The Bounty Hunter and His Phoenix Mate (Bounty Hunter Series Book 3)

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Warlord spent his workday as he usually did: meticulously analyzing spreadsheets with the precision of a human calculator. Despite his lethal reputation as a bounty hunter in the field, his true forte was data analytics. This skill allowed him to organize chaotic explosions of numbers into seamless reports within hours.

Working from his cubicle on the third floor, Warlord did his best to maintain his professionalism while hiding the fact that he was a lethal killer behind the glasses he was wearing—glasses with no prescription.

While Dorian’s company housed many members of the Desert Moon pack, his specific department was a bit more isolated. There was only one other shifter in his immediate vicinity—a werebear who didn't belong to the pack, but served as a quiet reminder of the alliance with the local bear pack led by Bryce, the head bouncer at one of Brandon’s city clubs.

The quiet, analytical atmosphere should have been a sanctuary, but today, the mountain of digital data felt secondary to the memory of Arden’s melodic voice. Every time he adjusted a decimal point, he was reminded that his own life was currently stuck in a six-month holding pattern, tethered to the Fairy Guard’s strict laws.

While Warlord was neck-deep in a digital spreadsheet that a junior analyst had botched, he felt his focus snap back to the physical world. The data was a mess, and it required every bit of his analytical training to untangle. In the world of Dorian’s accounting department, a single misplaced decimal or interchanged digit was as dangerous as a missed step on a hunt.

The rhythmic tapping of his keyboard was interrupted when he was approached by his manager, a human named Kai. Unlike the chaos he was accustomed to in the shared townhouse with Fury and Poseidon, or the morning training sessions where everyone practically beat each other to a pulp, Warlord’s interactions at work were governed by corporate hierarchy and professional conduct.

Warlord leaned back, his mind still partially lingering on the six-month countdown until Arden’s discharge and the annoying persistence of Kendall, the junior analyst who often used their lack of managerial distance to ignore his rejections. He looked up at Kai, bracing himself for whatever new "scandal" or data discrepancy required his lethal brand of precision.

“Good morning, Westley,” Kai greeted, leaning against the side of the cubicle.

“Good morning, Kai. What can I do for you?” Warlord replied, momentarily pulling his gaze away from the digital mountain of data on his monitor.

“I was wondering if you had a copy of last week’s meeting notes. My daughter scribbled all over my notebook last night,” Kai grumbled, looking both exhausted and amused. Warlord couldn’t help but chuckle. He knew Kai had a three-year-old toddler at home who viewed every piece of paper in the house as a blank canvas; lately, Kai’s professional legal pads had become the primary medium for her latest "masterpieces."

“Yeah, I’ve got you,” Warlord said, his fingers already dancing across the keys with the same lethal confidence he used in the field. “I have them all digitized. I’ll upload a copy to the department’s shared drive and IM you the link in a second.”

“Thank you, man. Honestly, I wish more people in this department were half as efficient as you,” Kai said with a sigh of relief.

“Not a problem. I just like to be organized,” Warlord responded humbly.

“I’m serious, Westley. No one else on this team bothers to digitize their meeting notes. It’s a lifesaver,” Kai pressed.

“Well, I started doing it for situations exactly like this,” Warlord said, gesturing toward Kai’s predicament. “Plus, my handwriting is worse than a doctor’s. I’d spend more time translating my own chicken scratch for people than actually doing my job if I didn't type them out.”

Kai laughed, nodding in total agreement. “Well, whatever the reason behind your efficiency, I’m appreciative. It makes my life a hell of a lot easier.”

Warlord offered a small, steady smile. It was a rare moment of lightheartedness in a day otherwise weighed down by the heavy atmosphere of his roommates' drama and the six-month wait to finally be with Arden.

Kai walked away, and true to his reputation for efficiency, Warlord had the link to the shared drive waiting in Kai’s inbox before the manager even reached his office. The rest of the morning passed in a blur of data and spreadsheets, mercifully devoid of further interruptions.

When lunchtime finally arrived, Warlord remained at his desk, scrolling through his phone to order a meal. He had no desire to return to the cafeteria. The morning had already been draining enough, and he wanted to avoid the heavy atmosphere surrounding his friends—specifically Fury’s lingering sorrow over rejection and Poseidon’s relentless curiosity regarding Arden. He craved a moment of peace to dwell on the memory of Arden’s voice rather than the "mate bond" drama currently plaguing his social circle.

Unfortunately, his sanctuary was short-lived.

“Hi, Westley…”

Warlord closed his eyes, his jaw tightening as he gritted his teeth. Inside him, his wolf, Horace, was on the verge of snapping. While he had always found Kendall’s persistence annoying, his newfound connection to Arden made the human’s presence feel like an absolute intrusion.

“What do you want, Kendall?” Warlord asked, his voice flat, refusing to even turn his chair.

“I was heading down to the cafeteria for lunch. Care to join me?” she asked, seemingly oblivious to his standoffish demeanor.

“No”.

“Aww… Are you busy? Is there anything I can help with?”

“Kendall, my answer is 'no' because I don’t want to have lunch with you,” Warlord snapped, finally spinning his chair around to stare her down with eyes that were cold and devoid of warmth. “I told you this morning to leave me alone, and I meant it”.

The air in the cubicle grew thick with his irritation. Despite his lethal confidence in the field and his seniority in the office, Kendall continued to use the company’s lack of a formal "fraternization" policy among peers to ignore his boundaries.

Warlord’s expression was ice-cold as he leveled his gaze at her, his voice dropping into a low, controlled register that carried the weight of his lethal authority.

