Half-breed’s Bargain by Samantha Wolfe
8
HARLOW
I wake and sense someone hovering over me just before I open my eyes to find Van right in my face, staring at me from inches away with hooded eyes and parted lips. If I wanted him to kiss me earlier, I sure as fuck don’t want him to do it now. I grab him by his suit jacket with one hand and snake the other inside to find his weapon in his shoulder holster. Then I fling him off of me, sending him tumbling over the coffee table as I surge to my feet. He hits the carpet, rolling into the fall with practiced ease, and comes up in a crouched position.
“Whatever the fuck you did to me, undo it now,” I demand as I point his own gun at him, anger and terror warring for dominance inside me.
“Bullets can’t kill me anymore than they can kill you,” he says, his expression grim and his eyes flashing silver.
I point the gun at his right leg and squeeze the trigger. The bullet rips through the side of his thigh, then thunks into the side of the armchair behind him, the loud gunshot echoing around the large vaulted living room I find myself in. How the fuck did I get here?
“Oye!” he grunts out as he falls backwards onto his ass, the fabric of his slacks already darkening with blood as he glares up at me. “You fucking shot me.”
“Duh,” I reply. “And I’ll do it again if you don’t fix what you did to me right fucking now.”
The terror inside me rises, supplanting the anger. I can’t believe I let this happen again, and this time I willingly let some piece of shit magic user inside my head to do God knows what to me. I battle to calm myself and my ragged breaths. I can’t show any weakness. I have to do whatever it takes to get him to reverse it.
“Shall I shoot you in the balls next?” I ask in a voice that sounds a lot calmer than the maelstrom of emotions in my head. “We can see how much that hurts, asshole.”
Van grimaces in pain as he rises to his feet with a grunt, then glares down at the hole in the outside of his pants and the large blood stain surrounding it. The blood has already stopped flowing, telling me he heals almost as fast as I do. Good, he can’t undo what he did to me if he bleeds out and dies, although watching it might have been fun.
“Oh, poor baby,” I mock. “Did I ruin your precious Armani suit?”
I have no idea what brand his suit actually is, but it’s the only fancy brand name that comes to mind right now. It’s not like I know anything about designer clothes.
He looks up at me and his scowl turns into a worried frown, the silver in his eyes fading as he holds his hands out palm up toward me. “I didn’t do anything to you, querida,” he says, his voice soft and seemingly sincere.
“Then why the fuck did I pass out?” I ask as I step around the coffee table to a more open area of the room, never taking my gun off of Van. “You were in my head. I felt it.”
“Yes, I was,” he answers. “But you were in mine too.” He shakes his head. “You weren’t the only one left with their head spinning, querida.”
“Stop calling me that.” I force out between gritted teeth. “I’m nobody’s sweetheart, least of all yours, and if it wasn’t your doing, then what the fuck was it?”
He doesn’t respond and instead presses his lips together, his demeanor suddenly tense and his eyes seem almost fearful. It doesn’t make me feel any more at ease about this situation.
“You better start talking or I’ll make sure your left pant leg matches the right,” I say as I point the barrel of the Colt at his left thigh.
“What’s happening between us is more than a mere mating bond,” he finally explains. “There’s something far older and stronger that’s pulling us together as well.”
Well, I don’t like the sound of that at all. “Your partial answers are starting to piss me off.” I point the Colt at his crotch. “Get to the point.”
“The fae call it anam amháin,” he says.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means one soul in Old Irish, which is also the language of the fae.”
“So we’re like soul mates or something?” I ask in a contemptuous voice. “Sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me.”
“It’s not,” he says. “Don’t you feel it? The pull?”
“No,” I reply without hesitation, despite the odd pulling sensation in the center of my chest that’s been there since I woke a few moments ago. It’ll go away if I ignore it, right?
