Page 6 of Sacrifice

Nero

I don’t often get visitors, but tonight I’m welcoming a very special ally.

Gunnar Finch.

The—hopefully—future Archangel, heir to Celestial Hills.

I swing the door wide, and there’s Gunnar, looking like trouble in a leather jacket. “Evening,” I say, stepping aside to let him into my suite. The Bellanova doesn’t skimp on luxury—a fact not lost on either of us as he gives the room an appreciative once-over. He’s been here before, obviously, but it’s been a few days—and there aren’t as many half-dressed women here as usual, distracting from the decor.

“Drink?” I offer, already moving toward the cabinet where I keep the good stuff. It’s been a while since we’ve had one of our little chats, just the two of us.

“Would be great,” he replies with that lopsided grin that tells me he’s here for business, pleasure, or maybe both. He drops into a chair by the window, sprawling out as if he owns the thing. His gaze is drawn outside where Oasis twinkles under a blanket of night, but I know his mind is anywhere but on the view.

I chuck the door closed with a flick of my wrist and head over to the cabinet, pulling out a bottle of whiskey that’s aged longer than half the upstarts trying to take over this city. “You’ve got your whole damn pack here now.” The words are light but carry a truth I’m still adjusting to. “Guess I need to find myself a new drinking buddy.”

“Looks like it,” he chuckles, his eyes tracking my movements as I uncork the bottle and pour two glasses.

I grab the tumblers, the liquid gold catching the dim light, and make my way over to him. Handing him one, I take my own seat, settling into the comfort of familiar company.

“Remember when this was an every night thing?” I muse aloud, swirling the whiskey in my glass. “Strategizing, plotting our next move…now, you’ve got your hands full, what with your pack taking up all your time.”

“Miss me already?” Gunnar teases, the corner of his lip twisting into a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s poking at me, trying to draw out the sentimental crap we both steer clear of.

“Please,” I scoff, taking another swig and letting the burn of the whiskey ground me. “We’ve got more important things to hash out than your ego…like your brother.”

Gunnar nods, acknowledging the shift to darker waters. He glances around like he’s worried someone’s listening, and I raise my brows.

“I’ve made sure we aren’t being overheard,” I tell him. “Trust me.”

He grunts under his breath, then sighs.

“There’s something you should know,” he starts, leaning back against the chair, his fingers tapping a quiet rhythm on the glass. “We think Vance staged that mess on the way to Oasis—”

“The assassination attempt…on himself and the rest of your pack?” I cut in, my interest piqued. The move reeks of Vance’s theatrical flair for manipulation. “That’s insane—even for him.”

“Yep.” Gunnar’s voice is flat, but there’s an edge to it. “We think he did it to drive a wedge between me and Aisling.”

I let that sink in, the implication clear as the amber liquid in our glasses. Vance’s games are nothing new, but this…this is personal.

And if there’s one thing I know about Gunnar, it’s that when it comes to Aisling, every nerve ending stands on guard.

“Damn,” I say, finally. “He’s playing with fire.”

“Isn’t he always?” There’s a hint of dark amusement in Gunnar’s tone, but it’s overshadowed by the concern etched deep in his brow.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” I admit, swirling the whiskey in my glass. “But what’s your play here, Gunnar? What are you going to do about it?”

Gunnar’s gaze drifts past the window, his eyes tracing the skyline of Oasis as night falls upon us. The city lights flicker like distant fireflies caught in a jar. He seems lost for a moment, caught up in a maze of thoughts only he can navigate.

“I’m not entirely sure,” he confesses, and there’s a rare hesitance in his voice that tells me more than words could. He shifts uncomfortably, a clear sign he’s grappling with something much larger than uncertainty.

“Vance has been…fixated on Aisling from day one.” His jaw clenches, and even without looking directly at him, I can feel the weight of his worry. “I don’t know if I’m more pissed or scared. If Vance is willing to stage an attack on himself, what the hell wouldn’t he do?”

I nod, understanding the gravity of Gunnar’s concern. Aisling isn’t just another pack member; she’s his anchor, his weakness, and his strength all bundled into one fierce package.

“Obsession’s a dangerous beast,” I murmur, considering the implications. There’s no telling how far Vance’s obsession might push him, and it’s clear Gunnar knows the stakes are high.

“Yeah…” Gunnar’s voice trails off, but the unspoken words hang heavy between us.

---