Xander's Mate Read online

  On Friday, I’m packed and dressed a little more casually, as Betsy drives me to pick up Olivia. She was oddly reluctant to let me pick her up at her place. But now, as we near her apartment, I think I can see why. Olivia lives in the poorer area of Lynwood. It’s dangerous seeming per se. Not from what I can see. And maybe I’m wrong to automatically put those two things together. There are kids in the street and people going about their business but the buildings are dilapidated, the cars all run down. It’s certainly not where I picture somebody like Olivia living. We pull up to Olivia’s building, my big, fancy car sticking out like a sore thumb and receiving more than a couple stares. I was planning on sending Betsy up to Olivia’s door to help with any baggage, but then Olivia is pushing open her door and nearly falling down as she hurries down the front stoop with her carry-on suitcase and purse.

  She smiles tightly and Betsy jumps out to help her stow the small suitcase in the car and then Olivia climbs in and sits next to me, about as far away as she can manage.

  “Good morning, Xander,” she says, clasping her hands in her lap.

  I’m taken aback for a second. When I met Olivia, she was dressed in by the numbers business woman gear. That’s something I’m used to and something I tend to find sexy but I put all that shit away when I’m having a serious meeting. I don’t want to be anything but respectful.

  I assumed that was Olivia’s workaday type of wear and didn’t really think about it. Olivia doesn’t look like a by numbers business woman today. She wears old sneakers and tight jeans, faded, with a ripped hole in the knee, and a white tank top with a gauzy kind of blouse over it. I don’t know why it surprises me. It’s not a wild outfit or a distinctly sexy outfit. But there’s something so easy about it and the swirling colors of her blouse are kind of...funky. It’s got character, I guess. I couldn’t see any character in that black skirt and blouse the day before and didn’t really need to.

  There’s also her hair. Which startles me enough that I forget myself for a second. It was pulled back tight yesterday. Today she’s wearing it down and...it’s everywhere. Olivia has a mass of wildly curly red hair and it makes her green eyes really glitter... My lips twitch.

  “‘Morning,” I say. I turn my head to face front again. “I’m glad you could make this trip.”

  “Of course.” The car pulls out and I frown at a couple little kids on the sidewalk being corralled by an older woman. It looks like the kind of people where everyone kind of sticks together by necessity. This place has no money. It all makes me very curious about Olivia. But I can’t afford to be curious about her, or to get distracted by that gorgeous hair and those bright green eyes.

  That apparently means, I don’t say anything at all. And it’s starting to feel awkward. I never feel awkward around people. I’m usually the one in control of a situation. This is uncomfortable.

  “You didn’t know where I lived,” she says suddenly, smirking in my direction.

  “I… Well, how would I know that? You gave Mike your address and he gave my driver, Betsy here, your address. Not that I know Lynwood all that well. I spend most of my time in Quinton-”

  “No, you don’t,” Olivia says firmly, and her eyes narrow at me. She looks a little pissed. “You spend most of your time in Lynwood if you’re going to the office everyday. Your headquarters are outside of Quinton limits in Lynwood-”

  “Yes, technically,” I say a little huffily.

  “Not technically. Actually.” I thought we were doing pretty well but I can see the agitation on Olivia’s face. She is pissed. “I know you’ve employed some people here in Lynwood, but what have you done for the community?”

  I open my mouth and close it. Because the true answer is nothing. It’s something I’ve intended for a while. My father was better about that stuff. My energy for that kind of thing is usually diverted to my duties as an alpha. My father’s brought it up more than once.

  I sit with my thoughts and we end up not talking all the way to the Tremblay airfield where we’re escorted to my private jet. Mike meets us. He’s going with as well as a couple of other assistants who have organized the logistics. Olivia does not seem impressed at all.

  On the jet, we get situated and settled and Olivia seems to be sitting about as far away from me as she can get. But I don’t plan on spending the weekend with somebody who hates me.

  “Would you like a cocktail?” I say, when I come over and lean on her seat.

