Half-breed’s Bargain by Samantha Wolfe
2
HARLOW
“Harlow Walsh,” a male voice behind me says in a low and menacing timbre.
I smile as I remove my motorcycle helmet and stifle the shiver of anticipation that almost overtakes me. Then I set the helmet down on the seat of my bike with deliberate care before slowly turning to survey the person behind me. I smirk at what I find. Dark hair and equally dark eyes with heavy angular features. Tall with a broad muscular frame and a threatening stance that says he’s here looking for trouble. My instincts tell me he’s some sort of human hybrid, maybe part troll or something similarly formidable. And no threat to me whatsoever.
“I wondered how long you’d skulk in the shadows over there before you grew a pair and showed yourself,” I say with a smirk as I wave a negligent hand toward the darkness he emerged from. I knew he was there the second I pulled my bike to a stop in the alley.
He startles at my words with wide eyes, then returns to glaring at me with his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “I’m not afraid of you,” he says.
“Well, if you know anything about my reputation, then you should be,” I say, still smirking as I stroll toward him.
I pluck a hair tie out of a pocket of my black leather jacket and pull my long blond hair up into a ponytail, so it’s out of the way for the fight that’s about to happen. He’s not the first to come after me to prove what a badass they are by taking on the infamous Harlow Walsh, and he won’t be the last. It’s a downside of using that name and not an alias like I used to do in the past. But I refuse to give up the name I chose for myself well over fifteen years ago. It feels far more authentic to me than the legal name given to me by a social worker.
“Bah,” he says as he eyes me up and down with a sneer. “You’re too scrawny to be any kind of threat to me.”
If he was talking about any other woman besides me, that would be true. I’m tall and on the slender side, and if I were human, I wouldn’t stand a chance against this guy, even with my athletic build. But despite not having a clue what I really am, I know I’m not human, or at least not entirely. Wiping the floor with this guy will be as easy as it is fun for me, as long as I can control my baser violent instincts enough not to kill him. That’s a line I won’t allow myself to cross unless I have no choice.
I throw my arms out to the sides. “Then prove it, big guy,” I say with a wide, shit-eating grin. “Show me what you got.”
He lets out a bellow at my taunt and charges at me, just like I wanted him to do. I don’t have time to draw this out or I’ll be late for work. He throws a punch at my face with everything he’s got and I dodge it with ease, then lunge forward in the wake of his retracting arm. I deliver a punishing blow to his nose, relishing the crunch of bone beneath my right fist. He grunts and staggers backwards and I follow him, grabbing his right forearm and wrenching it around behind his back. Then I shove him forward while he’s still off balance until he’s face first against the wall of the nearby building. He tries to fight my hold, but I yank his shoulder higher, putting strain on the vulnerable joint. He grunts in pain and goes still. I grasp a handful of his lank, greasy hair and press his face against the rough bricks. He may be bigger than me, but I’m a helluva lot stronger.
“Now what do you think this brick wall could do to that pretty face of yours,” I say next to his ear as the sight of his blood gushing from his nose inflames my more violent impulses. “Why, I bet I could sand it off right down to the bone if I felt so inclined,” I add as the urge to act on that suggestion shivers through me.
My hand tightens in his hair as I prepare to do just that, when a sudden barrage of mental images slams into me. My head floods with chaotic flashes of gleaming sharp knives gliding through flesh, their blades wet with blood, of guttural screams abruptly cut off and the gurgling last breaths that follow, of hot spattered blood cooling on my face. Nausea roils in my gut as the memories assail me, each worse than the last. And even though the despicable things I did to create them were at the behest of an evil mage and the spell he used to control me, the guilt and horror I feel isn’t any less real.
“Please let me go,” the guy says in a pitiful voice, garbled by the brick wall I’m pressing his mouth against. “I… I promise I’ll never come near you again.”
His words are enough to break me out of my flashback and regain control of myself. This is the very reason I don’t carry any kind of weapon on me with regularity anymore. I fear what I might do if my control slips in an unexpected situation like this one.
“See that you don’t,” I say in a low menacing growl, while inside I’m freaking out at how close I came to giving in to my violent urges.
I yank him off the brick wall and shove him away with a scowl. He stumbles and falls to his knees, his terrified eyes fixed on me as he scrambles to his feet again and hurries off into the darkness he came from. Then I shudder as I fight the urge to chase after him and finish what he started, but rein myself in and try to calm my ragged breaths. I don’t understand how even after five years since I escaped that bastard’s magical thrall that I still have to work so hard to restrain my savage tendencies. I’ve had these urges before that, but they were never this difficult to curb. I don’t get it and shake my head in frustration, but there’s nothing I can do about it, so I turn and walk toward the side door. When I enter the building, I feel the magical warding on it tickle along my skin as I step through, unfazed by its presence.