“Kendall, I have already informed you that I am in a committed relationship, and I expect the same level of professional respect I would afford any other colleague. Consider this my final warning: if you continue to disregard my boundaries or persist with this harassment, I will be escalating this matter to HR. I have no interest in whatever narrative you’ve constructed based on a single team outing, and I will not tolerate these continued personal intrusions in the workplace.”

Kendall recoiled as if he had physically hit her, her eyes instantly welling with tears. She took a dramatic step back, clutching her bag to her chest while making sure her sniffle was loud enough for the neighboring cubicles to hear.

“I can’t believe you’re being so cruel, Westley,” she stammered, her voice trembling with practiced vulnerability. “I was just trying to be a supportive teammate. I saw how stressed you looked this morning, and I thought a friendly lunch might help. I didn't realize that being kind was now considered 'harassment.'”

She wiped a stray tear away, casting a hurt look toward any lingering teammates that hadn’t left for lunch. “To threaten my career with HR just for offering friendship? I thought we had a connection, but clearly, I was wrong about your character. You don’t have to be so aggressive just because you're in a bad mood.” With a final, shaky breath, she turned on her heel. “Fine. I’ll leave. I’m sorry my concern for you was such an invasion of your personal boundaries.”

Kendall’s exit was nothing short of a theatrical performance. She scurried away with a shaky breath, making sure the other analysts saw her distress as she fled the department. The display immediately drew curious, judgmental glances from the rest of the team, the air in the office thick with the silent questions of colleagues who had witnessed her hurt feelings.

Warlord, however, remained entirely unmoved, his expression as impassive as if he were tracking a target through the desert. He had identified Kendall’s victim mentality from the moment she began her performance; to a man who spent his life reading people’s true intentions, her practiced facade was transparent and absurd. If she believed that tears and theatrical drama would garner a shred of sympathy or cause him to second-guess his boundaries, she was undeniably mistaken and utterly delusional.

His loyalty was already claimed by a woman who valued honesty—a fairy guard who literally could not lie. Compared to Arden’s integrity, Kendall’s manipulations were nothing more than white noise. Ignoring the heavy atmosphere and the prying eyes of his coworkers, Warlord simply turned back to his phone to order his lunch.

Back in Utah, Arden returned to her quarters feeling a sense of relief following her triumphant conversation with King Duncan. The King had not only been supportive of her finding her mate but had also agreed to begin the paperwork for her discharge early, which she truly appreciated. However, her sense of accomplishment was short-lived; as she arrived, she found Magnus, the Commander of the Royal Guard, waiting for her.

The presence of her commander immediately brought her back to the reality of her current duties. While King Duncan was empathetic toward her situation, Magnus was the one who oversaw the discipline of the guards and the strict adherence to their five-year contracts. Arden knew that while the King had given his blessing, the next six months under Magnus’s command would still require her to maintain the rule of celibacy and fulfill every obligation of her station before she could finally be with Warlord.

“Commander, what can I do for you?” Arden saluted her commanding officer.

“I heard you went to speak with the King,” Magnus replied. His tone made it clear it wasn't a question, but a statement of fact.

“Yes, I did,” Arden responded simply, knowing there was no use in denying it.

“Are you going to tell me why?” Magnus asked.

“I requested that my discharge papers be submitted,” Arden openly admitted, her posture erect and hands clasped firmly behind her back. “I don’t want them getting lost during processing”.

“I’m assuming that’s because you want to get out of here as soon as your remaining six months are up?” Magnus questioned. Arden nodded sharply, undeterred by his interrogation; every day spent in service now felt like a day stolen from Warlord, and she was determined to let nothing stand in her way once her contract was fulfilled.

“Arden, I understand that finding your true love—or in this case, a mate—is incredibly significant, especially given how important that bond is to a shifter. I am happy for you; I genuinely am. But don’t forget that as a member of the Royal Guard, there are laws you must abide by until your discharge is finalized.”

Magnus’s reminder carried the weight of the King’s law, specifically the mandatory rule of celibacy or abstinence that applied to any guard who met their partner while on active duty.

“I understand, Commander. You don't have to worry about that,” Arden replied, her voice steady and disciplined. “My place is here for the next five months, three weeks, and four days.”

She emphasized the remaining time with precision, and it was clear she was counting down every second until she could be with Warlord. While the wait felt like a prison sentence to Warlord back at the office, Arden was determined to honor her contract to the letter to ensure her eventual freedom was undisputed.

Magnus nodded once, content with her response. Though he maintained his professional exterior, he was genuinely fond of Arden and felt a twinge of sadness at the prospect of her departure. He recognized that the pull of a mate bond, or true love, as fairies called it, was not something that could be ignored or swept under a rug. He had no desire to hold her back from the unconditional love that every soul craved.

As he turned to leave, Arden stopped him.

“Commander?”

“Yes?”

“Permission to speak freely?”

“Permission granted,” Magnus replied, pausing in the hallway.

“Thank you, Magnus. Your blessing means everything to me,” Arden said softly, a warm smile touching her lips.

“You don’t have to thank me, Arden.”

“But I do. Because I know not everyone in the guard will see this the same way,” she countered, her expression sobering.

“I presume you’re talking about Douglas?” Magnus asked, immediately identifying the source of her concern. Arden nodded. Douglas remained "old-fashioned," adhering to the ancient belief that duty to the bloodline should always come before the heart—that fairies should only be with fairies.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about him,” Magnus advised. “He’s more bark than bite”.

“Magnus, you and I both know what jealousy and a refusal to accept the inevitable can do to someone,” Arden pointed out. She remembered Warlord’s warning from their call: that people pushed to accept things they hate eventually snap.

“I do,” Magnus conceded, his tone turning serious. “If he becomes a problem, I will handle it personally”. Arden nodded gratefully, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders, knowing her Commander had her back against the resentment.