  “It’s ten in the morning,” Olivia says flatly.

  “Which is the perfect time for a Bloody Mary. Come on. Loosen up. We’re going to South America.”

  “Alright,” she says, slightly rolling her eyes.

  I make us two cocktails and sit down next to her. She seems slightly put out and pleased at the same time in a way I can’t read. “What is it you actually do for a living?” I ask her. I take a long sip of my Bloody Mary. My brothers tease me for liking them. They say it’s an “old lady drink.” But I like them spicy and strong. “I know that pestering CEOs can’t pay much and you don’t work for a non-profit.”

  Olivia doesn’t answer for a while. She just sits and sips her drink and stares at the window. Finally, she gives me a long look and says, “I’m a professional witch.”

  I get a little chill up my spine and squint at her. If I concentrate very hard, I can now smell the magic on her. I’ve never been very good at that but most shifters can to some degree. I can’t think she would’ve said that if she didn’t know about me, but how would she know about me?

  I opt to avoid the topic. “That pays well?”

  “No,” she says, laughing out loud. It makes her curls bounce. “Not at all. But I get by.”

  “If you’re wondering,” she says quietly. “Yes. I know you’re a shifter.”

  My face falls. It’s hard not to get immediately paranoid about somebody coming at my company like this who also knows this secret. It can’t just be a coincidence…

  “I didn’t know,” she says firmly. “Until yesterday. I smelled it on you.”

  “You’re a-”

  “I’m not a shifter,” she says, smiling sadly. “No shifter gene, no nothing.”

  “Then how?” I say urgently, instantly getting heated. “Who are you with?”

  “Whoa whoa,” She say putting up a hand. “Hey, buddy. You’ve been hanging out with regular humans too long. Magic people talk to magic people. Plenty of witches know what’s happening in the shifter world. But I’m not with anyone. I...I smelled you.”

  I titter at that. “Impossible.”

  “Not at all,” she says easily. She doesn’t look at me, instead staring down into her drink before taking a long sip. “I grew up around shifters. I may not have your nose, but I can smell you alright. Not nearly as well, I know. I had to be sitting right across from you to get it.”

  “How did you grow up around shifters?” I ask now, no longer heated but only curious.

  Now she does look very sad and shakes her head. “I’ll need more drinks than this to get into all that, Xander.”

  I feel a kind of shiver when she says my name like that. It’s a dangerous kind of shiver to be having around a human, especially this one.

  But now I can’t help putting everything together as I get a full picture of Olivia Hathaway; a professional witch living in a ramshackle decrepit apartment building on the wrong side of town who hassles CEOs of major companies until they change their ways and become more ethical…

  She’s fascinating.

  “You’re fascinating, Olivia,” I blurt out.

  Olivia looks at me and grins with her teeth at that and I actually get dizzy. Her smile is brilliant and the sun through the little airplane window plays off her hair and her green eyes are the color of my favorite part of the woods when I run.

  I can’t afford to think like that but I am…

  “I know,” she says simply.

  Oh shit.

  The drive from the airfield in northern Chile to where we’ll be staying
just a few miles from the altanium quarries is a long one. Again, we don’t talk much but this time it’s not awkward. This time I’m a little turned around. I take out my iPad and study the data on the mines Mike sent me. We’ve only been using this altanium distributor for the last couple of years. The metal is rare, incredibly light and versatile but strong. It makes the bulk of the body of the Godrun drone. We’ve also begun to use it in a couple of other aircraft. It’s not our company that’s mining these altanium quarries, it’s a supplier. But going after suppliers in other countries, I’m well aware, is highly difficult if not impossible. If you care about such things, it’s easier to go after the people hiring them i.e. me.

  The ride is bumpy as hell and I can’t help but huff a little as I nearly hit my head on the ceiling. We’re riding in the back of a jeep. It’s hot and it’s humid. I wore a linen button down and jeans and I still feel overdressed. The scenery is mainly rocky with the occasional oasis of green and mountains in the distance. Olivia seems starry eyed the entire time. She looks out the window with her pink mouth slightly open as if she’s watching her favorite TV show.

