart…

…and if Aisling is here, I have to talk to her.

Chapter twenty-one

Aisling

The Bellanova’s top floor hums with the kind of silence that screams trouble. Across from me, Inari Toure lounges like a queen in her high-back chair, all sleek lines and knowing smirks, Oasis glittering behind her. The air smells of old scotch and fresher schemes.

“Want another?”

The question doesn’t come from Inari but from the fatigues-clad omega standing behind her—a woman whose head is as smooth as the barrel of a gun. She strides over to the drink cart and she’s already pouring before I can nod, liquid gold splashing into the crystal glass.

“Sure,” I murmur, watching her movements closely.

There’s something about the way she moves—confident, unbothered—that tells me she’s more than muscle. And damn if she doesn’t know it, plopping down in the chair beside me, combat boots kicked up on the desk with an ease that speaks of long-held power.

“Stargazer…Ms. Faye,” Inari says, drawing my attention. “This is Isla Connolly, of the Bluestockings.”

Isla’s grin is all sharp edges, a weapon wrapped in friendliness. “Heard a lot about you, Aisling Faye.” Her voice is a gravelly tune that scratches at the underbelly of the city, lips curling around an Irish accent that reminds me more than a little of Rook. I wonder if they’re from the same area—if he crossed paths with her while he was working with the Bluestockings.

“Hope it was good things,” I reply, not letting my guard down for a second.

“Depends on who you ask,” Isla chuckles, her eyes dancing with mischief. “But from where I’m sitting, you’re quite the legend.”

My frown deepens, my gaze shifting between the two omegas before me. “I thought we were here to talk about the Angels and the Eclipse,” I murmur. “Not me. Like…important people like Gunnar, Vance, Nero…”

Inari laughs, a sound that’s more melody than mirth. “Oh, Aisling,” she starts, leaning forward, elbows on the table, steepling her fingers with a predator’s grace. “Alphas always think the story is about them…but it’s not. Since Gunnar and Nero arrived, all I’ve wanted was to meet you—the girl who sparked a war in Pacific City and seems to be climbing the ranks of the Angels without even trying.”

Inari’s eyes hold mine, and there’s respect there—a warrior’s nod to another.

“Is that so?” My voice is guarded, knife-edged. The room feels like it’s closing in, and I struggle to keep my reactions under wraps, to not give away the storm brewing beneath my calm exterior.

“Absolutely,” Inari continues, her smile never reaching those calculating eyes. “You’ve ignited something fierce, Aisling. And I can’t help but want to fan the flames.”

“Surviving is all I’m doing,” I counter, my tone flat. Survival—that’s the game I know, the one I’ve been playing since my ship went down off the coast of Pacific City. “I’m not in it for politics or power plays.”

Inari and Isla exchange a look—a silent conversation in a glance…

…and then erupt into laughter.

I glare at the two of them, my brow furrowed. “What?”

“Darling,” Inari says once her amusement fades to a smirk, “whether you’re trying to or not, you’re knee-deep in the game. You have a whole island bending to your will—the Garden, formerly New Eden. Those colonists worship the ground you walk on.”

I shift uncomfortably, aware of the weight of her words, the gravity they carry in this room. “That was never the intention—“

“Intentions matter little in our world,” she cuts me off with a dismissive wave of her hand. “It’s actions that speak volumes. And yours have been shouting from the rooftops.”

“Actions like what?” I challenge, but there’s a tremor in my voice betraying my uncertainty.

“Like bringing alphas from the two major gangs in Pacific City to heel,” Isla chimes in, her gaze sharp as broken glass. “You didn’t just join a pack, let yourself be claimed—you created an army of personal bodyguards. A force to be reckoned with.”

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