Page 7 of Sacrifice

He’s worried about Aisling, and rightly so. With Vance’s twisted mind games escalating, I can’t help but think we’re perched on the edge of a blade, and it’s only a matter of time before we slide off.

“I really thought he was worried about me for a bit,” he mutters. “Trying to protect me as his family. But something’s changed since New Eden; he wants her, and he doesn’t want me getting in the way.”

“Well, you did challenge him for the position of Archangel, so that’s something,” I shrug.

Gunnar snorts. “Fair enough. I just…didn’t realize he was so obsessed with her. He wants her very, very badly.”

I can’t help but chuckle, even though there’s nothing particularly funny about the situation. We’re two alphas steeped in a game that could spell ruin for us all, yet here we are, finding levity in the dark. “I don’t mean to be rude, but she’s gotta have some kind of magic pussy, right?”

The words slip out, crude and edged with the kind of morbid amusement that comes from too many nights spent over glasses of whiskey, scheming against enemies both seen and unseen. It’s our way, Gunnar and I—finding laughter where none exists.

Gunnar doesn’t bat an eye at my crassness; instead, he throws his head back and laughs—a deep, hearty sound that fills the room. He leans forward, the whiskey glass dangling loosely between his fingers as he grins with a wild sort of pride that’s infectious.

“Yeah, it’s pretty damn good,” he admits without a shred of humility, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a smirk that’s all alpha confidence. The man is smitten, utterly taken by Aisling, and he doesn’t care who knows it.

We share a look then, one of those silent acknowledgments that pass between two people who understand each other too well. It’s a moment that seems to bridge the gap between us, the unsaid truth that no matter how twisted this world gets, some things are worth fighting for.

I tip my glass to him, a salute to his unabashed honesty, and take another sip of the smooth whiskey. The burn of it is familiar and comforting, like the presence of an old friend. “So, what’s the plan? You’ve got me curious now.”

Gunnar sets his glass down on the windowsill with a clink, his gaze shifting out to the cityscape below, where the lights of Oasis twinkle like stars brought down to earth.

“We’ve got something in the works,” he says, his voice low and steady.

That catches my attention. Plans within plans—that’s how we’ve always operated. It’s the only way to survive in this cutthroat world where alliances shift like sand underfoot, especially when we’re taking on the two most dangerous men on the west coast. I lean in, eager to hear the details of this new scheme.

“Is that so?” I ask, my eyes narrowing, trying to read his expression. It’s clear Gunnar isn’t just here for drinks and reminiscing about the good old days. He’s plotting, and the gravity of his tone tells me it’s something big.

“Something that’ll change everything,” he adds cryptically.

“Good,” I say, masking my growing intrigue with a casual flick of my wrist. “Because you know I’m in. Always am.” It’s the truth; he doesn’t need to pry any further to know that my loyalty isn’t just lip service. But I want details, and Gunnar’s not one to disappoint.

He leans back, his shoulders casting a broad shadow against the dim light filtering through the window. There’s a momentary quiet between us, the kind that precedes a storm. Then, he meets my gaze, determination etched into the lines of his face.

“Here’s the deal, Nero,” he starts, his voice dropping to an even more confidential tone. “Aisling, the pack, and I—we’re planning on staging Vance’s death…unseating the Archangel himself.”

“Damn,” I exhale, impressed despite myself. “You’re aiming high, brother.”

“Someone has to,” Gunnar says with a shrug, although his eyes are anything but nonchalant. They burn with a fierce resolve. “And with your help, we can make it happen.”

“And let me guess—you’re going to take his place?”

Gunnar huffs out a laugh. “Me…and Aisling. We’re going to rule together, make it clear that omegas deserve a place on the throne. Inari’s ready to back her—so we’re all in.”

I nod, slow and deliberate. This is bigger than any play we’ve made before. Riskier, too. But it’s got that thrill of a challenge I can never resist. “You got my help, Gunnar. Let’s bring the bastard down.”

Chapter three

Aisling

The door clicks shut behind me, a soft snick in the quiet of the suite. I’m barely through when I catch Luka and Oberon camped out on the sleek leather couch, eyes flicking from the TV to land on me like dual spotlights. The screen flickers, some late-night show casting erratic shadows across their faces.

“Hey,” I say, dropping my keycard into the bowl by the door. “How’s the night treating you two?”

Luka’s laugh is a low rumble, an easy sound that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Like we could sleep with you out and about.”

Oberon doesn’t bother with subtlety, his blunt words slicing through the air as he turns to me, his expression unreadable. “So, Aisling, how was your little rendezvous? Rook didn’t want to come back with you?”

His question hangs between us, laden with unspoken implications, and I fight the urge to squirm under their combined scrutiny. Oberon has been eager for Rook to join us for weeks, and Luka seems just as intrigued. It’s clear they’ve been waiting up for more than just a goodnight; they’re hungry for details, prowling around the edges of my evening like it’s their territory too.

---