“Don’t you feel it in your chest?” Van asks as he takes a careful step toward me, his hands palms up again. “Tugging at us.” He takes another few steps as I fixate on his eyes, losing myself in their silvery gray depths. “Pulling us in.” Van moves even closer and I forget about the gun in my hand, forget about the rage and fear that inundated me mere moments ago. He stops right in front of me, ignoring the gun that’s now somehow pointing at the floor. “Drawing us together.” His hand rises and he brushes his knuckles down my cheek in a slow shiver-inducing glide.
I sigh and lean into his touch, never taking my eyes from his rugged male beauty. I can’t get enough of staring at his dark gray eyes, his full lips, and his strong masculine jawline. He smells so good now that he’s close, and I want to drown in his rich, musky scent. My free hand finds its way upward to stroke my fingertips over the black, wiry hairs of his beard. I move closer and hear a soft thump as the gun falls from my limp fingers onto the carpet at my feet. I grab Van’s shirt in my fists and pull him closer while his other hand snakes around my waist. His breath is warm against my lips as his fingers slide beneath my T-shirt and skate across the bare skin of my lower back. My breathing hitches in my chest. He pulls me even closer until we’re flush from hips to chest. I can feel his erection pressing against me and a whimper of need escapes my lips, a sound I’ve never made before in my entire life.
“Harlow,” he murmurs, his voice as mesmerizing as the rest of him, and then our lips meet and an inferno ignites between us.
His kiss is hard and dominant and demanding, mine is wild and desperate and wanton, and the two meet in a mutual conflagration of chaotic lust and need. Nothing about it is soft or gentle as our mouths clash, our tongues tangling and our teeth clacking together. I even taste blood and relish it as it mingles with the glorious flavor of his kiss. Van hums and growls as more mewls and whimpers spill from my mouth into his as we undulate against one another. He walks me backwards until my back thumps against a wall, then our hands are all over each other, his under my shirt and mine yanking frantically at the buttons of his dress shirt. His hands glide up my sides from my waist to my chest and he palms my breasts over my bra, his thumbs glancing across my lace covered nipples. Yeah, I’m wearing lace. Even a badass likes to feel pretty.
“Van,” I cry out into his mouth as lust zings outward from my clenching, empty pussy.
He groans as he reaches down to grab my left thigh, then lifts it up and latches it around his hip. Then he grinds his hard cock against my denim-covered center, the underside rubbing just right over my aching clit and making me see stars behind my closed eyes. I pull at his shirt with more urgency, nearly ripping the fabric, until he snatches up my wrists and presses my hands against the wall on either side of my head as he continues kissing me. He latches our fingers together as the familiar warmth of his aura rises up again, and this time, I meet it with anticipation. I let him in just like last time with zero reservations or fear when I feel myself being welcomed just as easily into him.
I feel him, all of him, in a swirling tide of emotions, pain, anger, loneliness, and a nearly nonexistent amount of happiness that’s just plain sad. I feel the weight of his past pressing down on him with so much pressure and gravity that I wonder just exactly how old he is for it to be so oppressive. I wonder at the sheer volume of pain and anger that simmers just beneath his seemingly calm and collected exterior. I can’t help but see how much his soul has in common with my pitted and damaged one. But I see goodness and light too, a need to help others, to connect and be loved and wanted. It’s dimmed, but it’s there and only attracts me to him more. It makes me wonder if there is a way we could be together.
Van senses my rising lust and grinds his cock against me harder and faster, lighting me on fire with even more pleasure. He pulls his mouth away from mine for a moment. “Don’t come until I say,” he says in a hard, growling voice.
No man has ever had the balls to tell me what to do in or out of bed like this without having their asses handed to them in short order. But this time it doesn’t piss me off. Instead, it nearly pushes me over the edge into the orgasm he forbid me to have.
“Don’t you dare disobey me,” he says with narrowed eyes, somehow knowing just how close I am to my release. “You won’t like the consequences.” His gorgeous mouth quirks up on one side, his eyes glittering silver with arousal as he takes in my lust-drunken face. “Or maybe you will, querida,” he adds, then kisses me again before I can respond.
