Page 13 of Sacrifice

He grins at that, a chuckle in his throat as the water envelops us both, washing away the remnants of last night’s fervor. His hands start to roam, tracing familiar paths over my skin, but I bat them away playfully.

“Seriously, Gunnar,” I say, swatting at his wandering fingers. “I just said—”

“Alright, alright,” he laughs, the sound rich and warm in the enclosed space. He pulls back, giving me room, but still close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. Turning me gently, he reaches for the shampoo, his large hands suddenly tender as they begin to work the lather through my hair.

The careful motion of his fingers massaging my scalp is grounding, a reminder of the bond we share despite the chaos that swirls around us. It’s these moments, fleeting and intimate, that remind me why I fight—to protect this, whatever ‘this’ might be.

I used to be in it for omegas…Inari thinks I’m in it for power.

But really, it’s for them.

For Gunnar, Oberon, Luka…Rook.

“Sorry,” I whisper, the word barely audible above the rush of water. “For all the lies, Gunnar. For everything that’s come between us.”

His hands pause for a fraction of a moment before resuming their gentle rhythm. “We’re moving past that now,” he says, voice steady and sure. “You’re here, with me. That’s what matters.”

I close my eyes, letting his assurance wash over me as surely as the warm water cascades down my back. His forgiveness soothes the raw edges of guilt that have frayed my thoughts since everything unraveled.

The shower turns off and the world comes back into focus. I step out onto the damp tile, reaching for a towel. As I dry off, my mind churns with the day ahead. I slip into my clothes, a functional ensemble chosen more for the message it sends than for fashion: I’m here for work, not games.

“How should I play this with Inari?” I venture, breaking the silence while pull a black hoodie over my head. “We haven’t exactly strategized since she dropped that bombshell about me being queen of Pacific City.”

Gunnar leans against the door frame, arms crossed, still draped in nothing but a towel. He considers the question, the stubble on his jaw catching the light as he tilts his head.

“Stay sharp, don’t reveal too much. We still don’t know where she stands,” he advises, his tone even but firm. “And remember, you’re not just Aisling Faye anymore—you’re Stargazer, with all the weight that name carries in this city now.”

“Right,” I reply, smoothing down my shirt and meeting his gaze in the mirror. “Stargazer—seer of paths, navigator of destinies.”

He laughs softly. “You’re a bit of a superhero.”

“I’m not,” I mutter, squeezing his shoulder as I walk past. His skin is hot from the shower, his hard muscles more enticing than I’d like to admit…but there’s no time to hop back in for a quickie. “I’d better get going, but I do appreciate your vote of confidence.”

He grins. “Go get ’em, tiger.”

I leave Gunnar leaning there, his support a silent escort as I walk away from our room, each step a small echo in the empty hallway. The pack’s scent lingers on my skin—Gunnar’s earthy musk, Luka’s hint of cedar, Oberon’s understated spice. It’s comforting but also a reminder of what I’m stepping out into: a world where alliances are fragile and power is a game played with lives as chips.

I take the elevator to the rooftop, the doors sliding open with a ding upon arrival. The light is blazing bright out here, blinding me for a moment before I blink the pain away and head out onto the warm rooftop.

“Ah, there you are, Aisling,” Inari calls out, her voice smooth as the silk scarf wrapped around her neck. She waves me over, a practiced smile on her lips that doesn’t quite reach her calculating eyes.

“Sorry I’m late,” I say, though punctuality was never specified. It’s a small challenge thrown down, a reminder that I’m not at her beck and call.

“Sit, sit,” she insists, gesturing to the empty chair beside her. “We wouldn’t dream of starting without you.”

As I take the seat, I can feel Isla’s gaze on me, assessing. I nod to her, an acknowledgment of the complex threads that tie us together—grief, loss, a shared history of fighting for omegas. She nods back, a ghost of a smile touching her lips, as if to say, ‘here we are, playing the game.’

A guard, silent and expressionless, steps forward and pours a mimosa into a glass before me. The fizzing sound is oddly loud in the quiet morning air. I wrap my fingers around the stem, the chill of the glass seeping into my skin.

It’s all so civilized, this dance of power and politics, yet beneath the surface, I know the currents run dark and treacherous.

“Thank you,” I murmur, taking a sip to buy myself a moment. The bubbles tickle my throat, a sharp contrast to the unease settling in my stomach. I set the glass down, ready to face whatever comes next with these omegas who’ve turned survival into an art form.

“Business or pleasure?” I ask, meeting Inari’s gaze head-on. Her smile widens just a fraction, and I brace myself for the answer that could change everything.

“Why not both?” Inari’s voice is smooth as silk, but there’s an edge to it that makes me sit up straighter. She taps her perfectly manicured nails on the tabletop, a rhythmic sound that seems to echo the beat of my racing heart.

Isla chuckles softly beside her, shaking her head with a mixture of amusement and something else—resignation, maybe, or anticipation. It’s hard to read, but then again, Isla has always been good at keeping her cards close to her chest.

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