I hurry down the empty hall toward my boss’ office to drop off my jacket before rushing out to the main floor of Haven Hall, Unity’s premier venue for new and upcoming artists. The club is already a mad house with a tight packed crowd even though the band we have booked tonight hasn’t even taken the stage yet. Tonight’s band is making quite a name for itself in town, and the crowd reflects that. I head straight for the bar that runs along one side of the large high ceilinged room where the worst of the crowd is gathered and jump right in to take drink orders.
“You’re late,” my boss says over the loud music, frowning as he comes up next to me to fill a glass with draft beer while I do the same from another tap.
Anson Hale is a handsome man in his mid thirties. Tall and leanly muscular with a head of dark shoulder-length curls, a set of piercing blue eyes, and a downright gorgeous smile. If he weren’t my boss and I knew he was a hit-it-and-quit-it kind of guy, I’d have propositioned him years ago. But now I can’t imagine him as anything other than a close friend, and I have far too few of those to risk losing even one. We’ve become pretty close in the four years I’ve worked here. Well, as close as I’ll let anyone get given my past.
“Sorry,” I say with a shrug and a disarming smile. “Traffic was a real bitch.”
Anson snorts out a laugh since he knows I only live a few miles away. “Try again,” he says as he fills a second glass.
“Just a little run-in out in the alley,” I explain with a shrug, trying to minimize the situation since I don’t want to worry Anson. “No big deal. I took care of it.”
His gaze snaps over to me, and his frown deepens. “You okay?” he asks as he eyes me up and down. I’m glad my penchant for wearing black to work will hide any blood that may have gotten on me. I stifle a shiver as those thoughts remind me of the horrific things I did for my former employer to inspire that tradition.
I lay a hand on his upper arm. “I’m fine,” I say, then smirk and throw in a playful wink for good measure. “I can handle myself. I’m a hard ass bitch, remember?”
“I know, I know,” he replies with a grin. “But it would be a real dick move on my part not to feign at least a little concern since it took place on my property.”
“Gee, thanks,” I say as I return his smile.
“Anytime,” Anson says as he bumps his shoulder against mine before he moves away to serve his drinks.
We fall into a comfortable groove with the other two bartenders as we work, slinging an endless line of drinks until the band shows itself onstage and creates a lull in the drink orders. Anson and I lean side by side against the back counter of the bar and watch the show for a few minutes before he leans closer and speaks over the loud rock music.
“Hey, you mind sticking around after closing tonight,” he says. “I’ve got a meeting, and I could use a chaperon.”
“Oh?” I ask, lacing that one syllable with equal parts curiosity and worry.
“An after hours meeting,” he clarifies, and I nod.
Haven Hall isn’t what it seems on the outside. Not only is it a successful night club and music venue, but it’s also the local mage coven’s meeting house, the same mage coven that Anson leads as the head of its council. So any kind of after hours meeting involves the coven.
“You gonna tell me who with?” I ask. If I need to act as his bodyguard for the night, I need to know what I’m guarding him against.
His eyes dart around to ensure no one’s paying us any attention before he says one word in my ear. “Fae.”
I pull my head back to stare at Anson with wide eyes. Out of all the supernatural groups in Unity, the only faction I’d be more surprised for Anson to be meeting with would be the vampires since he loathes them. Plus, the bloodsuckers hate everyone, mages, werewolves, and the fae alike. But the fae, though far more mercurial, usually keep to themselves and stay out of Unity’s underworld politics.
“What do they want?” I ask.
“Who knows?” Anson replies with a shrug. “Which is why I want you there.”
Anson knows my history and that I’m more than meets the eye. Years ago, I confided in him in the hopes he could tell me what I am, but he had no more success than any of the few others I trusted enough to ask over the years. He knows my reputation precedes me as well and isn’t afraid to use it to his advantage. I have no problem letting him do that or helping him out. He gave me a chance despite my past when anyone else would’ve sent me packing out of fear or judgment.
I nod, since I can hold my own against most fae. I’m immune to any binding or ward, and resistant to most direct magical attacks thrown at me. The fae, though powerful, are as physically vulnerable as any human. They also abhor the touch of iron since it burns them just like silver or sunlight does vampires. I have no qualms about using either advantage against them.
