Half-breed’s Bargain by Samantha Wolfe

5

VAN

I gaze out the floor to ceiling windows in my office for the umpteenth time today with my mind not on the gorgeous view of Unity’s skyline, but on a certain gorgeous blond instead. I scowl. It’s been like this since last night. I can’t get Harlow out of my head no matter how I try to throw myself into work today. She invaded my dreams for the few hours that I slept too, always warm, naked, and in my arms, amid even more troubling dreams about running on four paws and howling at the moon. I don’t know which was more disturbing considering I’ve never had dreams about a particular woman or being a wolf before. Eventually, I just got up and came down here from my penthouse to get some work done. But that was a bust too, since I was distracted all morning and I got very little done. I sigh and shake my head, unsettled by my behavior. I stand there lost in my own thoughts for a few more minutes until the door to my office opens. I don’t bother to turn around and look. I know who it is.

“You’re brooding again, and it’s only noon,” Mercer says as he closes the door behind him.

I shrug. “Occupation hazard,” I reply, since I have no intention of telling him or Ethan about Harlow or my reaction to her.

His scent reaches my nose, as does the delicious aroma of food from my favorite restaurant. It’s the only one I’ve ever found that does justice to authentic Mexican cuisine, and particularly my favorite, tamales. The scent of chiles and garlic remind me of my childhood and simpler times. When my life was still mine, even if I was poor and hungry most of the time. My father’s life as a migrant farm worker was fickle at best, and downright horrible at its worst. Especially when I was big enough to work the fields alongside him at five or six years old. My mood darkens at thoughts of my father and I shove them away, turning from the window as Mercer sets the bag of food on the glass top of my desk.

He’s dressed in his usual dark gray suit and here for our weekly Friday working lunch. As my COO, or chief operating officer, it’s important that we’re both on the same page, so things continue to run smoothly for Valesco Financial. Mercer sits on the other side of the desk and pulls the food out of the bag as I take a seat in my black leather desk chair. We settle in and discuss this week and our plans for the next while we eat.

It still astounds me how intelligent Sebastian Mercer is, graduating from business school early and at the top of his MBA class. I hired him immediately after graduation and he quickly moved up the ranks at Valesco until I had no choice but to hire him as COO almost three years ago. It was one of the best business decisions I ever made. Eventually, he’ll be CEO when I’m forced to step down in the next few years. I’ve learned over the years that spending more than a decade working in one place invites unwanted attention when people start to notice that I’m not aging like a human should.

Halfway through our meeting, Mercer’s phone chimes with an incoming text. He snatches it off the desk and grins like an idiot at the screen, then taps out a reply.

“How’s Ethan?” I ask with a soft smile since his reaction tells me who texted him.

“Great,” Mercer replies, still typing. “He got that bid he wanted.”

My grin widens at Ethan’s success. He went a different direction than Mercer and got himself a bachelor’s degree in construction management. He just started his own construction business, and so far he’s been doing well. The bid Mercer is talking about is the construction of a second location for a very successful local restaurant. This job is a big deal for Ethan, and I’m so happy for him. I’m proud of both my boys for all their hard work and dedication to their chosen careers. I can’t help but preen a little at what good men they’ve turned out to be, wanting to take just a small amount of credit for it since I paid for their education and saved their lives almost ten years ago.

They were members of an extremely homophobic pack, and I ran across them while on a job for Móira in Quebec when Mercer was nineteen and Ethan was eighteen. They were hiding in an abandoned building out of fear of being executed by their own pack because of their mating bond, both of them beaten and bloody from a recent narrow escape. I took them in despite the risk of being associated with me and did my best to protect them from Móira and give them every opportunity to flourish. And they did. The two men are now a happily mated and married couple with successful careers. It’s one of the few choices I’ve made in my life that turned out to be a good one.

I watch Mercer exchange a few texts with Ethan, his face relaxed and content, and my brain goes right back to thoughts of Harlow. My mood turns dark yet again because, for the first time, I’m jealous of Mercer and Ethan’s relationship. But what they have just isn’t possible for me. How could I share my life with someone else when it’s not even mine to begin with? It’s been so long now that I can barely remember a time when it was still mine anymore.

“How did you know Ethan was your mate?” I ask without thinking, my curiosity getting the best of me. I guess a part of me hopes his answer will tell me I’m wrong about Harlow.

