Half-breed’s Bargain by Samantha Wolfe
4
HARLOW
I stare at Van in complete shock, feeling blindsided and downright unnerved. I don’t know what’s worse, being manipulated into this situation by a powerful magical being, or the prospect of spending time with Van when the very idea of a mating bond forcing us into a relationship is beyond terrifying. I don’t care that it’s true love and fate and all that lovey-dovey bullshit. My life is mine and I won’t allow anything or anyone to take my autonomy away from me ever again. Not this conniving fae bitch or my traitorous libido. I’ve also made a careful point of never getting involved with any of the four supernatural groups in Unity, and I’m not gonna start now. It’s a good way to end up dead. I just want some peace and quiet, and to live my own life. Is that so wrong?
Van’s wide eyes tell me he didn’t see this turn of events coming anymore than I did and doesn’t appear to be too keen on it either. I’m relieved whatever his reasons. It will make this easier if we both say no, then Anson and Móira can pick someone else for this farce. Then I can avoid this guy like the plague. It should be easy enough, since that fancy suit of his tells me we don’t travel in the same socioeconomic circles. I can’t be tempted to give in to my desires if I never set eyes on him again.
I steel myself and open my mouth to unequivocally say hell no, when I make the mistake of meeting Anson’s pleading eyes. He doesn’t say a word because he doesn’t need to. He wants this, and not because he wants to use me or control me, but for a little justice for his younger sister, and I don’t blame him. Not only was Amber scarred physically by the vampire that attacked her, the vampire Lynch should never have allowed to go rogue, but she was psychologically traumatized as well. She’s barely left her home in the six years since the attack. Anson has never come out and said it, but I know it eats him up inside that this happened to her and how it’s affected her life. I’m sure he harbors some misplaced guilt over it, too. It’s just the type of man he is, a good one through and through. And that’s when I realize just how fucked I am, because I don’t have it in me to disappoint my friend, no matter the cost to myself. Especially if it helps in some small way to redeem myself from my dark and violent past.
I sigh and give him a small nod, and the relief on his face makes it worthwhile, despite the nausea churning in my gut. At least I’m agreeing to this on my own terms, and that knowledge eases some of my dread. I look at Van again, a small part of me hoping that he’ll put a stop to this insanity by refusing to work with me. I don’t know him, but I know he doesn’t want this. Maybe it’s a side effect of the mating bond trying to pull us together, but it’s as plain as day to me. But instead of speaking out, he just stands there staring at me with a resigned expression and a deep sadness in his dark gray eyes that pulls at me. I don’t like it, and I don’t get him either. Why on earth is he agreeing to this when it’s obvious he doesn’t want to?
Móira sits up higher and grins, clapping her hands together with obvious glee as she says, “Good, then it’s settled.” She rises to her feet. “I suggest we give these two a few moments alone to get to know each other and figure out a game plan.” She winks at Anson. “After all, the less you and I know the better,” she says, then looks at Van and adds, “I’ll wait in the limo.” Then she whirls and walks out of the room with graceful steps, leaving Anson and me staring after her amid the lingering cloud of her expensive floral perfume.
I turn my attention to Van once again to see him standing there with his head bowed and his eyes closed, his expression angry and his hands tightened into fists. Anson stands and Van opens his eyes, his features falling slack into a blank and indifferent mask as he meets Anson’s narrowed gaze.
“If you hurt her or fuck her over,” Anson says in a low and threatening growl, his lips twisted into a silent snarl and his magic gleaming in his eyes, “I will bring the entire weight and power of the Unity Coven down on you so hard you’ll wish you’d never been born.”
Van holds Anson’s stare with unwavering intensity, his expressionless face giving away nothing. “Who says I don’t already?” he asks, his tone just as devoid of emotion.
His unexpected words stun Anson and me for a moment before Anson speaks again. “At any rate,” he continues. “Harlow is under my protection and I’ll hold you responsible if anything happens to her.”
Van’s face softens a little at Anson’s words. “You have my word,” he says with firm conviction, then meets my eyes with a sincere gaze that pierces right to my heart. “She’s safe with me.”
