Half-breed’s Bargain by Samantha Wolfe
10
VAN
“Ameera?” I murmur as I stare at the ghost of my past come back to life, careful not to meet her eyes.
I don’t think she’ll glamour me, but I haven’t seen her in a very long time. She may have changed as much as I have in the last fifty years, and possibly not for the better if she’s working for someone like Randall Lynch. Her appearance is just as I remember with her long thick black hair, big honey-brown eyes, and full red lips. Her black silk dress hugs the curves of her body and reaches mid thigh. Its length, low-cut neckline, and spaghetti straps expose lots of pale olive skin and leaves little to the imagination. Ameera was never shy about her body and knew how to use her exotic beauty to her advantage. Apparently that hasn’t changed. But what has changed is my reaction to her. When before I felt longing and desire, and at one point even love, now I feel nothing but guilt and regret.
“You know each other?” Harlow asks, her harsh accusatory tone jolting me out of my reverie.
I look over to see her directing a murderous glare at Ameera, and I’m not surprised. Early on and with even the slightest provocation, anam amháin can make a fae insane with jealousy. I experienced a taste of it myself before our souls even touched when I thought something was going on between Harlow and Anson. I need to placate her before she does something rash and ruins our chances of this mission being successful tonight. Not to mention I need to keep Ameera from revealing my affiliation with Móira to Lynch and getting us all killed. I’m under no illusion that she feels any measure of loyalty to me after fifty years apart.
“We worked together a long time ago,” I answer her, the lie paining me, but what choice do I have since we’re in the home of an enemy. “I thought she was dead all this time,” I add for Ameera’s benefit, not wanting her to think I abandoned her back then. If I had known she was alive, I would’ve searched for her.
“Yes, we did,” Ameera says, and I turn to see relief in her eyes. Could it be she doesn’t want our romantic involvement mentioned either? Interesting. “And I thought he was dead too.”
Well, that’s news to me, but then again, it was Móira who convinced me Ameera was gone for good, and the vampire’s complete disappearance supported that. I believed my mother back then because I didn’t realize the veritable monster she was and still is now. I still thought she cared for me in her own fucked up way. Now I can only wonder why I never doubted her back then. Many years later, after becoming more familiar with my mother’s true nature, I even wondered if Móira eliminated Ameera to separate us. And I’ve been harboring guilt over her death since her relationship with me put her on my mother’s radar. After all, she never approved of my relationship with the vampire. Móira never straight out said that Ameera died since the fae abhor lying, but I should have realized by now that it was a giant red flag. She was manipulating me with half truths and mind games, just like she’s been doing my entire life. It isn’t too much of a stretch that she’d lead Ameera to believe I was dead too if it furthered her machinations. But none of that matters right now if our affiliation with Móira gets back to Lynch, and we get slaughtered tonight.
“It’s good to see that I was wrong,” Ameera elaborates, then tilts her head toward Harlow. “And that you got out from under the thumb of your old employer. Though after the way they treated you, I would’ve thought you’d want to be your own man for once.” There’s no missing the bitter edge to Ameera’s words.
Ever the practical vampire, Ameera never understood the hold Móira has on me. To her, a fae bargain didn’t differ from any other, and she thought I could just break it and walk away, despite there being magic involved or the misplaced loyalty I still had for my mother back then. Believe me, I’ve tried to find a way out of it over the years, consulted mages and a few other fae I trusted not to tattle to my mother. Nothing ever came of it. There were only two ways out of the bargain. Either Móira released me or one of us had to die. But now isn’t the time to remind her of that. I’m just grateful she didn’t mention my mother by name.
I hear a low growl and turn to find the source, thinking it’s Ethan or Mercer, but I’m shocked to discover the noise is coming from Harlow. She’s scowling at Ameera with a hand under her jacket, most likely reaching for a weapon of some sort.
“Well, as touching as this little reunion is,” Harlow says, her voice tight with suppressed anger. “I’m here for a different reason, as my employee already knows.” She throws a brief glare my way before aiming it at Ameera again, though I note she at least remembers not to meet the vampire’s eyes. “Take me to Lynch now.”
Ameera clenches her jaw before glancing at me with a sneer. “I see your taste in employers hasn’t changed.”
“Like your choice is any fucking better?” I ask, waving a hand at our surroundings as the instinctive need to defend Harlow overwhelms my judgment.
I clamp my mouth shut before I devolve into name calling and stifle the urge to throttle the vampire. So much for being in love with her at one time. Apparently, anam amháin and an unfulfilled werewolf mating bond trump that. Ameera’s eyes darken to black as she curls her lips up in a silent snarl, displaying a formidable set of fangs that agitate Harlow and me even more. At this rate, we’ll be ripping the vampire apart together.
