Page 67 of Sacrifice

“Stubborn’s one word for it,” Aisling chimes in from behind, her voice thick with worry.

We burst into Nero’s suite, a chaos of motion as we lay him down on the couch. The medic wastes no time, his hands moving with practiced precision as he peels away the blood-soaked shirt and assesses the wound.

“Out,” I command, my voice brooking no arguments. “Everyone but the pack and the medic—out now!”

Inari steps forward, a glint of defiance in her eyes, but she meets my snarl head-on. “This is my territory, Gunnar. You don’t give orders here.”

“Right now, this room is our pack’s territory,” I snap back, feeling Oberon and Luka position themselves subtly behind me—a united front. “His safety is all that matters.”

Vance lingers by the door, his bright blue eyes locked on Aisling before flicking to me. “Gunnar—”

“Save it,” I cut him off. “I’m not in the mood for debates or power plays. Get. Out.”

With a huff, Inari concedes, throwing one last icy look over her shoulder as she exits. Vance follows, though his gaze lingers on Aisling a moment longer before he disappears beyond the threshold.

Once the door clicks shut, the medic looks up, his brow furrowed. “He’s stable for now, but it was close. The bullet missed his heart by inches.”

I exhale slowly, a tension uncoiling within me. “Good work. Keep him that way.”

The room settles into an uneasy silence, each of us processing the night’s events. Nero’s breathing steadies under the medic’s ministrations, but the air crackles with unanswered questions.

“Who would do this?” Aisling whispers, her eyes darting between us. “Why target Nero?”

“Could be any number of rival factions,” Oberon muses. “Or someone closer to home.”

“Is the shooter still here?” Luka adds, his voice tight. “Security needs to sweep the whole damn building.”

“We’ll figure it out,” I assure them, running a hand through my hair. “But right now, we stay sharp. We protect our own. And we make damn sure whoever did this pays for it.”

Chapter twenty-nine

Rook

The door clicks shut behind us, and I swear you could cut the atmosphere with a knife. We’re all on edge, our nerves frayed from the night’s chaos. Nero lies motionless on the couch, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths—the only sign he’s still with us

“Okay, let’s get to it,” I say, my voice bouncing off the walls of Nero’s decadent suite. The pack shuffles into seats around the broad table that seems too grand for what’s left of us—now one man down

Gunnar’s jaw is set in that stubborn line, his eyes darting between us while he taps an impatient rhythm on the tabletop. Aisling sits next to him, her features drawn tight, like she’s holding back a storm. Her blonde hair is a halo of disarray, eyes shadowed by doubt. Oberon’s hand finds its way to her shoulder—a silent anchor in the rough sea.

“Vance,” Gunnar starts, and immediately, it’s like someone threw a live wire into the room. “Can we trust him?”

“He’s saved our asses more than once,” Luka counters, leaning back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the grain of the wood rather than any of us. “…but he also staged an assassination attempt on us.”

“Right—he’ll sell us out first chance he gets,” Aisling interjects, her voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of fatigue. She’s right to be wary; Vance is a wildcard, and his recent paranoia has made him all the more dangerous.

“Look, he was there when we needed him,” I point out, trying to steer this boat before it capsizes. “That has to count for something.”

“Or it’s part of his game. He’s been playing both sides for a while now,” Aisling snaps, her distrust for Vance as clear as the tension written across her face.

“Game or not, we need all the help we can get,” I argue, locking eyes with her. “We’re walking into the Mojave with less than a full deck. Can’t afford to toss aside an ace, even if it might be a trick card.”

“An ace that’s smitten with you, Stargazer,” Oberon murmurs, giving Aisling’s shoulder a light squeeze. The endearment hangs awkwardly in the air, reminding us all of the tangled web we’ve been caught in.

“Enough,” Gunnar growls, slamming a hand on the table. “We focus on the raid. Once that’s over…well, Vance won’t be a problem anymore.”

The words hang heavy in the room, a grim acceptance settling over us like dust after an explosion. We’re all thinking it—Vance’s days are numbered one way or another.

“Raid first, politics later,” Luka agrees, his voice low and even. “We stick to the plan.”

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