Page 70 of Rook

…maybe.

“Sir?” One of the beta females eyes me, her voice a soft interruption to my inner turmoil. “Do you have an appointment?”

I drag in a breath, schooling my features into something less like a wolf on the edge. “Aisling Faye,” I manage to say, my voice gritty as if dragged over concrete. “I’m here to see her and her pack.”

The woman taps on her tablet, her fingers flying across the screen before she looks up with a smile that’s probably meant to be reassuring. “You’re on the list.”

I lift an eyebrow but don’t ask questions. Being on Aisling’s pack list isn’t something I expected, but it’s not the kind of surprise you question—not here, not now. It could have been Inari toying with us, or Oberon playing matchmaker…anyone, really.

Regardless, it’s working out in my favor.

“Follow me, please,” she says, standing with a grace that seems out of place in this den of debauchery.

I follow her down the hall, each step a deliberate effort to keep my cool. My boots are silent on the plush carpet, but the pounding of my heart is a relentless drumbeat in my ears.

The closer we get to the source of those sounds—the moans, the cries, the unmistakable cadence of pleasure—the tighter my chest gets. It’s like walking into a furnace, heat licking at every nerve ending, promising relief and agony all at once.

And then there’s Aisling’s voice, rising above the rest, a siren call that makes everything else fade away. Her pleasure is almost tangible, a living thing in the air around me. There’s another groan, lower, rougher—Luka’s, I’m betting—and it’s too much.

“Here we are,” the beta says, oblivious to the storm she’s leading me into. She stops beside a door that looks just like the others, except this one might as well be a gateway to hell for all the self-control I’m about to leave behind.

“Thanks,” I mutter.

My knuckles rap against the door in a staccato burst, more out of obligation than any real hope of decorum. It swings open to reveal Gunnar on the other side, his imposing frame barely contained by the sweatpants slung low on his hips. The musk of sex wafts out from the room behind him, thick and potent, but Aisling isn’t in sight.

“Rook,” he greets me, a smirk playing on his lips as though he knows exactly what kind of hell I’ve just walked through to get here. “Finally decided to join us?”

“You put me on the list?”

“No…that would be Oberon,” Gunnar says, gesturing over his shoulder. Oberon is similarly dressed in sweats—like I’ve walked into alpha night at the Moonshine Lounge.

“Well, here I am,” I say, trying to ignore the moans that plays like a sultry backdrop to our conversation. “Although it does seem I’m overdressed. Should I go change into a matching pair of sweats or…?”

Gunnar snorts before stepping aside, granting me passage. “Come on in.”

I step over the threshold, eyes immediately landing on Oberon. He’s lounging in a comfortable couch, snacking on some fruit that looks fresh and ripe. There’s a bowl of it on the counter of the kitchenette to the right—everything a pack might need to get through their omega’s heat.

“Take a seat,” Gunnar says, nodding to the chair opposite Oberon. I hesitate, feeling the tension coil in my gut like barbed wire. “You here to join the festivities or what?”

“Depends,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady as I lower myself onto the edge of the offered chair. “Does joining mean you’ve patched things up with Aisling? You giving this whole scene your blessing now?”

My question hangs in the air, and for a moment, the only sound is the distant cries of pleasure that are unmistakably Aisling. We all pause—like we’re listening to the crescendo of a song—but it doesn’t quite fade away as we continue.

Gunnar’s expression doesn’t change much, but the corner of his mouth twitches—a silent tell that he’s not entirely at ease with the situation either. He grabs an apple from the bowl on the kitchenette counter and bites into it with a crunch that seems too loud.

“Let’s just say we’re working through our issues,” he says after chewing thoughtfully. “One orgasm at a time.” His gaze flicks to Oberon, who nods as if confirming some unspoken understanding between them.

“Oberon says you and Aisling got something special already,” Gunnar continues, eyes narrowing slightly as they fix on me.

It’s a scary look—one I’ve learned to avoid over the years. You don’t get between a pack leader and his omega, not if you want to stay alive.

“That’s one way to look at it,” I mutter, my fingers digging into the arms of the chair.

“Right,” Gunnar says, his tone laced with a hint of challenge as he tosses the apple core into a wastebasket. “Well, make yourself at home. We’re all friends here, aren’t we?”

I peer at him, trying to figure out what his deal is. Gunnar’s always been impulsive, but right now…I just can’t read him. He’s changed, and I’m not sure if it’s for the better.

“Full disclosure,” I say, my voice steady though my pulse isn’t, “I haven’t done more than kiss her.”

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