Half-breed’s Bargain by Samantha Wolfe
1
VAN
“Go, go, go!” I shout as Mercer and I slam the back doors of the SUV closed.
Ethan doesn’t hesitate and stomps down on the gas pedal so hard that the vehicle lurches forward, throwing me against the seatback.I grit out an expletive in Spanish as my head bounces off the headrest, falling back on my first language in my distress. I right myself and register the metallic scent of fresh blood, then look over at Mercer. He’s dressed the same as Ethan and I am, all black tactical gear and a matching ski mask. He has a pistol in one hand like I do, and he’s pressing the other to his left side over a large patch of drenched fabric.
“You okay?” Ethan asks from the driver’s seat, his deep voice a little gruffer than normal.
Mercer lifts his blood-soaked shirt to reveal a bullet wound to his lower left side that’s already closing up. Relief sweeps through me. I feared the bullet that hit him might not be a mundane one.
“I’m good, mon chéri,” he says in a reassuring tone, his slight French Canadian accent a little more pronounced than usual. He looks up to meet Ethan’s gaze through the rear-view mirror, his eyes glowing a bright jade instead of their usual shade of moss green.
Ethan nods with a relieved expression, his dark blue eyes flaring sapphire as the two men share a brief yet meaningful glance before he focuses on the road behind us. “We’ve got company,” he says before looking ahead again.
I shoot a brief glance out the rear window. I grimace when I see what I was hoping not to, another SUV several yards behind us and eating up the distance between us. But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. This entire endeavor tonight has been a cluster-fuck from the get-go, with almost nothing going as planned.
“Lose them,” I say, glaring at our pursuers as a corner of my lip curls up in contempt.
“On it,” Ethan replies and speeds up despite the close quarters of the one-way street that runs along the property wall we just scaled to get to our vehicle.
We barrel between the parked cars on one side that seem mere inches from the SUV’s side mirror and a line of older homes on the other that are set far too close to the street for my liking. Thank God, it’s nearing three A.M. or I’d never risk going this fast in a residential area.
A loud thunk resounds through the SUV’s interior as something strikes the rear window. The glass cracks and spiders outward from the point of impact of a bullet striking the armored surface. Dios mío. The fools are firing weapons, and I don’t dare return fire for fear of hitting an innocent.
“Get us out of this neighborhood, Ethan,” I bark out with a panicked edge to my voice. “Now!”
Ethan guns the engine again and takes a sudden right turn when we reach the next cross street. The other SUV makes the turn too, but not without swinging wide and sideswiping a parked car. Another bullet hits the back window with a loud crack. At least the bastards are smart enough to use suppressors so they don’t attract the police. I don’t want that anymore than they do. We take another abrupt turn and then another a few blocks later, yet still they follow us, taking shots at us as they do.
“Get on the freeway,” Mercer says.
Ethan takes the next right that leads onto an on-ramp. He merges onto the freeway, the engine roaring as he hits the gas again and the other SUV follows mere yards behind us. We weave in and around the few vehicles on the road this time of night, yet we can’t seem to shake our pursuers. They gain a little more distance on us and another bullet hits the rear window with a loud thunk. They get even closer this time and plow right into us. The sound of crunching metal accompanies the SUV’s sudden lurch forward, and the back end loses traction and whips around wildly. Ethan swears and steers into it, jerking the wheel left and right a few times before regaining control. Then he guns the engine to put some distance between us and the other SUV before they can hit us once more, but they keep up and fire on us again. We need to do something soon before someone gets hurt. I look ahead and spot two semis coming up on our right as we approach an exit ramp. I think there’s just enough space between them we can squeeze through it.
“Thread the needle,” I say as I point at the gap.
Ethan nods and grips the wheel tighter as we pass the front of the first semi. He slows as we reach the opening between the trucks, and I grab the seatback in front of me and suck in a breath as he twists the wheel hard to the right. We slip between the two massive trucks with what look like mere inches to spare as the second truck’s ear-piercing air horn blares at us. Once safely on the other side, Ethan eases us down the off ramp, and I glance over to see that our evasive maneuver worked. The other SUV is still on the freeway with no hope of catching up to us now.
I remember to breathe again as I pull my ski mask off. “Nice driving, Ethan,” I say as he and Mercer pull theirs off, too. I holster my pistol and run a hand through my thick black hair, smoothing the short locks into some semblance of control.
“Thanks,” Ethan says with a furrowed brow, his long dark-blond curls now a snarl around his head thanks to the ski mask. Even his scruffy beard is a little mussed.
Mercer leans forward and squeezes his shoulder, his closely cropped dark hair and precisely trimmed beard unaffected by being covered. Ethan reaches up with a tattooed hand to touch Mercer’s, and they share a small smile that fades as Mercer pulls away and leans back into his seat.
