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She gives me a tired smile. “I’m sorry. I know you just…”
“This is bigger than us,” I nod. “I get it.”
I can’t help but feel a surge of admiration for her, for both of them. We’re a trio bound by necessity, by the fight that keeps us alive and breathing when everything else wants to snuff us out.
A vibration ripples through the room, a small noise that snags my attention away from the gravity of our conversation. Oberon fishes his phone from his pocket, thumb flicking across the screen in swift, practiced motions. His eyes scan the message, narrowing with intrigue before darting up to lock onto mine, then Aisling’s.
“Roman’s got something for us,” he says, voice low, carrying an edge of something that might be excitement or danger. “Nero Rossi’s throwing a party tomorrow night. We’re invited.”
“Rossi,” I echo, feeling the weight of the name. Last time I heard it, trouble followed close behind like a persistent shadow. Aisling leans forward, elbows on her knees, her gaze sharp. The air between us feels charged, heavy with the unspoken acknowledgment that this is no casual party we’re being called to attend.
“Vance reaching out…now Nero Rossi,” Aisling muses, her words laced with a cold certainty. “Something about this stinks, right? Like…there’s gotta be a reason.”
“Luka sensed it too—and we need to figure it out for ourselves,” I reply, folding my arms.
“You saw Luka?” Ais asks.
I nod—oddly irked that she’s asking about him, the way her eyes flit to mine. “Yeah…and he said some shit’s about to go down. I don’t know if I even want to know, but…”
I trail off, Oberon picking up on my apprehension.
“Whatever’s coming,” Oberon adds, looking between us, “we’ll face it head-on. Like we always do.”
“Head-on,” I agree, with a nod. Our survival has never been about chance. It’s strategy, it’s knowing when to hold your ground and when to make your move. Tomorrow, we step into Nero Rossi’s world, and I can almost hear the music of the dance we’ll join—a dance that could well decide which way the tide will turn.
“Let’s get ready,” Aisling says, standing up first, her movements all purpose. “We have a party to prepare for.”
“Prepare for battle, you mean,” Oberon corrects with a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Same thing,” she replies without missing a beat, and we rise together, united by the bonds of this twisted dance, by the silent vows we’ve made—to survive, to protect what’s ours, and to never back down from the fight that beckons just beyond the horizon.
Chapter twelve
Aisling
We sleep from dawn until dusk…and then it’s time to work again.
We get dressed in our nicest clothes—a glittery silver dress for me, clean t-shirts and slacks for Oberon and Gunnar. They kiss my throat and wrists before we leave the apartment—leaving their scent on me to make sure no other alpha thinks he can claim me.
It’s sensual…and it’s safe.
But soon, we’ll be out in the wild, in Eclipse territory, and we don’t know what will happen there.
The night wraps around Echo Beach, the ocean whispers in hushed tones, and Roman Winters waits with a patience I can’t fathom. He’s just a black silhouette against a moored boat, dark on the painted horizon.
And in the distance…Nero’s palace, all glittering lights on a hilly island in the bay.
A den of vice, and perhaps the site of our salvation.
“About time,” Roman says, turning toward us when he hears our footsteps. “Oberon, Aisling…and you must be Gunnar.”
“That’s me,” Gunnar says, extending his hand. “Roman?”
“Yep,” he nods. “We should get going—Nero and his men are expecting us.”
Oberon’s jaw tenses. “And you’re sure he’s not going to pull any shit with us? His brother…”
Roman leans closer. “He wants nothing to do with Caius—not after what he did.”