“Enough,” Mercer says in a calm, yet forceful tone as he places a firm hand on my shoulder. It’s enough to help me regain control of myself.
“We’re here on a job, not for anything personal,” Ethan adds as he moves closer to Harlow to back up his husband’s attempt to diffuse the situation. Thank God for my boys and their level heads tonight. Especially since I forgot about the two vampire goons who were still behind us and would jump in to back Ameera up if we attacked her.
Harlow blinks a few times, taking a deep, shuddering breath as she pulls her hand out of her jacket and away from whatever weapon she has tucked inside. “Yes,” she says in a tense voice. “Thanks for the reminder, Ethan.” She tilts her chin up in an imperious manner that would do my mother proud. “Please take us to Lynch.”
Ameera’s eyes and fangs are back to normal when I look at her again, but her sneer is still in full force. “Huh, and here I thought the infamous Harlow Walsh was just a mindless, blunt instrument to throw at whatever is in her master’s way.”
“That’s in the past,” Harlow responds with an answering smirk that isn’t the adorable one I like. It’s downright feral. “I’m my own master now,” she adds in a tone befitting her fierce expression.
Ameera’s scowl falters as her gaze sweeps around the ridiculously opulent room. “I used to think the same thing myself,” she says, and I swear her eyes appear a bit sad, but it’s so fleeting that I could be wrong. She nods toward the two guards behind us, her demeanor utterly professional now. “Lucian and Samuel will need your weapons before I take you to Master Lynch.”
Harlow’s face twists into a baleful expression, but she doesn’t argue with Ameera’s request and follows my lead when I pull my Colt pistol out of its shoulder holster. I hand it to the blond vampire goon, unsure if he’s Lucian or Samuel, as Ethan and Mercer pull out their guns and give them over to the dark-haired one.
I watch in bemusement as Harlow pulls a large knife from each side of her shoulder holster, then two throwing blades from up her sleeves, and finally two more knives from her boots. The two vampire males take them with wide-eyes, struggling to juggle all the weapons between the two of them.
“Careful there, big guy,” she warns the dark-haired one who took her boot knives. “They’re silver-plated. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” She winks at him with a devilish smile. I know she’s just doing it to taunt the vampire, but the surge of jealousy I feel is very real and very strong. It’s all I can do not to attack him.
“No worries, love,” he replies in a thick British accent with a grin that exposes a pair of long, sharp fangs. “I can handle a bit of pain.” He leans a little closer to her. “In fact,” he adds, his dark eyes growing even darker, “I might even like it.”
Then he winks at Harlow and I unconsciously move forward, ready to tear him apart, but Mercer’s hand on my forearm brings me to stop after just one step. Ameera glances between Harlow and me with furrowed brows. My behavior is unusual enough for even her to notice.
“Enough flirting, Samuel,” Ameera says as she shoots an exasperated glare at the dark-haired vampire. “You and Lucian can return to your post. I’ll take care of our guests from here.”
I’m grateful the two are leaving the room. I don’t think I could refrain from going after Samuel if he hung around much longer, especially if he kept leering at Harlow. That would certainly put an end to the peaceful visit we’ve had so far. And given the other armed vampire guards we see scattered throughout the place as we follow Ameera at a fast clip, we’d be on the losing end of that fight. I marvel at the effortless steps she takes in her blood-red stiletto heels, despite knowing from experience that they won’t slow her down a bit in a fight.
I feel Harlow’s eyes on me and glance over to see her shooting daggers at me. All her obvious jealousy does is turn me on, which is what I was trying to avoid by focusing on something that doesn’t. Big mistake. If only I could gather her in my arms and show her just how much I want her and no one else, and that I’ll never want another woman again. Anam amháin ensures that. I’ll have a life of celibacy to look forward to when we part ways after this job, thanks to our connection, but I’ll survive. It’s far better than Móira getting her manipulative claws into Harlow.
I give Harlow what I can to placate her and let my eyes drift down her body with a heated gaze. Looking at her, I can’t imagine how I was ever attracted to Ameera. Everything about Harlow draws me in, her body and her aura. She returns the favor, her eyes traveling over me, and there’s no mistaking the need I see. I’m forced to pull my attention away from her before I act out some of the filthy things I’d like to do to her. And it’s a good thing too, since we’ve reached our destination.
Another set of guards opens a door for us. Apparently, Lynch doesn’t take any chances with his security, which is good since he has no wards on the house or property. Vampires can’t manipulate magic like a fae or a human mage can, since they lack the vital spark of life required to do so. Lynch couldn’t place a ward anywhere, even if he wanted one. And any vampire can forget about glamouring a full-blooded fae or a mage to cast the warding spells for him. Anyone skilled enough to produce such powerful spells certainly wouldn’t be susceptible to a vampire’s enthrallment.
