Xander's Mate

by Abigail Raines

  Xander’s Mate

  The Quinton Shifters Series

  Abigail Raines

  Contents

  Chapter One: Xander

  Chapter Two: Olivia

  Chapter Three: Xander

  Chapter Four: Olivia

  Chapter Five: Xander

  Chapter Six: Olivia

  Chapter Seven: Xander

  Chapter Eight: Xander

  Chapter Nine: Jack

  Chapter Ten: Olivia

  Chapter Eleven: Aaron

  Chapter Twelve: Xander

  Chapter Thirteen: Olivia

  Chapter Fourteen: Xander

  Chapter Fifteen: Olivia

  Chapter Sixteen: Xander

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  About the Author

  © Copyright 2019 - All rights reserved.

  It is not legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental.

  Chapter One: Xander

  “Xander?”

  I jerk awake, confused for just a second. The backseat of this particular car is obviously far too comfortable. I fell asleep long enough to dream of wolves, wolves from all over the world...fighting each other. I have dark dreams from time to time and I can usually resolve not to think of them too much. This one disturbed me a little bit. I dreamed of wolves going at each other as they would go at the greatest of enemies. Perhaps it was just another bit of aftermath from the Hardwidge debacle. It’s been a long time, but I still think of that night that I, Mason and Aaron freed Micah from that awful pack of monsters.

  “Yes, Betsy,” I say sighing. I roll my shoulder and see my driver glance at me in the rear-view mirror. Betsy has been with me a few years now. She’s a bear shifter from Kansas. I like to have the people working closest to me in such positions be shifters whenever possible. Nobody wants to have to hide who they are every moment of the day. “I’m awake.”

  “Can’t burn the candle at both ends,” Betsy says cheerfully, as she pulls into the parking structure behind the Tremblay Company headquarters outside Quinton.

  “Sure you can,” I say, rubbing my eyes. “You’re just likely to burn your fingers.”

  “What’s too much today?” Betsy says drily. “The alpha thing or the CEO thing? Or just being a Tremblay in general?”

  I bristle at that. Juggling my duties as alpha to the most powerful family in my clan with my job as CEO of The Tremblay Company can be exhausting but I can certainly handle it.

  I have to. It’s what has always been expected of me.

  “It’s never too much,” I say, snapping just a little.

  “Of course not,” Betsy says. But I see her looking a little worried in the rear-view mirror.

  It’s true that as of late, my work in both worlds of my life has been...more exhausting than it usually is. There’s been a lot of activity in our clan since we were instrumental in dissembling the Hardwidge pack, a particularly brutal pack from Oregon. Our clan only has jurisdiction over Washington state so on top of dealing with a bit of hubbub over whether we had cause to attack and dissolve Hardwidge (they were keeping my brother prisoner at the time so...yes, we did), there has also been a lot of discussions on the subject of legislating some rules as to how packs operate, particularly as it involves the treatment of both mates and pups. This would potentially effect packs nationwide and not everyone is a fan of these ideas. There is also no single authority over our clan, the alphas and elders vote on decisions affecting the entire clan that need to be made. But as the alpha of the most powerful pack, I am sometimes considered the defacto leader and yet I’m not officially, so sometimes people get their fur up about it. It’s never easy.

  Still, I don’t like anyone thinking I can’t handle it.

  “My father ran the Tremblay Company,” I say offhandedly. “And he was alpha. For decades.”

  “Well…” Betsy pulls up to the wide glass doors of the back entrance to the company headquarters. “Yes, but the company wasn’t what it is today. And it’s probably a lot more complicated being an alpha these days then it used to be.”

  She’s absolutely right but I don’t like to think about all that. I only grunt in response but I toss her a wave as I grab my briefcase and get out of the car. “Have a good day, Betsy.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Caffeine, I think to myself as I pass through the sliding doors and into the spacious lobby of Tremblay Company. I need caffeine.

  “Good morning, Mr. Tremblay,” the security guard says.

  “‘Morning, sir!” The receptionist at the front desk says.

  I nod my hellos, smiling curtly and step into the elevator just as the doors slide open. Two men in white who I recognize from engineering look mildly startled as they step in with me. I never miss that expression of “oh, shit, it’s the CEO” on somebody’s face. Even people who are the best at their jobs wear that expression when they see me unexpectedly. And the engineers are definitely the best at their jobs because we only hire the best.

  “How’s it going, David?” I say to the blonde guy, now clearing his throat slightly and shifting his feet. I don’t know everyone’s name here, that’s for sure. But I do pay close attention to engineering.

  “Goin’ great, Mr. Tremblay,” David says quickly. He nods at Samir, the engineer standing next to him and clasping his hands like he’s in school. “Isn’t it, Samir?”

  “Sure,” Samir agrees. “Godrun prototype should be done right on schedule.”

  That does make me genuinely grin and I can see both inwardly sigh in relief. “That’s great news, guys,” I say. “That’s what I like to hear.”

  They nod excitedly and at the seventh floor, I step off, giving them a little nod. “Thanks for the update.”

