Page 7 of Daddy's Friend’s Mate

The parchment scraped lightly against my calloused fingers while I held it delicately. Black script swam across the page, neat handwriting I knew belonged to my late best friend.

Eric,

Been a while, right? Sorry about this, but I need you to make a delivery. This pendant belongs to Ander Méndez, a descendant of the Castillo bloodline. It’s a matter of great importance that it’s done within a week of my death—as I had promised many moons ago.

Take Regina with you. She’ll know what to do.

Your best friend, always,

Steven Navarro

When I extended the parchment to Regina, she accepted it without hesitation. Tears pooled in her eyes at the sight of her father’s handwriting. As she read the brief note, her throat bobbed—she was swallowing hard every few seconds as though to hold back sobs.

That made my heart ache. Not just for the fact that she lost her father, but that she felt the need to hide her pain. Steven always believed that crying was the best reaction to any situation. It was a great release of pain, a show of affection or joy, a genuine display of remorse or grief.

But the more I recalled that encouragement, the more I shoved my own desire to cry down into the pit of my stomach. I could easily do that later when no one was around to witness. I would handle it the way I handled my nightmares.

By myself.

After a few seconds, Regina sniffled and handed the parchment back to me. The very tips of her fingers gently raked the back of my hand and my thumb, shocking me with a sudden urge to wrap her in my arms. Our eyes met, and it was like when I peered out the window.

She saw me despite the shadows I kept close to guard myself.

Seconds later, I turned to my daughter and handed her the note to read. The three of us sat silently, staring at the wooden box that perplexed us despite it now being open. It sure was a puzzle, exactly the kind of thing my best friend would give me to figure out.

Why did Steven have a necklace that belonged to a family so old that the descended directly from one of the initial vampire bloodlines?

I clutched my knee, digging my nails into the fabric of my jeans.

And why the hell would Steven send me into the very jaws of the people I fought in the war just to return it?

Kiara touched my arm. My fingers relaxed, and my palm ached from squeezing the life out of my leg. As I sighed, my shoulders slumped forward, and I focused on the emerald gemstone, doing my best to keep my curses to myself.

“Well,” I rasped, “I guess we better get to it.”

Chapter 4 - Regina

Sunlight bathed the pumpkin patch, drizzling golden strands through the burnt amber leaves above my head. Yellow turned to faded orange, allowing warmth to trickle through the cool autumn breeze. Behind me, a sturdy trunk cradled my back as the rhythmic sound of clacking erupted to my left. Under my wide hips was a thick, plaid yellow blanket soft enough to nap on.

Yet napping wasn’t on my mind this afternoon.

I pursed my lips thoughtfully as I raised a tumbler to my lips. Warm chamomile with hints of vanilla and honey met my tongue, inspiring a contented sigh. I hauled air into my lungs while staring ahead, watching the field workers wander up and down the vast rows of pumpkins in various sizes.

In the center of it all was a tall, buff, olive-skinned man who had hands off written all over his broad forehead. Black hair with a blue sheen in it that dazzled any onlooker in the sunlight was trimmed short. His beard was buzzed close to his face, with enough salt peppered into it to make him look ruggedly handsome. And his eyes, a sharp cobalt blue, could send daggers with a mere look.

When the hell had Kiara’s dad gotten so…attractive?

Absolutely nothing about my ogling him was appropriate. I held my tumbler close to my chest while watching his muscles contract beneath his taut black t-shirt that hugged his square chest.

He hauled a massive pumpkin over his shoulder. My jaw dropped. Tea spilled out onto my cardigan.

I groaned while reaching for a napkin. The typing next to me halted. Kiara peered over the top of her laptop, blueish-green eyes reminding me that her father was nearby. And that he was looking like a whole snack; that I was checking him out a little too much.

I dabbed my lips. “What are you doing these days?”

She stuck her tongue out while concentrating on the screen. After tapping one key, she perched her chin in her hand. “Software engineering.”

“Well, that’s fancy.”

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