Page 61 of Rook

Steeling myself, I move toward the inner door where soft moans and the scent of heat already seep through the cracks. This is our reality, twisted and beautiful and fucked up all at once.

“Ready or not,” I whisper, gripping the handle, and step into the tempest that awaits.

Chapter twenty-six

Gunnar

The elevator descents with a lull that’s almost comforting, but there’s no peace in Aisling’s eyes. They flicker with a feverish light that’s all too familiar, and I can almost feel the heat radiating off her skin.

“Easy, love,” I murmur, more to myself than to her, my arms wrapped tight around her waist. Luka’s got her by the shoulders, and she’s between us like some kind of live wire, twitching and squirming with an energy that’s damn near explosive.

“Can’t…need…” Her words are slurred, dragged out between ragged breaths. Aisling’s hands claw at my shirt, her fingers desperate and pulling. She fumbles with the buttons—hell if she’s not trying to rip them clean off.

“Stop it, Aisling,” I snap, less patient than I should be. It’s a damn struggle holding onto control when every cell in my body screams to take her right here, public decency be damned.

But we’re not animals.

Not completely.

“Get your hands on her,” I order Luka, voice rough as gravel. “Keep her busy.”

Luka doesn’t hesitate. He slips one hand beneath the hem of her dress, his fingers disappearing into the shadowed space between her thighs. The fabric bunches up, and I catch a glimpse of pale skin before Aisling lets out a guttural moan.

“Like that?” Luka’s voice is loaded with a smug kind of concern that makes my blood simmer. We’ve got history, the three of us, tangled and frayed, but right now he’s just another alpha helping me care for our omega.

We’re pack…and we’ll have to negotiate what that means when we’ve gotten her through her heat, the most intense heat I’ve seen from her.

“More,” Aisling gasps, her head lolling back against Luka’s arm. “Please.”

“Shh, Ais.” My voice is a low growl, barely recognizable to my own ears. “Just hang on a little longer.”

She bucks against Luka’s hand, her grey eyes clouded with lust and something wild. It’s hard to watch—to see her so undone—but it’s harder still to keep my own hands steady.

“Good?” I check with Luka, even though I know the answer. His eyes are dark with concentration, focused entirely on Aisling, on giving her what she needs to stay this side of sane.

“Very,” he replies, and the corner of his mouth quirks up in a way that would have me punching him if circumstances were different.

“Fuck,” I curse under my breath as the elevator dings, signaling our arrival at the promised land of heat spas and dens.

The doors slide open and not a moment too soon. It feels like we’re transporting volatile cargo, ready to blow at the slightest misstep. And maybe we are. Aisling is a force unto herself, even more so when her heat hits like a tidal wave, dragging us all under.

The attendant at the front barely glances up from her holographic display, but her eyes widen a fraction when she sees Aisling in our arms, caught in the throes of her heat. “Mr. Finch,” she says, voice steady despite the obvious surprise, “Miss Toure made a reservation for you.”

It surprises me, but I don’t have time for questions. I can figure out how the hell Inari knew about this later. “Which suite?” I snap, more brusque than I intend, but there’s no time for niceties—not with Aisling writhing between us.

“End of the hall,” she answers quickly, pointing to the left without missing a beat.

“Thanks,” I grunt, already moving past her, Luka at my heels.

Aisling’s fingers claw at my neck, desperate and demanding, as I stride down the hallway, each step jarring another moan from her lips. Her perfume wraps around me, thick and intoxicating, making it damn hard to focus on anything else.

“Need you,” she whispers, hot breath against my throat, and then she bites down—hard.

“Shit!” I curse, stumbling slightly, the pain sharp and sudden. It’s a wake-up call, though, reminding me this isn’t just about lust—it’s about connection, about the raw need to claim and be claimed.

Luka’s hand is on the door handle now, turning it with a swift motion before kicking it closed behind us with a definitive slam that echoes in the spacious room.

“Put me down,” Aisling demands, squirming in my arms, her legs still locked tight around my waist. But I can’t—not yet. Not until I have a place to put her down, a nest, somewhere I can fuck her senseless until she’s done with her heat.

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