“What the fuck happened back there?” Ethan asks, his voice tense. “This was supposed to be a snatch and grab, not a fucking armed assault.”
“I swear Buckley’s security wasn’t that heavy last night,” Mercer comments with a shake of his head.
I nod in agreement. I sent Mercer on a reconnaissance mission to Conor Buckley’s mansion last night to assess the property. The successful human entrepreneur and wannabe crime lord’s security was lax at best, with a rudimentary alarm system and just a few clueless armed thugs with little to no training. Instead, we were caught in the act by a half dozen armed men who moved with military precision and even tagged Mercer while we made our escape through a handy window. Luckily, our inhuman speed as we raced away across the sprawling property kept us from taking anymore bullets. But the fact that they caught up to our vehicle so quickly was rather telling. Their dogged pursuit of us seemed excessive too, and especially so if they were willing to fire at us within Unity city limits. This should have been an easy in and out job, not the shitshow it turned into.
It’s almost as if someone tipped Buckley off we were coming, but I know it wasn’t Mercer if that’s the case. I trust the man and his loyalty implicitly, and there’s no way he made a mistake and let himself get spotted last night, either. The man’s stealth skills are unmatched and even better than mine, and I’m the one who trained him. In his wolf form, he’s even better, his ebony fur helping him blend seamlessly into the shadows. And Ethan, who researched Buckley extensively before Mercer went anywhere near the man’s house, is just as unlikely to betray me. After all, they both owe me their lives.
The unconditional and unwavering loyalty of these two werewolves is something I’ll never get used to, even after almost a decade. They’re both like sons to me and consider me their Alpha, though I don’t allow them to call me that. I’d almost forgotten what it’s like to have anything close to resembling a family after all these years, and I don’t know how I’ll cope when I’m eventually alone again.
“Please tell me you at least got what we came for,” Ethan says, and I shove those melancholy thoughts away and focus on the present.
“Yes,” I answer as I pat one of the zippered pockets of my tactical vest with the item tucked away inside, uneasy about its presence there. Its magical energy is faint and I don’t recognize it, but it feels off to me just like this entire night. I don’t like it. “Take us to Móira,” I add. “The sooner we can get rid of the damn thing, the sooner we can end this fucked up night.”
Both men blanch a little at the mention of that name, but don’t argue. I don’t blame them. I want to see her even less than they do, but I have no choice. Ethan turns north at the next intersection and silence falls over the interior of the SUV as we head toward our destination. It lasts the entire drive until we pull up to the gate of Móira’s palatial mansion just outside the city. We stop next to a small metal box with a keypad and a speaker in it, and Ethan opens the window and presses the button to call security.
“Van Cabrera to see Miss Grey,” he says with a grimace. His voice and demeanor are tense, and I can feel Mercer’s tension bleeding off of him without even looking at him. I hate bringing them here almost more than having to come here myself. I’ve had decades more experience dealing with her, and they don’t deserve what they’re about to endure.
The only response we get is the gate swinging open to let us in. Ethan drives us through, and I shudder as the powerful magical warding that surrounds Móira’s property tingles over every inch of my skin. The driveway winds up to the house, surrounded on each side by the estate’s thick trees and plush lawns. The enormous stone house appears up ahead, illuminated by floodlights that highlight the mansion’s unmistakable elegance and grandeur. We follow the driveway as it circles around in front of the house and stop. I give Ethan a moment to pull his hair up into a ponytail, the motion displaying the stark black lines of ink that snake up his neck from under his shirt, then get out of the SUV.
I approach the sprawling steps that lead up to a massive oak door, with Ethan and Mercer following behind me. Two tall and imposing men in dark suits are flanking the door and eying us with unveiled contempt. It’s the same reaction I get every time I come here. I climb the steps and stop a few yards away with a blank expression. I’ve learned over the years not to let these two know how much their behavior bothers me and give them any ammunition to use against me.
“Miss Grey is expecting me,” I say.
The one on the left sneers. I believe it’s Liam, but since he’s identical to his brother, Nial, I can’t be sure. Both are tall, dark, and attractive, with a distinct otherworldliness that these two don’t even try to hide like others of their kind do.
“Welcome back, half-breed,” the one on the right, who I assume is Nial, says with a haughty smirk, that last word dripping with clear disdain.
“And I see you brought your mongrels with you this time too,” Liam adds in a similar tone as he directs his sneer at the two werewolves.
Mercer and Ethan stiffen on either side of me, but know better than to respond. I clench my jaw, fighting back the urge to defend them, since it won’t do me any good. Nial’s satisfied grin doesn’t help my irritation, but he opens the door for us as he tells me she’s in the conservatory. I hurry into the house with Ethan and Mercer on my heels before the two guards can irk me off any more than they already have. The two guards don’t even bother following us into the house. I’m not considered a threat to Móira, even if I’m more than capable of it. She has me by the balls metaphorically, no matter how much I despise her and the hold she has on me.