  “Son of a bitch,” I grumble, as we hit yet another bump in the road.

  Olivia giggles at me and when she squeezes my knee, my breath hitches a little. “Having a hard time roughing it there, Tremblay?”

  “I’m just fine,” I say haughtily. And because my assistants are in the second Jeep, I point out, “I am a wolf, ya know.”

  “Oh, I know,” she says, smirking. “You’re definitely used to roughing it...in the woods behind that gigantic mansion where you grew up. I’m sure it’s...arduous.”

  I bristle a little bit but it’s hard to take offense when her pretty mouth moves like that, one fiery red eyebrow quirking up. Her hand moves off my knee and I breathe a little easier.

  When the Jeeps stop, I’m confused.

  “Where the hell is the hotel?” I say to myself.

  The Jeeps are turning into an expanse of dirt and grass in a valley a couple miles off-road. It’s not close enough to walk to the quarries comfortably but it’s not far. There’s a meadow of green where cows are being herded and a view of the mountains. It’s gorgeous.

  But it’s not a hotel.

  “Are there hotels this far out?” Olivia says, incredulous.

  I get out of the car and slip on my shades as Mike and his assistants come to meet me.

  “Sir, you said you wanted to be close to the quarries,” Mike says, slightly nervously. “The closest accommodation of any kind is two hours away. So I’ve found this campsite. I assure you, we’ll be quite comfortable.”

  Camping?

  I do feel a little ridiculously like a diva. I just haven’t been camping since I was a kid. When I want to run, I run. The woods are right there. No real point in camping and I never saw the appeal. I also don’t see the appeal of sleeping on the ground in a tent in human form. Yuck.

  “Your face!” Olivia says, clutching her stomach as she laughs outright at me. “You’re such a primadonna!”

  I’m not a primadonna,” I say a little gruffly. “I just wasn’t expecting it. I’m perfectly capable of some camping.”

  Olivia looks at me as my three assistants start unpacking gear. The weather is warm and humid but it’s windy and Olivia’s hair blows around as she grins at me and lightly shoves me aside to get to the trunk and grab her suitcase.

  “We’ll see, I guess,” she says, and I’m not imagining that tone. It’s flirtatious. “Won’t we?”

  When everything is set up, I have to admit, Mike did a wonderful job. We’ve got a nice pavilion set up with some tables and not uncomfortable chairs where we can eat and hang out when we need to. The tents are big too, probably bigger than they need to be but Mike knows who his boss is. I’ve got an air-mattress and a comfy sleeping bag, a portable fridge with water and wine coolers and other things that probably aren’t necessary. All the accoutrements of camping for a rich guy who’s not used to camping are here.

  I guess it’s mildly embarrassing.

  “My tent is bigger than my bedroom,” Olivia says, sipping water as she finds me outside of my own tent. I slip on my shades. Olivia has taken off her gauzy blouse and the sight of her in those cute torn jeans and a tight white tank top as her brilliant red, curly hair flies around, isn’t making her any less distracting. She hands me a pack of some fancy freeze dried snack. “Goji berries?”

  “Oh,” I say, brightening. “I love goji berries.”

  “Of course, you do,” she says, laughing.

  I grimace at that and check my watch. It’s late afternoon now. We’ll be visiting the quarries the next day. It took us this long just to set up. But that’s fine. I can get some work done with the satellite internet hook-up Mike’s brought with us and then we’ll be having some dinner onsite. I settle into a deck chair in the pavilion and pull out my laptop and Olivia settles down with hers across from me as she snacks on goji berries.

  I’m answering an email when I happen to glance up and see the flurry of decals plastered to Olivia’s laptop declaring her allegiance to a dozen different political causes, pride in being a witch, and a couple concerning Game of Thrones.

  “What are you smiling at?” Olivia says, peeking over her laptop at me with raised eyebrows.

