Page 43 of Sacrifice

Vance’s stance hardens, his silhouette rigid against the dim light filtering through the blinds. “I’ll stay,” he grates out, and I can hear the resolve, the sharp edge of a man with nothing left to lose. “Just long enough to rip apart that asshole.”

I nod, keeping my expression neutral, though inside, I’m a chaos of nerves and regret. “You’ll commit resources?”

“Everything we need.” There’s a ghost of the kingpin he once was in his voice. “But after this…consider me an enemy. You won’t see me again.”

“Alright,” I say quietly, and there it is—the point of no return. I step closer, close enough to smell the scent that’s all Vance—smoke and worn leather. My hand lifts, hesitates, then lands heavy on his shoulder.

“Thanks, Vance. For everything.” My throat tightens around the words, and I squeeze his shoulder, trying to pour every ounce of gratitude and apology into the gesture.

He doesn’t look back as he walks away, and I’m left staring at the empty space where he stood, the finality of our parting hanging heavy in the air.

He helped me get out of Oasis, build a life…

…and I’m about to betray him in the worst way possible.

Chapter nineteen

Nero

I stand in front of the mirror, fingers fumbling with the cufflinks—a simple silver, not too flashy. I don’t know why I’m so nervous…I put on cufflinks all the damn time…but I am.

Maybe because something about this is all wrong.

Aisling is in love with Gunnar; Gunnar is in love with Aisling. I truly enjoyed fucking them both, but love is another thing entirely. Oberon, Luka, and Rook are their family, Aisling’s lovers…Vance has a thing for her.

And what am I in all this?

Inari’s puppet?

“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath, a quiet curse for only me to hear. Aisling—she’s got Gunnar’s mark etched into her, a brand that screams she’s his above all else. And here I am, Nero Rossi, alpha through and through, playing dress-up for a proposal that scratches at my insides like a trapped animal desperate to break free.

Every instinct tells me to take charge, to claim what I want. But this isn’t about taking; it’s about joining. Joining a pack that’s tangled up in knots of loyalty, love, and power plays that make the old world’s politics look like child’s games.

I catch my own reflection staring back, brown eyes hard with determination and something else—doubt. “You’re doing this, Nero,” I say to the guy in the glass. “You’re proposing to an omega who should be someone else’s.”

Tomorrow night, everything is going to change.

My heart thumps against my ribs, a reminder that beneath all this alpha bravado, there’s flesh and blood. Vulnerability ain’t my usual style, but there’s something about Aisling that peels back the layers, leaving me raw.

With a final glance at the mirror, I shrug into the jacket, feeling the weight settle on my shoulders. It’s more than just fabric—it’s the weight of the future, a path I’m about to carve out with words I never thought I’d say.

Then the idea strikes me.

It’s stupid—reckless, totally out of order for Inari’s game.

But it feels like the right thing to do for my future pack, when they’ve offered to bring me in—not just as a political move, but as one of them.

I stride down the corridor, my steps resonant with a purpose that’s almost convincing. The door to their room looms ahead, and for a moment, I hesitate. Is this really the time? But hesitation is for the weak, and I press the buzzer with a determined thumb.

Oberon opens the door, his normally impeccable appearance slightly askew. There’s a flush on his cheeks, dark hair tousled, a hickey on his neck. He raises an eyebrow, a silent question on his face.

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” I say, though it’s more of a formality.

“Of course not,” Oberon replies with a dismissive wave, letting me into their sanctuary. “Aisling’s just with Luka and Gunnar. I just uh…left them there.”

We both glance toward the bedroom door, instinctively drawn by the unmistakable sounds of pleasure spilling through. My throat tightens at the realization of what’s happening behind that door—the intimacy I’m about to intrude upon, even if just with my presence.

“Seems like a pretty clear interruption to me,” I snort, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.

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