Page 38 of Sacrifice

“Let’s go see Nero,” Gunnar says, his voice a low rumble. His eyes are stormy seas, unreadable. “We need to hash things out with him. Make sure we’re all on the same page.”

I nod, the weight of his words settling over me like a shroud. I trail behind him, our footsteps a soft echo against the plush carpet, thoughts churning like a whirlpool. “Are you okay?”

I watch him closely, catching the slight tremor in his hands. It’s unlike Gunnar to show any uncertainty, his usual composure as solid as the concrete walls that cage our city.

He turns to me, a half-smile playing on his lips that fails to reach his eyes. “I’m fine,” he says, but his voice tells a different story—a hint of something raw, vulnerable. “But this… what I’m feeling, it’s not about possession, Aisling.”

My heart skips as I glimpse the truth behind his mask, the internal war that rages within him. Gunnar, the steadfast rock, now adrift in a sea of doubt.

“Watching you with Nero,” he continues, his gaze fixed on a point beyond me, “it doesn’t enrage me like I thought it would. It’s confusing, because part of me…” He trails off, his jaw tightening.

“Part of you what?” I prompt, my own pulse quickening with a mix of fear and anticipation.

“Part of me wants to join in,” he admits, the words tumbling out like a confession. “To be a part of whatever this is between us all.”

A shiver runs through me, not from dread but an awakening desire. The thought of Gunnar, Nero, and me entangled sends a thrill coursing through my veins.

We pause in the hallway, the golden lights illuminating the red carpet…making me feel like maybe we’re ont he road to hell. Gunnar’s gaze is introspective, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows an unspoken thought. I turn to face him, searching his eyes for the root of this nervous energy.

“Did you and Nero…?” The question hangs between us, heavy with implications. “When we were apart, did anything happen?”

He meets my gaze squarely, his expression earnest. “No,” he says firmly. “I’ve never been unfaithful to you, Aisling.”

His words should reassure me, but instead, guilt gnaws at my insides. I’ve never done the same for him…and I still need to make amends for that. I’m not sure if this is the right way. I nod, biting my lip. “I want whatever you want, Gunnar.”

“Even when I don’t know what that is?” His voice is rough, like gravel against silk.

“We’ll figure it out together.” I reach out, placing a hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm.

With a deep breath, Gunnar nods, and we continue down the corridor. The silence isn’t uncomfortable; it’s contemplative as we each wrestle with our own tangled thoughts.

Nero’s door looms ahead, imposing as the man himself. Gunnar lifts his hand and knocks, a sound that echoes with more than just the rap of knuckles against wood—it’s the prelude to a decision that could bind or break us.

The door swings open almost immediately, revealing Nero in all his dark-haired, brooding glory. His brown eyes flicker over us, missing nothing. “Inari said you might want to talk,” he says, stepping aside to let us enter.

“Thanks,” Gunnar replies, and I follow him into Nero’s domain, the undercurrent of our collective uncertainty trailing behind us like a shadow.

The suite is a study in opulence, with plush velvet couches and an array of art that would make a collector envious. I take a seat on one of the couches, the soft fabric yielding beneath me. Gunnar settles in an armchair to my left.

Nero moves to a sideboard, where an array of decanters and glasses sit like silent sentries. With practiced ease, he pours three glasses of whiskey, the golden liquid catching the light as it swirls into the crystal. He hands us each a glass, his movements confident yet somehow deliberate.

“Cheers,” Nero says, raising his glass slightly before taking a sip, watching us over the rim. “To us…I suppose. An unconventional arrangement.”

Gunnar clinks his glass against Nero’s with a sound that feels final, and I follow suit, the whiskey burning a path down my throat, setting my nerves on fire. It’s a familiar ritual, one that we’ve shared many times in these past weeks, but tonight, the stakes are higher.

Nero sets his glass down, sitting in a matching armchair across from Gunnar, every inch the alpha in control—yet there’s a glint of something else in his gaze.

“Inari briefed me on your discussion,” he starts, his voice smooth, betraying none of the tension that must be winding through him. “I’m open to the idea if you both are. The chemistry…” He pauses, a half-smile playing on his lips as he looks between Gunnar and me. “Well, that’s never been in question.”

Gunnar nods, a ghost of a smile tugging at his own lips. “It’s good to hear you’re amenable.” There’s a respect in his tone, a recognition of Nero not just as an ally, but as someone who might become more.

“And,” Nero continues, his gaze settling on me, “I’m honored that you’d consider bringing me into your pack. Given our…unique circumstances.”

The silence stretches between us, taut and tense—a web around this perfect triangle. I’m suddenly unsure why we’re here, Gunnar’s words echoing in my head.

“Let me pour you another,” Nero offers, standing to retrieve the bottle. The liquid gold splashes into our glasses, but no one reaches for them this time.

“Thanks,” Gunnar murmurs, his eyes not leaving Nero’s form as he moves with an effortless grace that seems wasted in a world so eager to crumble around us. I watch them both, sensing the unspoken questions hanging thick in the air like a pre-storm humidity.

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