  The Tremblay Company is in aerospace. My father started it. He was in the unusual position of being an alpha wolf shifter and a brilliant businessman who could see where the tech in aerospace was going though he was an investor himself and not an engineer. He built a solid foundation and when he handed it over to me, I made it what it is today with his guidance, plenty of skill, and not a little luck. Now it’s not just a small company making jets anymore. It’s publicly traded and mentioned in excited whispers by people paying attention to what’s happening on the engineering side of aerospace tech. The engineering labs and plane hangers behind the Tremblay offices extend out about half a mile on the outside of Quinton. I spend most of my time in my office in front of three huge screens, often Skyping into engineering from the comfort of my own desk or discussing it on a private text chat app. But I do go down to engineering to see things in person as often as I can make the time. If the prototype is functioning well enough, I think I should go down there and see it with my own eyes.

  “Hey, Xander!” My assistant, Mike, hops up when I walk in. Most people are formal with me and I tend to prefer it with most employees. But it does feel odd sometimes to be called “Mr. Tremblay” by assistants. Somehow it always left a bad taste in my mouth. I’m actually more casual with the people who “serve” me directly than with anyone else. “Mason called.”

  I frown at that, checking my own phone as Mike pushes open the door to my office and I walk in. “He didn’t text.”

  “Heh. Yeah, he said it’s been easier to actually get a response by calling me,” Mike says, somewhat apologetically.

  I snort at that. But he probably has a po
int. Mike runs down the long list of messages which, if they’re going through Mike instead of straight to my cell, means they’re important but not of the very highest priority. I have a huge corner office with glass walls that usually have the blinds drawn, the windows looking out toward Quinton and the mountain where I played as a boy with my brothers and more recently took down Hardwidge and then found that girl, Alice, who ended up my brother’s mate as well as making my life a little more complicated. I sit down in my big, leather chair and wake up my computer, rubbing my eyes.

  “I’m going to need caffeine,” I say, my voice a little raw. I really do need to get more sleep. I’m no spring chicken anymore. “In any form and as concentrated as possible. And if you’re going to the coffee cart, I’d love a bagel and cream cheese.”

  “Sure thing, Xan,” Mike says, chuckling. “Also… eh.”

  “What is it?” I say darkly.

  “Well...that woman called again,” Mike says, clutching his iPad in his hands and peeking up over it as if I might just rip his head off at this news. “Olivia Hathaway?”

  I groan out loud, squeezing my eyes shut and attempting to quell a rush of frustration.

  Olivia Hathaway.

  That woman is the bane of my existence and I’ve never even met her.

  “Yeah,” Mike says. “She’s not going anywhere, Xan. She still wants to meet with you. In person. She wants to talk about…” Mike glances at his iPad and frowns. “Some mines in Chile?”

  “Mines in Chile,” I grumble, scratching my scalps. “That’s where we get the altanium for the Godrun…”

  “Yes,” Mike says. “She has concerns.”

  “Doesn’t she always,” I say sighing. “Alright, alright. I’ll take care of it. First, caffeine.”

  “Sure,” Mike says, spinning on his heel and scampering off to get me, hopefully, the largest espresso that’s ever been seen.

  I start browsing emails, quickly starring the highest priorities as I wait for my coffee and bagel. I click on some music. At work, I tend to go for old jazz. It’s the kind of stuff my parents used to play in the house when I was a kid. It always puts me in a good mood.

  Mike returns quickly enough with my breakfast and I chuck a quarter of my quad latte before calling Mason and taking a bite of the bagel.

  “Hey!” Mason says brightly. “How’s things?”

  I smile to myself. I remember a time when my brother was pretty quiet and reserved and sometimes even seemingly melancholy. I refer to it as most of the first thirty years of his life. But that was before he found his mate, Alice. He’s downright cheerful and chatty these days and even, on rare occasions, more outgoing.

  “Tiring,” I say, grumbling a little, and taking another sip of latte. “I’m trying to push the Godrun through. In fact, I was thinking you might like to come see it when the prototype is ready. Assuming this Hathaway woman doesn’t somehow put a monkey wrench in the entire thing. Oh yeah, also I looked over the proposals Alice wrote up and I like them. I have some notes. Maybe we can meet. Then I can call the clan heads together again. Shit, and I have to go down to Mulligan because there’s been some chatter about putting Didion on probation-”

  “Xander,” Mason says.

  “If it’s not one thing it’s another.”

  “Xander...when’s the last time you went on a vacation?”

  I blurt laughter at that. The very idea seems hilarious right now. I end up laughing so hard, I tear up. I think the last vacation I went on was five years ago, when I was still dating Marilyn, a nice shifter from Tacoma who turned out not to be my mate. Oh well. Things ended amicably.

  “I don’t know,” I say, sighing. “Who’s got the time? At least I go on runs.”

  “Ha!” Mason says. “And when is the last time you went on a run that wasn’t at the moon?”