Let’s hope Van’s fae half is enough for him to take his promise as seriously as a full-blooded fae would. I’ve never gone up against vampires before and, to be honest, I’m a little uneasy about it. They’re powerful as fuck.
Anson studies Van for a long moment with calm and calculating eyes before nodding in satisfaction. He looks at me. “Will you be alright?” he asks.
Though touching, his concern is ridiculous, and he knows that, but can’t help it. The man has a serious case of white knight syndrome, especially when women are involved. It should irk me off more than it does, but it’s hard not to find it endearing. So of course I have to give him shit about it.
I clutch at my chest with one hand and press the back of the other to my forehead. “Oh, whatever shall I do without a big strong man like you to protect me,” I say and earn myself an arched brow and a frown from Anson.
“You’re not as funny as you think you are,” he says with amusement glittering in his eyes.
“I think I’m hilarious,” I reply in a haughty tone that earns me a small chuckle from Anson.
“At least somebody does,” he says, then claps a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll be out by the bar if you need me.”
“Got it,” I say with a smirk as he strides out of his office with one last narrow-eyed glance at Van before he disappears down the hall.
I turn my attention to Van again to find him glaring after Anson with his lip curled up slightly. I hear a low noise coming from him. Is that a growl? He startles as if he didn’t know he was doing it, then meets my gaze with silver glittering in his eyes.
“Who is he to you?” he asks, his tone gruff and demanding.
Oh, hell no. This possessive alpha werewolf shit won’t fly with me, even if my lady parts might disagree at the moment. That’s just the mating bond bullshit affecting me.
“That’s none of your business,” I say with a glare. “And if you’re going to ask if I’m fucking him, don’t bother. That’s none of your concern either.”
He blinks his eyes as if stunned by my statement, the silver in them fading back to dark gray. I decide to take advantage of his momentary weakness.
I take a step forward to berate him some more, but blurt out the question hovering on my tongue that I was trying to hold back. “Are you fucking Móira?”
“Dios mío, no,” he answers with a grimace of distaste. “She’s my mother.”
I widen my eyes and study him more closely, then realize his eyes are the same color as the fae woman’s, his lips a similar shape. It’s obvious to me now that I know they’re related, and it’s a relief even though I don’t want to admit it to myself.
“Is that why you agreed to this?” I ask in honest curiosity.
His face hardens into another blank mask. “Don’t mistake blood for loyalty.”
“Then why?” I persist. “You don’t want this,” -I motion between us- “anymore than I do.”
“It’s… complicated,” he says as his eyes slide down to my mouth, his irises flashing silver again and burning with heat. A matching heat rises inside me and throbs between my legs. He breathes in and his nostrils flare, the silver in his eyes intensifying for a moment before he flicks his gaze back up to mine with a pained and resigned expression. “Let’s just say I don’t have a choice in the matter.”
I nod, feeling a pang of sympathy for him, and throw him a bone. “Anson and I are just good friends,” I say.
If we’re stuck working together, it’s best if I don’t antagonize his wolf if we want to deny the mating bond’s pull. From what I’ve seen of werewolves, it’s their animal side that gets them into trouble more often than not, and Van definitely seems to be struggling with his inner beast. He looks relieved, as much as annoyed with my statement, and I’m pretty sure it’s aimed at himself and not me, so I don’t take offense.
“So now what?” I ask as my eyes trail down Van’s body without a conscious thought. My mind conjures up images of what might be under that suit that looks so mouthwateringly good on him. I ease forward a step without realizing it as lust pulses between my legs and hardens my nipples to diamond points.
Van takes in a shuddering breath as he glances down at my breasts. I’m not wearing a bra, so my protruding nipples are obvious. His hands twitch as he reaches for me, but then he yanks them away and steps back with flared nostrils and silvery eyes. He swallows, then reaches into a pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out a black business card, his fingers pinching one corner as he holds it out toward me.
“Meet me at this address at noon tomorrow,” he says, the commanding tone of his voice irritating me as much as it turns me on. “We won’t be discussing any of this here.”