Business picks up again after that, and we’re both occupied serving drinks until closing time. I help clean up, then loiter around as the other employees head out for the night until Anson and I are the only ones left. He even kicks out his bouncers, who are members of his own coven, before we move to his office to await our two visitors. The arrangement he made to meet with the fae stipulated that only one other person could attend, which usually means a bodyguard. Anson knows better than to fuck around with any bargain made with the fae. They take such things very seriously, and the repercussions of violating it could very well be deadly, especially if they invoke the bargain with magic.
At one o’clock sharp, we hear a knock at the side door I entered earlier tonight and I follow in Anson’s wake as he goes to answer it. I drop back a few feet and linger in the shadows of the hallway as Anson opens the door, so I can assess our visitors unseen. Anson is more than capable of handling any threat on the other side of that door, especially with the warding he has on the doorway. He’s the head of the Unity Coven’s mage council for a reason, after all.
He opens the door and I still at who I see. It’s Móira the Grey, an Elder of the Dark Fae Court, and the leader of all the fae who live in Unity. I’ve heard of her because who fucking hasn’t, but never set eyes on her before. It’s easy to recognize her with her long steel gray hair, dark gray eyes, and her stark otherworldly beauty. She’s dressed in a red wool pencil skirt and matching jacket with big black buttons. A red wide-brimmed hat sits atop her head at a slight angle, with a large black feather rising from its band. She has black gloves on her hands and matching sky high pumps on her feet. Her makeup is expertly applied and highlighted by bright fire engine red lipstick. She’s stunning and looks like she stepped right out of the pages of a1950s fashion magazine. It’s ridiculous. I have to stifle a laugh because she’ll definitely take that the wrong way, and I don’t want to fuck up this meeting for Anson.
Anson greets Móira, but I miss what he says when I spot the person behind her. Did I say Móira was stunning? Because the fae woman doesn’t hold a candle to the man standing a few feet off to her left. He’s flat out the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on. The man is tall, at least four inches taller than my five foot ten height, with a lean muscular frame highlighted by the high end black suit that fits his body to perfection. He isn’t wearing a tie and the white dress shirt under his jacket is unbuttoned just enough to display a teasing amount of decadent caramel skin and a smattering of dark chest hair. Yum. And don’t even get me started on his face. His features are strong and masculine with high cheekbones and full lips set off by a short scruffy beard. His hair is short, jet black, and styled in a tousle of messy waves that have me itching to run my fingers through it. He definitely has Hispanic or some other Mediterranean blood in him, even if his incredibly good looks suggest he’s most likely a fae of some sort, too. His jaw is set, and his eyes are flinty with what I assume is anger as he glares at the back of Móira’s head. But neither does a thing to detract from the man’s rugged male beauty.
And then his eyes shift to focus on me and I almost gasp. Not only at the fact that he can see me in the darkened shadows, since fae are only marginally better than humans at seeing in the dark, but at the sudden weight and gravity of his attention. His eyes are a stormy gray bordering on black and seem to pierce right through to my brain. My thoughts go haywire as sudden desire zings right down between my legs to throb and pulse insistently there. I’ve never had such an immediate and visceral reaction to a man before in all my life. I don’t know what to make of it and just stand there in stupefied shock for what feels like an eternity.
Móira steps aside and waves a hand toward the man, and I break out of my stupor to register her words. “I’d like to introduce you to my associate, Evandro Cabrera,” she says in a smooth and pleasing alto.
Anson nods and reaches out to shake the man’s hand, then steps back and motions me forward. “This is Harlow Walsh.”
I swallow and gather my wits about me, then step into the light and shake Móira’s gloved hand before turning my attention to the man I now know as Evandro Cabrera. Even in my head, the syllables of his name have a pleasing exotic ring to them. His gaze locks on mine again as he reaches out to take my hand. If he recognizes my name, he doesn’t indicate it. His grip is strong and warm, and sets off every nerve ending in my body as his hand engulfs mine. Lust jolts through me at his touch and I’m suddenly very much aware of how wet and turned on I am as he lingers there a tad longer than he should with his molten gaze searing into mine.
He breathes in and his nostrils flair as his gaze flicks down to my lips, then up to my eyes again. “Please, call me Van,” he says, his deep voice gruff and commanding, and sexy as fuck.
My mouth goes dry and words fail me, which is unheard of since I almost always have a witty and sarcastic comment for every occasion. Then I’m shocked again when I catch a brief yet unmistakable flash of silver in his dark hooded eyes, and I realize what it means and just how much trouble I’m in here.