Half-breed’s Bargain by Samantha Wolfe
6
HARLOW
I didn’t want this moment to hurt as much as it does. Shit, I didn’t want it to hurt at all. But here I am with Van pointing a gun at my face, his horrified stare making the blackened hole that used to be my heart ache. I was so relieved yesterday when he didn’t recognize my name, so I didn’t have to see him look at me like I’m a monster. It’s bad enough I feel that way about myself most of the time. But to have this man, who fate chose for me, to feel that way is somehow worse, even if I have no intention of embracing the mating bond with him. Part of me thought that if the universe chose someone for me, then there must be some part of me that’s redeemable despite my past, but I guess I was wrong.
“Bullets can’t kill me,” I say, trying to ignore the tight ball of pain rising in the back of my throat.
“Maybe not,” Mercer says. “But it will hurt like a bitch.”
I bark out a bitter laugh. “I’m not afraid of pain.” I lean forward and wink at him. “In fact, I kind of like it.” I know I’m flirting with getting shot, but I won’t show either of them any weakness, especially Van.
“We’ll see about that.” Mercer steps closer with a deep growl, his nostrils flaring and his eyes flashing jade green with his wolf. It doesn’t surprise me since I pegged the attractive dark-haired man as a werewolf from the get go.
“Mercer,” Van warns him.
Mercer responds with another growl and one more step forward.
“Stand down, Sebastian,” Van says in a hard and unyielding voice that stops Mercer in his tracks, though he continues glaring at me. Van focuses on me again, his gaze zeroing in on me down the barrel of his Colt pistol. “Tell me why you’re really here.”
“Why should I tell you anything?” I ask with a sneer. “You won’t believe me now.”
“Did Anson hire you to kill me?” he asks, ignoring my comment. His face is now the blankest I’ve ever seen it, his eyes flint and ice.
“If I wanted you dead, you’d already be a corpse,” I tell him, wishing I had the foresight to at least bring a knife with me today, so I didn’t feel so vulnerable right now. Apparently, my habit of going around unarmed for the last few years needs to stop. I’ve been shot many times before and recovered, but there’s always that chance it might kill me this time. And no matter what I said about liking pain, that isn’t the kind that I like.
“Is this about Móira?” Van continues, ignoring my obvious bluff. “Are you using me to get to her?” He narrows his eyes and steps closer, anger glittering silver in his eyes. Mercer steps sideways, still aiming his Smith and Wesson at me as the two men move to hem me in. “Is this,” -he motions between us with his free hand- “even real, or is it some sort of spell to get close to me?”
“You can’t force a werewolf mating bond on anyone,” I reply. “Believe me, Bravas tried.”
Thankfully, it was one of the few times the bastard failed at twisting magic into something sick and vile. God only knows how much more damage he could’ve inflicted on the werewolf packs he victimized over the years if he succeeded with that particular experiment. He did use the mating bond to transmit a parasitic spell that could turn a werewolf mad, and he used it more than once to eliminate an enemy. But I’m sure as fuck not telling Van that.
“Get down on your knees,” Van says as he flicks his gun toward the floor. “Hands behind your head.”
I hate it but do as he says because what choice do I have. He presses the barrel of the pistol against my temple. Mercer moves behind me and points his weapon at the back of my head.
“Tell me why you’re here,” Van growls out. “Now.”
I sigh, so sick of my past coming back to bite me in the ass over and over again. I don’t even have it in me to bullshit my way out of this or crack jokes to piss them off and throw them off their game. I’m tired of it all and for once just go with the truth.
“I’m here because Anson asked me to and because of my attraction to you. There is no other reason. I don’t work for anyone. I haven’t since…” I trail off for a moment as I look into Van’s eyes, willing him to believe me, “since I killed Bravas five years ago and broke the spell he used to control me for over a decade.”
Van’s eyes widen in surprise and he shifts his weight back, so the gun isn’t pressing into my skin anymore. Meanwhile, Mercer snarls behind me and jabs his gun against the base of my skull.