I scowl as I take the card and glance down to see the name Valesco Financial embossed in shiny lettering across the matte black card stock. I recognize the name I’ve seen plastered across one of the sleek high-rise buildings in downtown Unity. Then I flip the card over to read the words, Van Cabrera, President/CEO, on the back, along with an address and phone number. Then I lift wide eyes up to Van, my snarky reply to his orders dying on my tongue.
Remember when I said we don’t travel in the same socioeconomic circles? Well, it turns out we’re not even in the same hemisphere. I’m no business person, but even I’ve heard of Valesco Financial. It’s one, if not the largest, financial service companies in the country. I look up to gape at him in shock. I take it back. We’re not hemispheres apart. An entire galaxy separates us. What could an orphan and ex-con like me ever have in common with this man? It could never work, even if I wanted it to, not in a million fucking years. Why would a mating bond even form between two people so glaringly different? I don’t have a clue, and I don’t even want to admit to the tiny part of me that’s disappointed.
“Don’t be late,” he says in that same infuriating tone that makes my traitorous nipples tingle and brings me out of my stupor as he turns to leave the office.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I blurt out as seething anger roils up inside me. “Wait a fucking minute.”
Van stops and turns around to give me yet another blank and unreadable expression as I march after him. I step closer until we’re almost toe to toe.
“No one tells me what to fucking do,” I snarl at him. “Not even a rich egotistical asshole like you.”
I emphasize my point by stabbing a finger into the center of his hard, muscular chest. I can’t help but notice how good he smells now that I’m this close to him, all musky, yummy man. It’s enough of a momentary distraction for him to get the drop on me.
He snatches my wrist in a vise-like hold before I can pull my hand back, but I recover my senses enough to react accordingly. I grab his hand with my free one, then twist the one he’s holding enough to grip the back of his wrist. I bend his hand back, torquing the joint as I push downward, and Van has to either drop with it or let me snap his wrist. He chooses wisely and falls to his knees with a grimace of pain, his preternatural strength not enough to withstand mine in such a vulnerable position.
He looks up at me with wide eyes as I continue to hold the wrist lock. “What are you?” he asks through gritted teeth, his entire body tense with pain.
“Someone who won’t tolerate being ordered around,” I reply, since I sure as fuck don’t know the answer.
I stare into his gray eyes, mesmerized by the flecks of onyx amid the rising silver and his dilating pupils. His breaths grow ragged as his gaze once again fixes on my mouth. Is he thinking about kissing me? Because I sure am now. His heated stare and his proximity are doing warm tingly things to my libido, so I let go of him and take a few hasty steps backwards before I do something about it I’ll regret.
He rises to his feet, rubbing at his wrist with newfound respect in his eyes. “We’ll see about that,” he says in a low, rough voice that seems to reverberate through every nerve ending in my body. He even smiles a little, making him that much more attractive, which should be impossible given how hot he already is.
Now why does the idea of him attempting to bend me to his will turn me on? It pisses me off as much as it intrigues me. Fuck his alpha bullshit and the mating bond, too. Both should come with a warning label. I glare at him, wishing I dared to risk touching him again so I could punch him in his gorgeous face and mess it up a little. Not that it would last for long considering his werewolf half, but a girl can dream.
“And I’ll see you at one o’clock tomorrow,” I say as I cross my arms and lift my chin, daring him to argue with me. This man never met stubborn until he met me.
Unfortunately, my defiance has the opposite reaction than what I was aiming for as Van’s nostrils flare and his eyes flash silver with lust again. He glides closer until his nearness and his heady masculine scent enthrall me.
“One o’clock it is,” he says, then leans in until his mouth is mere inches from my right cheek. He takes a deep breath, a full-body shiver overtaking me as his warm breath feathers across my ear. “Don’t be late, querida,” he murmurs, his deep voice particularly sexy with that Spanish word I’ll have to look up later. Then he turns and walks out of the room with long, confident strides, leaving me swearing under my breath after he’s gone because I didn’t even get the last word in.