Ameera leads us into what I assume is a library, given the number of full bookshelves lining the walls. The room is just as lavish as the rest of the house with an ornate ceiling, thick rugs, and expensive looking antique furniture. On the far side of the room is a sitting area with a sofa and a love seat. A couple is draped across the sofa, the woman lying on her back underneath a man, whose face is buried against her neck. The woman’s head is thrown back with her eyes closed as she moans and writhes beneath the man. Wet sucking noises and the musky scent of arousal mixed with the tang of fresh blood fill the room.
“Your guest is here, Master,” Ameera announces in a bland tone.
The man on the sofa lifts his head from the woman’s neck. His eyes are pitch black and his lips smeared with ruby-red blood. His tongue darts out to catch an errant drop before it spills down his chin as he glances at Harlow.
“Ah, yes,” he says as his eyes fade back to a human looking dark-brown. “Forgive my rudeness. I got distracted by dinner.”
He glances at the woman, who’s still sprawled on the sofa cushions with a dreamy expression, and grins, exposing bloody fangs. He rises and coaxes the woman up with him. Randall Lynch is tall and lanky, nearing six and a half feet tall and dressed in a three piece tweed suit in a dark brown. His long hair is nearly the same color and pulled into a low ponytail. He looks young, maybe thirty by human standards, but I know he’s far older than that. His face is narrow, with dark brows and a carefully trimmed mustache. His appearance is seemingly mundane and harmless, but he’s anything but. I can sense his vampiric power wrapped around him like a cloak, emanating outward to anyone able to sense such things. It feels nothing like fae or human magic and makes my skin crawl. Randall Lynch is the most powerful vampire in this city, and from the cocky glint in his eyes, he knows it, too.
He pulls the woman into his arms and leans in to lave his tongue across the twin puncture wounds still weeping blood down her neck, closing them with the clotting properties of his saliva. Then he releases her and gives her a nudge toward the door.
“Go to my room, lass,” he tells her, the Irish accent in his command unmistakable. “We’ll finish what we started later.” He slaps her ass, and she staggers out of the room with a giggle as he stares hungrily after her.
I know how the woman feels. Ameera fed on me many times when we were together. When a vampire makes a feeding all about pleasure, there’s nothing like that high, especially when sex is thrown into the mix. For a vampire, lust and hunger are pretty much interchangeable, and one always follows the other. Many a human has experienced being fed on, then sought it out again and again, like a junkie looking for another hit. From the number of puncture wounds of differing ages on the woman’s neck, I suspect she’s one of them. It’s a good way to end up dead if the vampire feeding off you lacks the will or the self-control required not to drain you dry. Ameera always had ironclad control and went out of her way not to kill her food out of not only self-preservation, but because of her own moral code. Somehow, I have a hard time imagining Lynch keeping his human blood donors alive for any other reason than wanting to avoid attracting human attention. I suspect he enjoys torturing his victims to make up for not being able to kill them, and the rumors I’ve heard about Lynch support that theory.
Lynch walks towards us with smooth and purposeful steps, then stops next to a desk near the center of the room. He lowers himself into the leather chair as he motions toward another across the desk. “Have a seat, Miss Walsh,” he says as he leans back, his eyes bright and his cheeks ruddy from his meal as he focuses his attention on her.
I don’t like the hungry way he looks at her, but there’s nothing I can do about it without drawing unwanted attention to myself. I console myself, knowing that Harlow can take care of herself.
Harlow nods and moves to the smaller chair on the other side of the desk and sits down. I stand behind her chair and the boys move to flank her. The two study each other for a long uncomfortable moment with Lynch’s dark eyes locked on hers and her eyes focused on his forehead before the vampire breaks the silence first.
“Why don’t you tell me why you came here uninvited tonight,” Lynch says with vile self-amused grin. “And then I’ll decide if I’m going to eat you and feed your little puppies to my guards.”
Harlow leans forward with a hard stare. “Try anything against me or my boys, and I’ll gut you and bathe in your blood.”
“With what?” the vampire asks with an arched brow, unfazed by her threat. “Your bare hands?”
“How about with that?” she says as she points at an antique brass letter opener sitting on the desk’s leather blotter. “It looks sharp enough, and I’ve done worse with less.” If just the rumors I’ve heard about her are true, then I know that’s not a lie.
Lynch throws his head back and laughs with his fangs on full display, the loud noise grating on my nerves. He glances over at Ameera with a toothy grin that’s just as disturbing as Harlow’s. “Oh, I like this one. She’s got a violent streak.”
