Page 26 of Sacrifice

As the waiter departs, the door closing with a soft click, I exhale slowly, grounding myself in the scent of spiced cologne and the warmth of the hands still resting possessively on me. Yet, despite the satiation that thrums through my veins, there’s a restlessness that stirs—a yearning for something more, something yet undone.

Rook.

I think I’ve waited long enough…and tonight, I’m going to show him just how much I care.

Chapter twelve

Rook

The sheets are a twisted mess around my legs, a physical echo of the snarl in my thoughts.

Luka’s words, heavy with unspoken implications, still hang in the air.

She cares…keep the faith.

This is so bloody stupid.

My eyes snap open to the ceiling above, tracing the golden crown molding. I can’t shake the image of Aisling, her pale skin and those storm-grey eyes, possibly pressed up against Nero right now.

My gut twists.

I roll over, punching my pillow in a vain attempt to find some comfort or escape. There’s no room for sleep when your mind is a battlefield of what-ifs and could-have-beens.

“Dammit,” I mutter under my breath, sitting up with a groan. I scrub a hand over my face, feeling the prickle of stubble and the weight of exhaustion. But rest won’t come, not when every fiber of my being is strung tight with the anticipation of tomorrow’s plans, whatever they may be.

We’re playing a dangerous game, one wrong move away from disaster.

A sharp knock cuts through the silence, sudden and intrusive. Who the hell? My heart kicks against my ribcage, a rapid thud-thud that echoes the knocking. It’s late, too late for visitors, and the knot of anxiety in my stomach pulls tighter.

“Who’s there?” I call out, voice rough with disuse and edged with suspicion. It could be anyone—a threat, a message, an uninvited ghost from a past I’m trying to outrun. I slip out of the tangled bedclothes and pad silently to the door, every muscle tensed and ready.

“Rook,” comes the hushed reply from the other side, a voice I’d recognize anywhere.

Aisling.

What the hell is she doing here?

“Open up.”

My hand hovers over the lock, hesitation warring with curiosity. I glance back at the bed, an island of unrest, before making my decision. Whatever she wants, Aisling Faye isn’t someone you leave waiting on the doorstep.

And despite everything, I’m not sure I want to.

I unlatch the door and pull it open, my brows knitting in confusion as I take her in. Aisling stands there, a vision that knocks the breath from me—determined but with a tremor of nerves. She’s poured into a glittery, short red dress that clings to her curves like a second skin, shimmering under the dim hallway lights. Her face is flushed, cheeks tinged pink, and her silver-blonde hair tumbles around her shoulders in a mussed halo as if she’s been through a storm—or someone’s sheets.

“Jesus, Aisling,” I mutter under my breath, my gaze sweeping over her. The sight of her scrambles my thoughts, sends my senses into overdrive. There’s an aura about her that pulls me in, a mix of vulnerability and raw, unfiltered power that only an omega of her caliber possesses.

“Rook,” she says, her voice steady despite the clear signs of her earlier activities, “aren’t you going to invite me in?”

I do no such thing.

“Your date with Nero,” I start, leaning against the doorframe, striving for casualness though my heart’s still hammering away. There’s sarcasm in my voice, sure, but I can’t deny the thread of genuine curiosity. “How did that play out?”

Her eyes meet mine, grey like a stormy sky, holding secrets and emotions I can’t read just yet. She doesn’t answer immediately, and I’m left hanging on the silence, my question echoing between us.

“Let’s just say it wasn’t quite the highlight of my evening,” Aisling replies, her tone playful but with a serious edge that suggests she means more than she’s saying. There’s a glint in her eye that tells me this is not just some post-date courtesy call.

“Okay…so then what are you doing here?” I ask, my confusion apparent as I eye her suspiciously. “It’s late, and—” I hesitate, my nose catching the tangled scents clinging to her. The musky traces of alpha—Gunnar and Nero—it’s unmistakable and it grates on my nerves.

---