Page 24 of Sacrifice

“Complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it,” I mutter, but his words lodge somewhere deep, somewhere hopeful.

“Life’s a mess, Rook. But sometimes the best things come from the biggest disasters.” Luka gives a half-hearted chuckle, a sound that seems to acknowledge the absurdity of finding hope amidst our dystopian backdrop.

“Complicated or not, I’m not giving her up without a fight.” My voice is steady, even if inside, my emotions are anything but.

“Didn’t think you would.” Luka claps me on the back with a brotherly force. “Just don’t lose yourself in the process, alright?”

“Never do,” I say, and this time I allow myself a small smile.

Reaching my room feels like crossing an invisible finish line each night. The door shuts with a thud behind me, sealing me inside this small space that feels both sanctuary and prison. My fingers linger on the cold metal of the lock before I let them fall to my side.

“Complicated,” I echo to myself, taking in the stark room. It’s got the essentials—a bed, a dresser, a small table with one chair—but it’s missing life, missing warmth…missing her.

I sit on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on my knees as I lean forward and bury my head in my hands. Faith, Luka had said. But faith can’t fill the void next to me in this bed, can’t replace the scent of Aisling that seems permanently imprinted in my brain.

“Damn it all,” I whisper into the darkness.

The weight of loneliness presses down, and for a moment, I allow myself the indulgence of grief. Grief for what’s been lost, for the tangle of relationships we’ve all found ourselves in, and for the uncertain future we’re barreling towards.

But then I straighten up, the resolve setting back into my jaw. There’s too much riding on my shoulders—on our shoulders—to get weighed down by what-ifs and might-have-beens. I have to focus on the Mojave lab, on tearing down the operation that’s caused us all so much pain.

On making sure Vance has no idea we’re all working against him.

“Tomorrow,” I say to the empty room. “We fight back.”

I flick off the light and strip off my clothes, replacing them with a pair of sweats. Sliding under the blanket, I close my eyes, willing sleep to come and grant me a few hours of respite from the relentless tide of desire and duty.

But even as I drift off, the image of Aisling’s grey eyes haunts me, a specter of longing that promises neither rest nor surrender.

Chapter eleven

Aisling

“Is that a yes, Aisling?”

Gunnar’s voice is a low hum beside me, a proposition I know could change everything. I can’t see Gunnar, but his grip on my hand is steady, anchoring. On my other side, Nero’s presence is like a silent storm, his touch conspicuously absent.

“Yes,” I breathe out, the word barely more than a puff of air. The room swallows it whole, leaving behind an oppressive silence.

I strain against the darkness, letting my other senses stretch out to compensate. The scent of pine mixes with the unique undertones of alpha—that’s Gunnar, no doubt. But there’s another scent, spicier, edgier—Nero.

It’s unsettling how it makes my heart skitter.

“Can you feel it, Stargazer? This darkness…it’s intimate, isn’t it?” Nero’s voice is closer now, a soft whisper against my ear. Yet he doesn’t touch me.

Not yet.

“Intimate and disconcerting,” I reply, keeping my tone even. My nerves are frayed ends, sparking with anticipation.

“Disconcerting can be exciting,” he murmurs. It’s then that I feel it—the lightest pressure on my thigh. Nero’s hand is tentative at first, as if he’s testing boundaries that we both know he’ll soon cross.

“Excitement is one word for it,” I say, biting back a smile in the pitch black. His fingers begin a slow exploration, tracing the hem of my dress. Each deliberate movement sends a ripple through the stillness around us.

“Tell me if I go too far,” he says, but it’s not really a question. It’s a challenge wrapped in velvet-smooth concern.

“Would you stop if I did?” The words come out bolder than I expect, emboldened by the shroud of darkness.

“Maybe,” he teases, his hand inching higher, “but you won’t ask me to, will you?”

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