Harlow’s answering grin transforms her into someone I don’t even recognize. Someone cruel and merciless. It doesn’t match the aura of the woman I know at all, and I hate it. I hate that she has to pretend to be the monster she loathes so much and worry about what it might do to her already fragile psyche.
Lynch turns a more serious expression to Harlow. “Alright, Miss Walsh,” he says with an arched brow. “You have my attention. Talk before I lose interest.”
“My reason for being here is simple,” she says with a smirk that makes my skin crawl. “Greed.”
Lynch snorts out a laugh. “That I can understand,” he says as he motions to the surrounding room. “Go on.”
“The money I took from Bravas after I removed his head hasn’t lasted as long as I hoped it would. And now I find myself in need of a job and someone to appreciate the skills I offer.”
“If your Mercedes out there is any sign, then it’s no wonder you ran out of funds,” Lynch comments. “You have very expensive tastes.”
She nods. “Let’s just say I’ve become accustomed to a certain lifestyle, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“And yet another reason I can understand.”
“Put simply,” Harlow continues. “You’re loaded, and your ruthless reputation suits my needs. I won’t have to worry about my methods offending anyone’s bleeding heart.”
Dios mío, she sounds sincere. If I didn’t know any better, I’d believe she’s the monster she making herself out to be. I glance over at the boys to find both of them blank faced and bored, but Mercer’s clenched jaw and Ethan’s focused gaze on Harlow make me worry that they’ll think the worst of her. I can’t stomach that thought.
“If I take you on, what about your dogs?” Lynch asks as he nods toward the boys and me. I ignore his jibe, as do Mercer and Ethan. It’s not shocking. The distaste most werewolves have for vampires is a mutual thing. “It’s a definite conflict of interest if they have any affiliation with the Unity Pack.”
“We don’t,” I answer his question for Harlow, since she doesn’t know the answer. “Being part of a pack,” I say with clear disdain, “isn’t conducive to the lifestyle we prefer to live.”
“Yes, the werewolves aren’t known for their tolerance of alternative lifestyles, are they?” His eyes slide over my body with an amused smirk. Then he does the same to Mercer and Ethan. “Fortunately, we vampires appreciate any kind of lustful appetite, no matter who or how many are involved.”
I didn’t intend to imply that Mercer, Ethan, and I are involved in a menage relationship, but I don’t deny it. I don’t care if he thinks I’m gay, especially if it allays his suspicions. The fae are even more open with their sexuality than the vampires, so I couldn't care less what anyone thought of my sexual orientation, let alone be bothered by anyone else’s. I hazard a quick glance at Ameera, afraid she’ll chime in to correct his assumption, but her features are just as stony and emotionless as mine probably are right now. I can only assume she believes it, too. After all, she knows I’m half fae.
Lynch’s smile turns even more vile than it was earlier. “Do you like to share?” he asks and gives Ethan a long and thorough eye-fucking. Even I can admit how striking Ethan looks in a tailored black suit with tattoos showing from his collar to his chin, his long blond curls framing his thick beard, and even more tattoos crawling out of his sleeves to cover the backs of both hands.
“No,” Mercer answers in a hard and unyielding tone with his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The mating bond makes werewolves possessive of their own and Mercer is no exception, but he at least he has enough control not to attack Lynch and get us all killed.
Luckily, Lynch seems more amused by Mercer’s reaction than angered, and laughs. “Well, if you ever change your mind.”
“They won’t,” Harlow replies. “And if I decide to work for you, then my boys are off limits to you and your vampires.”
Lynch’s eyes widen, and his mouth twists into another smirk. “Your boys?” he asks with unmistakable sexual innuendo.
Harlow shrugs enigmatically, smart enough not to correct him either. “Like I said, they’re off limits.”
Lynch turns his head to stare at Harlow for a long, tension filled moment as if daring her to meet his eyes, but she doesn’t take the bait and the vampire loses interest.
“Very well,” he says. “But before I hire you, you need to prove to me it’s a worthy investment.”
My stomach plummets at his words, wondering what atrocity he’ll ask of Harlow and feeling sickened with guilt since I helped put her in this position. I brace myself for Lynch to name a price that none of us will want to pay, but when he speaks next, his words aren’t what I expected at all.
“I recently attended an antiques auction, and a human outbid me for an item I wished to procure,” he says, his demeanor all business now. “I want it. Bring it to me, and then we’ll discuss the terms of your employment.”
My stomach drops even more, because I have a terrible feeling I know exactly who and what he’s talking about.
“Who’s the mark, and what am I looking for?” Harlow asks.
Then Lynch answers, confirming my suspicions and complicating everything. “His name is Conor Buckley,” he says, “and the item in question is an ancient Celtic ring.”