  “Nothing. I wasn’t smiling.”

  “Okay.”

  I choke a little bit. “What’s ‘okay’ mean? Exactly? Like you know I’m wrong but you’re just going to leave it there because you’re above it…”

  “Usually, yes,” Olivia says. “That’s what that means.”

  “I was admiring your stickers there,” I say, rolling my eyes. “They’re very...colorful.”

  “Thank you. Your laptop is very clean.”

  “You’re saying I have no personality,” I say, shutting my laptop now.

  Olivia shuts her laptop and gapes at me. “I don’t recall those words leaving my mouth?”

  “But I know what you meant,” I say. I have no idea why this conversation is happening. It just happened. I find myself wanting Olivia to like me and getting the strong feeling that she doesn’t and I’m finding it infuriating.

  Olivia blinks at me and says, “Okay.”

  “Ugh.”

  She goes back to whatever she was doing and I go back to what I was doing, glaring as I open my laptop and feeling a little ridiculous and Olivia says, “I didn’t mean you have no personality. But, you are very buttoned up. Bit of a…” She waves her hand.

  “What?” I say darkly. “Bit of a what?”

  “You gotta stick up your ass,” Olivia says brightly.

  “I’m a wolf shifter,” I say. “There are no tight-ass wolf shifters. We’re...we’re wolves!”

  “Maybe your wolf isn’t a tight-ass,” she says. “But you are.”

  That’s interesting that she knows the difference between the human and the wolf like that. Most people don’t understand that. They think we’re one and the same which we both are and are not at all. “How did you grow up around shifters?” I say, shutting my laptop again. “But you’re not one?”

  “It’s personal,” she says shortly. She doesn’t look at me.

  “I’m sorry.” I wave a hand. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “Yeah, you did. But that’s alright.” She’s smiling again, that mischievous little smile.

  “Alright, but tell me this. How did you get started in activism and all this stuff you do that you don’t get paid for?” I ask her.

  Olivia sighs and shuts her laptop and sits forward in her chair. Our shoes are almost touching. “Do you remember Pinkerton Chemical? It was right on the outside of Lynwood until it got busted for dumping into the reservoir on the sly?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Well, I’m the bitch who wouldn’t shut up until The Quinton Herald started covering it,” Olivia says. “Once the people with money found out, they put a stop to it. Lynwood relies on Quinton for a lot of things like that .It has no influence on
its own.”

  “Hmm.”

  That gets me thinking. A lot of things Olivia has said already have had me thinking. I like that about her. Sort of. I don’t know that I like being kept on my toes by somebody I’ve just met but… also do.

  It’s confusing.

  Mike and the assistants have some dinner system involving black refrigerated containers that get heated up on in a big pan on a propane stove and end up being pretty good. We have Greek salad and personal margarita pizzas. I end up chatting with Olivia a lot about nothing in particular and in the privacy of my own mind I note how a breeze makes a lock of her curly red hair blow around and how her bright green eyes light up when she makes a point in conversation.

  When I turn in for the night, in the privacy of my mind and in the privacy of my tent, I think about Olivia, but I wait awhile to be sure everyone else is asleep before I jerk off thinking of her..

  “What happens if they don’t let you in?” Olivia asks me the next day as we make our drive to the quarries. We ride in the first Jeep with Mike. My other two assistants plus two interpreters we’ve hired and just picked up are riding in the second Jeep.

  I raise my eyebrows at her as the vehicle jostles over another bump in the road. At this point, I’m getting used to it. “I’m paying them too much money for them not to let me in.” Olivia nods at that and goes back to staring out the window. “You’re awfully fascinated by the scenery considering it’s mostly just rocks. I take it you haven’t been to South America before?”

  “I haven’t been out of the country before,” Olivia says. “No, that’s not true. Mexico. That’s the only reason my passport was up to date. I’ve barely been anywhere. Grew up in Northern California and then I ended up in Washington. Been there ever since. I haven’t had the money to travel much.” She smiles though, like she doesn’t mind it.