“She’s lying,” he says. “That piece of shit was killed by his own father.”
I make a scoffing noise. “Don’t believe every rumor you hear,” I say. “Ivan Bravas lied and took credit for it to save face since he was too late to do it himself.” I curl my lip in contempt as I add in a harsh and biting voice, “I took Bravas’ head and stuck a blade in his twisted black heart too, just to be sure.”
It’s the truth, though there’s more to the story than I’m able to tell. I won’t tell him about the other werewolf pack I helped to defeat Viktor Bravas. Or that their alpha almost killed Bravas himself before I stepped in to save his life and finish the evil bastard off. They’re better off if no one knows about their involvement for their own safety and wellbeing. I won’t be the reason one of Bravas’ allies hurts them after everything they did to help me break free of his hold on me. I’ll take the heat if it keeps them and their families safe.
Van holds my gaze with furrowed brows and I lose myself in their stormy depths as a yearning to be close to him falls over me. It has nothing to do with the physical. I want to know everything about this man. I want him to know everything about me, and that scares me more than anything. What would he think of me if he knew even a fraction of the horrid things I’ve done? He studies my face with a frown for a long moment and part of me wonders if he can see the deep black stains on my soul that will never come out, no matter how much I try to make up for them. Self-loathing and shame roil around inside me at that thought.
His face softens, and he lifts his free hand, reaching for my face. I flinch away from his touch, feeling vulnerable and raw, like I don’t deserve it.
“Easy, querida,” Van says in a soothing tone that surprises me. “Let me touch you.”
I force myself to be still, unsure why he wants to touch me. But I’m unable to resist letting him do it when he speaks to me in such a tender way and calls me sweetheart in Spanish. Yes, I looked it up. No one has spoken to me like that in more years than I care to count, and I like it. I want him to touch me, want his skin to electrify mine like it did last night and make me forget that I’m a monster, even if it’s only for a moment.
“Van?” Mercer asks behind me.
“Trust me,” he says to the werewolf without breaking eye contact with me, his voice strong and reassuring. “I know what I’m doing.”
His calloused fingers touch my cheek, their rough texture unexpected as I fall into his beautiful gaze again. Is he going to kiss me? Do I want him to? But my questions don’t matter when something I never expected happens instead. His fingers heat against my skin and magical energy like I’ve never felt before flows into me in a wave of warmth that feels good, soothing even. It’s powerful, yet subtle, with this sense of balance and fluidity that’s unlike any of the human magic I’ve come across over the years. Human magic requires effort and focus, either with words or intent, if the mage is strong and skilled enough. But this is different. It’s as if Van is wielding it like an extension of himself with little effort, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. I can only assume it’s fae magic since Van isn’t human and, as far as I know, werewolves aren’t capable of anything beyond using magic to shift. His power brushes against the edges of my mind, seeking and asking for my consent to enter. It’s the opposite of the painful mental equivalent of a rape that Viktor Bravas inflicted on me so many years ago when he forced his vile magic on me. And it’s the only reason I let Van in.
It feels like being immersed in a hot bath when he enters my mind, safe and comforting and oh so right. I moan aloud without meaning to, and Van’s answering hum of pleasure tells me it feels good to him too. And then he’s everywhere inside me, touching and caressing everything that makes me, me. All of it, the good, the bad, and the ugliness that will forever live inside me. But instead of recoiling in disgust like I expected when he finds the damaged parts of me forever pitted and blackened by Bravas and what he made me enjoy doing to so many others, I get something else entirely.
“Oh, querida,” he murmurs as his thumb brushes against my lips with tender care. His gray eyes are bright silver with a righteous anger that I instinctively know is directed at Bravas and not at me. “What did that bastard do to you?”
“He… he broke me,” I whisper as my eyes burn with unshed tears, horrified by my display of weakness.
His sympathy and understanding envelope me, and I feel it as if it were my own emotions. I drown in it and him, sucked under and overwhelmed by this man and his unexpected compassion, until I slip beneath its surface and black out.