Liking the direction this is taking, I try to break free from his hold on my hands by pushing against them. He responds by slamming them back against the wall with a low, animalistic growl and a hard nip to my lower lip that makes my clit throb. Hell yes, that’s the kind of pain I like. I bite him back, sinking my teeth into his lower lip and eliciting another of his deep rumbling growls that vibrates through me and almost sends me skyrocketing into an orgasm yet again. He likes some pain with his pleasure as much as I do. Hmm, maybe there is something to this one soul bullshit.
Van thrusts against me harder, faster, winding me up tighter and tighter until I feel like I’m about to unravel if I don’t come soon. I squirm against him, fighting his hold on my hands and my threatening orgasm. For some reason, I can’t stomach the thought of disappointing him, when I would have ignored and rebelled against any other guy’s demands. I whimper into his mouth, wordlessly begging for him to give me my release before I have no choice but to disobey him. His response is to roll his hips and grind against me at a different angle that pushes me even closer to the edge. He balances me there for what feels like an eternity with bliss just beyond my reach, then finally yanks his lips from mine and growls out a single word that sends me soaring.
“Come.”
I cry out in sweet relief as my release rolls through me, writhing against Van as he keeps me from collapsing to the floor. It’s stronger than any orgasm I’ve ever had in my entire life, and we didn’t even have actual sex or get naked. It seems to go on forever as I arch my back and ride wave after wave of pleasure, and even as it ebbs, its aftershocks leave me shuddering and quaking in Van’s arms. When I finally catch my breath and recover enough to focus on Van, I’m surprised to see a horrified expression on his face. I reach out to him through the magic that’s still locking our auras together to comfort him, but he jerks away from me and yanks our connection apart so hard it almost hurts. He staggers back a few steps, his clothes disheveled with his shirt partly open, exposing his upper chest. His hard cock is still straining against the zipper of his slacks, and his lips are kiss-swollen like mine must be too.
“Lo siento,” he says, apologizing in Spanish. See? I remember something from the high school Spanish class I almost flunked. “We shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why not?” I ask with a frown as I lean against the wall behind me, still feeling a little unsteady on my feet from my orgasm. “I’ve never come so hard in my life.” I nod toward his crotch. “And it looks like you still need to come yourself.”
“I can handle going without,” he replies as his face slips into the blank mask he seems to favor most of the time.
I know it for what it is now since I’ve been inside his head, a defense mechanism. I know because I’ve perfected my own with my seemingly careless attitude and biting sarcasm when anything emotional gets to be too much for me.
“I can’t do this,” he continues, his voice as bland as his face now. “My life isn’t mine to share with anyone else.”
“What? Are you fucking married or something?” I ask with a scowl, glancing around the room for any sign that a woman lives here. I don’t know what pisses me off more, the thought that Van might be cheating on someone with me or the fact that some nameless, faceless woman exists in his life at all. Either way, the ugly green monster that’s roiling in my gut at the moment irks me off even more. “And who says I even want to share my life with you, anyway?”
A hint of sadness breaks through his stony mask. “I never said you did,” he says. “And no, I’m not married or involved with anyone. I haven’t had that luxury for a very long time.” He shakes his head. “I can’t get involved with you.”
I don’t like the pang of sympathy I feel for this man or the sting of his rejection. I don’t like any of the emotions this man invokes in me. Emotional entanglements like this aren’t my thing, especially after growing up in the foster care system and a two-year stint in prison for assault in my early twenties. Getting close to anyone never leads to anything good. Believe me, I know. It’s true now more than ever, and so any of the passion-fueled hope that Van and I could find a way to be together evaporates inside me. Fuck the mating bond and this one soul bullshit. I don’t need or want either of them. If he doesn’t want me, then fuck him. I pull my walls a little tighter around my blackened heart and shove any of the warmth I feel toward this man down deep until I can barely feel it. He’s nothing to me. Nothing, goddamn it. I just need to get this job done as quickly as I can, then I can get away from him and back to my own life.