Mercer jerks his head up from his phone with raised brows. I don’t blame him for being surprised since I’ve never asked him anything like this before. His green eyes narrow once his shock wears off. “Why do you ask?”

“Just… curious,” I answer, trying to keep my expression casual.

Mercer looks thoughtful and worries at his lower lip for a moment before replying to my question. “We both knew each other since childhood, though not well. We only saw each other at pack meetings and could barely be called acquaintances. I didn’t know he was in the closet just like I was until everything changed between us.” His face softens and his eyes grow warm with nostalgia. “One day I ran into him in the small town we lived in, and it felt like my heart skipped a beat when I looked into his eyes. My wolf perked right up, and I just knew in my heart and soul that he was mine. The attraction was instantaneous and undeniable, even though we tried to fight it.”

My mood plummets further because that’s how I felt in Harlow’s presence, minus the wolf part. So much for hoping I was wrong about the mating bond. But I’m only half werewolf. My fae half has to count for something. Plus, I’m strong and a hell of a lot older than Ethan and Mercer. I have to believe I have the mental and physical fortitude to fight it.

He smirks with amusement glittering in his eyes. “That didn’t even last a week.” His expression grows somber. “Not even the fear of being caught and killed by our own pack could keep us apart.” He shudders. “If you didn’t show up when you did…” he trails off, not needing to say anymore.

“I know,” I say with a nod, not wanting him to have to talk about it since it upsets him so much.

The two of them had been so torn up when I found them, it took days for both of them to recover, despite their preternatural ability to heal. Ethan, in particular, had been so close to death that I still can’t believe he didn’t die before I could get them to safety. His multiple wounds were so bad that he actually scarred from them, which is almost unheard of for a werewolf. They bothered him so much that he covered almost his entire body in tattoos over the last ten years to hide them. A pit forms in my stomach at my memories of their battered bodies, and at the thought of what could happen to Harlow if I give in to the mating bond and my mother took an interest in her. Móira could do more than just kill her. She could use the mating bond to enslave her right along with me. I can’t and won’t risk that happening to Harlow.

I return to the subject of work again to save Mercer and myself anymore distress, and his gratitude is palpable, even if he says nothing about it. At twelve-thirty, I tell him I have an important meeting to prepare for, hoping it doesn’t pique his curiosity, and of course fail miserably. I’m relieved that Harlow chose a later time for our meeting, so I didn’t have to cancel lunch with Mercer, but I need to get him out of here before she shows up.

“Oh yeah?” he asks with furrowed brows, a hint of hurt in his eyes. “Do you have a new client on the hook I haven’t heard about?”

If that was the case, I would have included him. The more he knows, the more likely he’ll succeed when he’s CEO. I could lie to him, but I refuse to do that to him or Ethan. The two of them have serious trust issues, for obvious reasons, and I won’t betray the trust they’ve placed in me, so I tell him the truth.

“No,” I say with resignation. “It’s for Móira.”

Mercer grimaces. “What’s she forcing you into this time?” he asks, his tone clipped and harsh. He knows about the hold she has on me, and he hates it and her almost as much as I do.

“Vampires,” I reply.

His head whips toward the door with a horrified expression. “You invited one here?”

I haven’t met a werewolf yet who doesn’t despise vampires. Not all vampires are the vile monsters most assume them to be, but the vast majority seem to lose their morals right along with their mortality when they’re turned. I’m not usually a big fan of them myself.

“Of course not,” I reply with a scowl. “I’m not working for them.” I sigh. “Móira seems to think Lynch is planning on breaking the treaty, and I need to prove it,” I explain. “I’m working with a representative for the mage’s council on it. They’re meeting me here at one.”

“Ah,” he replies, looking mollified. “If you need Ethan and me to help, just let us know.”

I nod. “I’m sure I will at some point.” Hopefully much later. After I get a handle on this Harlow situation. I don’t need a mated pair around to remind me that fighting the mating bond is the near impossible feat I fear it’s going to be for me.

Mercer and I gather up the empty containers from our meal and dispose of them in the trash before he stands to leave. I rise and round the desk to walk him out when my desk phone rings.

I glance over to see my assistant is calling and answer it. “Yes, Marie?”