  “Well...I never miss those,” I point out, just a little bit put out. He’s not wrong. But Mason doesn’t get it. He spends his days at home, moving money around the world, with the love of his life right next to him, hard at work on her studies and her social work for the clan. Mason has it made and his life isn’t exactly arduous compared to mine. Not that I don’t make an absurd amount of money for all my hard work. “Mason, I hear you, brother. I do. But now just isn’t a good time.”

  “It’s really not,” Mason says, chuckling. “But there's also never a good time.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose.

  He’s right about the runs at least. I don’t go nearly enough, and my wolf gets frustrated and riled up over time. Or...even more so than usual, I should say. Well, if I can get away from work early enough tonight, maybe I’ll stop by the woods on the way home. My house doesn’t let out right into a damn forest like my parents’ place or Mason’s. Sometimes I think it should.

  “Okay, okay,” Mason says. “I didn’t mean to henpeck you. Anyway, I’d love to come down and look at the Godrun. You know how hard it’s been telling people I don’t know anything when they ask?”

  “They ask?” I say, balking.

  “Yeah, I don’t think a lot of traders understand the concept of insider trading. It’s disturbing.”

  “Well, come down whenever you want,” I say, shrugging as if Mason can see me. “I’d like to hear your thoughts on the Godrun.”

  “My advice,” Mason says, and I grimace because I already know what he’s going to say and I’ve opened myself up to it. “My advice is that Tremblay shouldn’t be making drones for the military-”

  “It’s not for the military-”

  “Xander,” Mason says, snorting. “Please.”

  “It’s unarmed,” I remind him.

  “It’s got stealth tech nobody’s seen yet,” Mason says with a snort. “How long before they ask you to arm it?”

  “I think you should come take a look,” I say calmly. “Before you make that call. The board loves it.”

  “Okay,” Mason says. “I’ll be by later this afternoon. That alright?”

  “Great. Thanks, Mase. You know...sometimes I think you’d make a decent CEO of Tremblay.”

  I hear Mason choke slightly. “I don’t think I could take the pressure.”

  “You’re wrong about that,” I tell him. “Anyway, see ya later.”

  I hang up and turn back to my computer only to see about thirty new emails, most of which will be screened by Mike before I start dealing with them. But I can already feel anxiety welling up in me. It’s been hitting me hard lately and ignoring my wolf isn’t helping.

  “Lord help me,” I mumble, before plunging back into the fray.

  Chapter Two: Olivia

  I hum along to some unfamiliar music that's playing from my laptop and mix the herbis in my little countertop cauldron together. My kitchen’s a mess. I meant to tidy up but there just never seems to be time lately.

  “And eye of newt…” I wipe my hands on my apron and go to my second “spice rack”, the one hanging from the inside of my pantry. I find the eye of newt right next to the goat’s fur and bite my lip, holding the little jar under the light. The eyes seem slightly crusty. I make a note inwardly to buy some fresh eye of newt. The potions just don’t work as well when the eye of newt is too dry.

  At a knock on the door, I sigh to myself and leave the jar on the counter next to my cauldron. My phone timer says I still have twenty minutes to finish brewing before the potion is no longer viable. I stick a lid on the cauldron and, worried about it boiling over, move my laptop from the counter to a stack of boxes by the door. My crowded little kitchen that smells like sugar cookies and weird perhaps “unnatural” spices can be a bitch to work in, but I’m used to it at this point. Maybe someday I’ll be able to afford a better apartment, but it’s not happening any time soon.

  “Coming!” I sing out. At the door, I find Andre, one of three kids who lives in a too-small apartment two floors down. He looks sheepish and shy, his hands in his pockets, so I greet him with a warm smile before blowing a lock of hair out
of my eyes. “Hey there, sweetie. What can I do for you?”

  “Hey, Miss H,” Andre says. “My mom’s got that bad cough again? And the meds are really expensive? And she says the tonic you gave her last time worked better anyway?”

  “On the house, sweetie,” I say, and step aside to wave him in, not that the place is exactly presentable to visitors right now, but most people in this building don’t care much about things like that (except Mrs. Louis but she’s a bit of a crank).

  “What’s on the house?” Andre says. One of my three cats, Pfeiffer, comes by to rub against his legs and Andre grins, bending down to pet her.

  “That means free,” I tell him.

  “Oh!” Andre says, brightening considerably. He follows me to the kitchen. I’ve still got a big bottle of coughing tonic. Its real use is as a potion that makes a person better at math but I’d discovered a while back that it was very effective for any kind of cough. It’s also pretty pricey to brew and I usually charge for it, but I know Andre’s mom doesn’t have any money and I’m hardly going to bleed a rock. “Well, so my mom was thinking if you’d like to come over for dinner to make up for it? She’s a really good cook and she’d give you the leftovers. She’s also good at mending things if you have anything torn or missing buttons or…”

  “I’d love to come for dinner,” I say, pouring the tonic into one of the recycled water bottles I keep on hand for giving out potions. “And I’ll see what I’ve got that needs mending. That would be great.”

  I hand Andre a bottle of tonic and he grins up at me before narrowing his eyes. “Miss H…”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you...a witch?” His eyes are big.

  “Andre,” I say, as if it’s a ridiculous idea. “What a silly question!”