The entryway is even more ostentatious than the mansion’s exterior, with its vaulted ceiling, white marble floors, and matching tall pillars. We make our way through the house amid the art and decor displaying Móira’s wealth for all to see. Subtlety is not her forte. We reach the conservatory and find her there, sprawled across a chaise lounge with a book in her hands. The advantage of never needing to sleep is lots of down time for such mundane things. She’s surrounded by a myriad of plants and blooming flowers beneath the soft glow of electric lanterns hung from the ceiling. Outside the glass walls it’s still dark out, the sunrise still at least an hour away.
Móira lifts her head as we enter the room and lays the book on the cushion next to her as we stop a few yards in front of her. Then she sits up and smiles at me so smugly that it sets my nerves on edge.
She looks flawless as usual, dressed in a floor-length off the shoulder dress made of inky black velvet that hugs the lush curves of her tall frame with a slit that reaches halfway up one creamy thigh. A diamond encrusted necklace encircles her neck with a stone the size of my thumb resting at her throat. She looks like some 1950s starlet with her gleaming steel gray hair styled in long soft waves that frame her face and only highlight her stark timeless beauty and the cruel set of her full blood-red lips. I can feel her inherent magic filling the space surrounding her. It’s ancient, cold, and cruel, just like her.
“Evandro,” she says in a pleased tone as she rises, her voice a smooth alto that does nothing to calm my unease at being in her presence. “How lovely to see you,” she continues. “I was losing hope that you’d show up.”
Her eyes flick to Ethan and Mercer for a moment with the dismissive interest one usually reserves for a fly buzzing around a room. I despise the way she looks at my boys, but it’s preferable to her giving them her full attention because that’s how they end up dead, or even worse.
Her eyes fix on me again. “I hope tonight’s endeavor was a success.”
“Yes, Móira,” I reply. “It was, but it was more difficult than we expected to retrieve it. It was almost as if Buckley was expecting us. He increased security since our reconnaissance last night and his guards were far more heavily-”
“Spare me the details,” she says, cutting me off as she waves a hand in the air. Her smile turns downright evil. “What better way to test your skills than to anonymously forewarn him of the imminent threat to one of his prized possessions. And please use the title I prefer when speaking to me.”
I stifle a growl and the urge to throttle her. Of course, she tipped Buckley off. I don’t know why I’m even surprised. The woman thrives on sowing chaos in her wake, just like any other of her kind does.
I grit out the words that taste like bile on my tongue. “Yes, Mother.” The title sounds more like a curse than an honorific as I intended, but she doesn’t react or seem to care. She knows I don’t have to like her. I just have to do what I’m told.
“Good,” she says, then holds an expectant hand out toward me. “Now give it to me.”
With a curt nod, I unzip the pocket in my tactical vest and reach in to retrieve the reason for this entire fucked up night. I almost shudder the instant my fingers touch it, its otherworldly magic throbbing up my arm and turning my stomach. I pull it out and place it in Móira’s outstretched hand, being careful not to touch her skin. It’s an insignificant act of defiance, but it’s all I have. Then we both stare down at the item resting on her palm.
It’s a ring, and an ancient one at that, since whoever made it used such crude jewelry making skills. Far older than Móira, I suspect, though I don’t know her actual age. It’s made of bronze and enameled in gold with what looks like ancient Celtic designs I can’t decipher carved into it. All I know about it is what she told me. That Conor Buckley bought it at an antiquities auction last week to make himself appear cultured when he definitely is not, and that a mere human like him had no right to own it. She claimed she was taking it back on behalf of her own kind, but I suspect there’s more to it than that. I long to ask her more about the ring and the real reason she was so keen on getting her hands on it, but I know she won’t answer me. To her, I’m just a blunt instrument to throw at her problems when words and diplomacy don’t work.
Her dark gray eyes swirl like roiling storm clouds as she closes her fist around the ring, a downright feral smile spreading across her lips. She drops her arm back to her side and steps away to take a seat on the chaise lounge again. I breathe a quiet sigh of relief at her clear dismissal, eager to have my life back for however long I can until she calls on me to do her dirty work again. I catch Ethan and Mercer’s eyes and tilt my head toward the exit, not wanting to speak and draw Móira’s attention back to me. They nod with obvious relief and we turn to leave, but only make it a few steps before Móira speaks again and stops me in my tracks.
“Oh, Evandro,” she calls out in a sweet and melodious tone that belies everything I know about Móira the Grey, Elder of the Dark Fae Court, the Lady of Darkness and Shadows. “Just one more thing.”
I close my eyes as a wave of dread and resignation falls over me to sit like lead in my stomach because with her there’s always one more thing.
“I have another job for you,” she adds as my heart sinks.
Of course she does.