“Your one o’clock is here, Mr. Cabrera,” a pleasant female voice announces.

I clench my jaw as I glance at the clock. Of course, she’s fucking early.

“Hey, wait!” Marie calls out before I can reply.

The next thing I know, the door to my office swings open and Harlow comes striding into the room like she owns the place, then closes the door behind her.

“Wow!” she calls out as she looks around the room. “Nice office.”

She walks right past Mercer and me without a glance and crosses the room to the window. She takes in the view of the city for a second, then steps even closer to the window and looks down toward the street from my fifty-seventh floor office with her forehead pressed against the glass.

“That’s a hell of a drop.” She raps her knuckles on the glass. “I hope this glass is solid.”

I stare at her in shock, as much from her behavior as the instant jolt of lust that hits me at the sight of her and her luscious jasmine and orange scent. She looks beautiful with her hair falling in a cascade of spun gold down her back, and I itch to run my fingers through it. She’s dressed in a short black leather jacket over a red T-shirt and painted on jeans that hug her ass and long shapely legs to perfection. A pair of black Doc Marten boots grace her feet and only add to her badass renegade appearance and make me want her more. I suddenly want to peel those jeans off of her and fuck her from behind against the window like a rutting animal with her hair clutched tight in my fist and her hands pressed to the glass. Dios mío, I’m already hard as a rock and rendered speechless after mere seconds in her presence.

Harlow turns to face me with a sexy and infuriating smirk on her pretty lips that makes my mouth go dry and my dick pulse behind my zipper. Our gazes lock and hold, and time just seems to stop as I fall into her crystal blue eyes and drown in them. More images flash in my mind of our bodies coming together, of bending her over my desk and sinking balls deep inside her while I hold her wrists behind her back, then claiming what’s mine over and over and over again until I can’t tell where I end and Harlow begins, until we’re one glorious being exploding in white hot pleasure that binds us together for all eternity.

The sound of Mercer clearing his throat jolts me out of my vivid fantasy just as I take a step forward to act out every pornographic image in my head on Harlow’s gorgeous body. I jerk to a stop and wrestle back the animalistic possessiveness that’s roaring through my veins with a hard shove of stubborn strength that’s barely enough for the job. And from the pinched look of concentration on Harlow’s face, it’s just as much of a struggle for her to fight the magnetic attraction between us, too.

I recover first and yank my attention away from Harlow to meet Mercer’s shocked gaze. His eyes widen even further before he glances at Harlow then back at me again with his mouth gaping open for a second before he asks in a quiet voice, “Van?”

Fuck, he knows. How could he not after seeing our reactions to each other? Not to mention the scent of our arousal perfuming the air now. But I’m not about to discuss it with him here in front of Harlow, so I ignore his question.

“Mercer,” I say to him as I motion toward Harlow, making sure I don’t meet her eyes again. “Meet Harlow Walsh.”

Mercer startles and whips his attention back to Harlow again, then swears in French as he reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out his pistol to point it at Harlow’s head. He’s always armed, just like I am, since our after-hours activities for Móira sometimes attract the wrong kind of attention. I’m shocked at his reaction and just stare at him in confusion.

“I see my reputation has preceded me,” Harlow says with no inflection.

I glance at Harlow and find her staring at Mercer with a blank expression that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. There’s nothing blank about them. I can see what she’s feeling as plain as day. Complete and utter sadness. An urge to go wrap my arms around her and comfort falls over me, but I fight it down.

“What do you mean?” I ask her with furrowed brows.

“Let’s just say I haven’t always been the fun and perky blond I am today,” she says with a smirk, but her eyes aren’t any less somber than they were a moment ago.

“She worked for Viktor Bravas,” Mercer says in a tight, angry voice.

My eyes widen, now realizing why her name sounded familiar. She worked for one of the most evil and notorious black mages of the last few decades. The ruthless and unscrupulous bastard subverted werewolf packs throughout the Midwest for years, using his dark arts and a horde of demon-possessed monsters he created that wrongly called themselves werewolves to do it. Rumor has it he was killed five years ago by his father, who was also the Alpha, when he went up against his own pack and lost. Rumor also has it he employed a bloodthirsty and inhumanly skilled killer to do his dirty work that I now remember went by the name Harlow Walsh. And before my next breath, I too have my gun out and pointed at Harlow.