“Well, I don’t have the time or inclination to get involved with anyone,” I say with little inflection as I give him an empty stare. “So let’s pretend the last few minutes never happened and get to the real reason I’m here.”
Van frowns and blinks away the sorrow in his eyes from a moment ago. “Of course,” he says, nodding to himself as he fastens the open buttons on his shirt. He tucks it back into his slacks and straightens his suit jacket and tie, his signature blank expression back in full force again by the time he’s finished.
I glance around, finally able to take in my surroundings, and my eyes widen at the sheer size of the room, its expensive furnishings, and the incredible view of Unity’s skyline through the two-story tall windows that span the entire room. I’ve never seen anything this opulent in all my life, and I’ve never felt so out of place either. Yeah, there was never any hope of a relationship with this wealthy man from the get go.
Van motions toward the sofa I woke up on earlier. “If you care to have a seat, I can get you a drink if you like.” His voice is so neutral and empty of any emotion that I wonder if it’s coming from the same man who played my body like a well-tuned instrument a short time ago.
“Sure,” I say with a shrug as I straighten my disheveled clothes. I push off the wall, thankful my legs aren’t wobbling anymore as I walk over to the couch and take a seat.
Van leans over to retrieve his Colt pistol and holsters it before he walks over to a wet bar along the wall on the other side of the room. He busies himself pouring a bit of amber liquid into two highball glasses from a bottle of top-shelf scotch I’ve seen at Anson’s club that only a select few can afford to drink. My boss let me take a sip of it when I first started working at Haven Hall, and from what I remember, it was some seriously good shit. He walks back to me and hands me a glass, our fingers brushing as he does so, and a jolt of lust-fueled awareness hits me at the contact. It only draws my attention to the pulling sensation in my chest that I was trying to ignore. Van must feel it too, since he jerks his hand away and quickly heads to the other sofa so that the large round coffee table sits between us as a buffer.
He sits and casually crosses a leg over his knee as he takes a small sip of his drink. “I have an idea for us to get close to Lynch.” His voice is tight and incredibly bland, as if he’s struggling to control any inflection. “But you probably won’t like it. It’s not exactly going to be safe or easy.”
“Safe and easy are for pussies,” I reply with a smirk before taking a sip of scotch myself. Wow. This shit really is as good as I remember. “Spill it. I’ll be the judge if I like it or not.”
He studies me over his glass with wary eyes for a moment before taking another sip, then leans forward to set it on the coffee table. “We use your reputation to our advantage,” he says as he rests his elbows on his knees, then clasps his fingers together as he meets my eyes for what feels like an interminably long amount of time. Good Lord, can this guy ever just get to the point? “And you offer your professional services to Randall Lynch.”
I pause with my glass halfway to my mouth. My first knee-jerk reaction is to tell him I won’t do it and to fuck off. How dare he ask this of me? He must have seen the damage Bravas did to my aura, not to mention it’s something I swore I’d never willingly do again. And yet he still has the gall to even suggest this to me. But then I think of Anson and the shell of a woman his sister has become, thanks to the vampire that attacked her. I saw her once when I visited Anson’s home, and not only saw the scars marring her face, but also the look of hopeless despair and constant fear in her eyes. I see the guilt that eats at Anson every day. I agreed to help because he asked for it, and I don’t want to let him down. I owe him that much for the friendship he’s unwaveringly given me despite my fucked up past. Besides, no one wants the vampires to get an upper hand in this town. No one would benefit from that except the bloodsuckers themselves. No thank you. From what I’ve seen, the Unity Treaty is the only thing keeping this city from an all out bloodbath.
Van sighs and continues with a grim expression. “I won’t insist that you do this, especially considering what you’ve been through, but-”
Before I can think better of it, I ignore the deep sinking pit in my stomach that tells me this is a very bad idea and interrupt him by blurting out, “I’ll do it.”