The Tracker's Mate: Sunderverse (Mate Tracker Book 1)

by Ingrid Seymour

  He seduced me carefully and perfectly, starting from the moment he picked me up at home to the instant our bodies became one. All night, his hands lingered on me. On my waist, my hips, the nape of my neck. He dispensed kisses that were sensual and sweet all at the same time. And by the time we were alone, my desire had reached its peak and his touch was like hot flames on my skin.

  That night was, indeed, the most special of my life, and I both loved and hated Jake for giving it to me. He had ruined me. That night and all he meant to me was the reason I’d been incapable of getting close to anyone. No one could measure up to that, especially because I’d been so madly in love with him.

  “You loved that man like in the books and the movies,” Mom had said to me once. “It wasn’t healthy. Good riddance.” I would have given my life for him. I would have borne his babies, a whole litter of half werewolves. Instead, he’d torn my heart out.

  I tossed and turned in bed, struggling to get him out of my mind and calm down my overactive hormones, until I finally went to sleep.

  “Toni.”

  The hum of an engine filled my ears, loud and incessant. My sense of hearing felt overwhelmed, and it seemed to be the only one functioning properly. I couldn’t smell anything. I couldn’t see anything either.

  Was this a trance? I didn’t remember taking a potion.

  “Toni.”

  Tires against pavement. Rattling of metal. Squeak of brakes. Blaring of horns. Maddening, like being right in the middle of an interstate at the very top of rush hour.

  Weaving through the nonstop cacophony, a voice fought to rise above.

  “Toni.”

  I could barely perceive it, but it seemed the voice was calling my name. I tried to hone in on it. The voice was familiar. I’d heard it before, but I couldn’t place it.

  “Toni, is that you?”

  My breath caught.

  Stephen!

  “Yes, it’s me.” My arms flailed in the darkness, trying to find him. “Where are you?”

  My heart hammered. He was close by.

  “Please, help me,” he begged.

  I had to be in a trance. Had to be. It was the only explanation, and somehow, Stephen knew I’d come looking for him.

  “I’m trying to find you,” I said. “Where are you?”

  “I’m here,” he screamed.

  I whirled, following the raw sound of his voice. I stumbled forward, hands in front of me. That scent suddenly saturated the air: sweet and warm, coating my throat. My hands got hold of something. I felt around. A person.

  “Stephen?”

  He said nothing.

  I kept feeling with my hands, moving them upward. They reached what felt like a collarbone, a neck, a face. It was wet and sticky. I pulled back, wishing I could see in this blackness. As the wish materialized so did my sight. It came back gradually. I blinked, held my hands closer to my face. Darkness still surrounded me, but I could make out shapes. I wiggled my fingers. Something dark was smeared on them, then I saw color.

  Red.

  Red, sticky blood.

  Shaking all over, I lowered my hands. A figure etched in darkness stood in front of me. My heart hammered.

  “Stephen?” I murmured, lips trembling.

  The figure stepped forward, and his face became visible. I pressed a wet, sticky hand to my mouth to hold back a scream.

  It was Stephen.

  I could tell even though his face was a bloody mess. A cut ran across his eyebrow, dripping blood onto a swollen-shut eye. His lower lip was busted and streaks of red ran down his chin.

  “Help me.” He took a step closer. “Help me.” Another step. “Help me.” He stopped a foot away from me and held up his hands. “Look at what they’ve done to me. Why won’t you help me?!”

  All of his fingers were missing, and only bloody, bloated stumps remained.

  Oh, God.

  Vomit burned in my throat.

  “Lusiola,” Stephen said, then he reached for my throat with his mutilated hands.

  I screamed and screamed and screamed.

  In the next instant, everything went dark and silent.

  Someone grabbed my shoulders. I screamed again and flung my arms out, knocking the hands away. I lost my balance and fell with a thud. Desperately, I crawled away on my hands and knees until I reached a barrier.

  My head and my heart pounded out of control.

  I felt around, fingers fumbling, trying to find an exit, but I’d ran into a wall. I felt along its length until I reached the corner.

  There was no escape.

  I pressed my back against the corner and huddled there, hugging my legs, burying my face in my knees. I waited for Stephen, or whoever, to yank me to my feet and... and what? I didn’t know.

  I sobbed into my legs, my body trembling with tension as I anticipated the worst.

  Minutes ticked by. Nothing happened. I still couldn’t hear or see anything.

  I don’t know how long I spent in that position, but when the gentle sound of bird song reached my ears, I opened my eyes to find I was cowering in the corner of my room with Rosalina sitting on the bed, watching me closely.

  “Toni,” she said my name carefully as if afraid I would break.

  Tears of relief spilled down my cheeks. She approached carefully, making no sudden movements as if I were a skittish cat. When she reached me, she wrapped me tightly in her arms and rocked me back and forth until my tears ran out.

  Chapter 30

  “I heard you screaming,” Rosalina said.

  We sat on the sofa, nursing identical cups of tea. I had calmed down and taken a hot shower that had succeeded in making me feel half-human again.

  “So I ran into your room. You were sitting up in bed, wailing. I tried talking to you, but I think you couldn’t hear me. When I touched you, you jumped off the bed and crawled to the corner. You couldn’t see me. Your eyes were blank, just like when you come out of a trance.”

  Her words made me shake as I remembered the panic.

  Rosalina laid her hand on mine. “Are you okay? We don’t have to talk about this if you’re not ready.”

  “No, it’s fine. I want to understand what happened.”

  “It was more than a nightmare. I can tell you that. You were blind and deaf, Toni.”

  I nodded, feeling the truth of her words.

  “What if, somehow, you put yourself in a trance during your sleep?”

  I set my teacup on the coffee table. “Maybe.”

  “But that’s never happened before.”

  “No, but Skew powers are known to change with time.” The possibility of not being able to control the trance scared the crap out of me. I might never sleep again.

  Rosalina half winced. “I’m afraid to ask, but... what did you see?”

  Pushing through my fear, I told her everything, sparing no details. When I finished and glanced up at her face, she was pale—or her version of pale, anyway. Her beautiful tan skin looked as if someone had turned off its golden glow.

  “That had to be a nightmare. You weren’t really there, right?” she asked, doubtfully.

  “I don’t know. It felt so real. All the sounds and that smell. What do you think that word he said means?”

  Rosalina shook her head. “I have no idea. Maybe we should Google it.” She went for her phone, which rested on the arm of the sofa. “How do you think it’s spelled?”

  I shrugged. “L-U-S-I-O-L-A.”

  Quickly, she typed the letters into the search box, then glanced up. “Apparently, it’s a city in Kenya. Shit, do you think that’s where Stephen is?”

  “No.” For some reason, I had the feeling he was near. “Maybe it’s spelled differently. What if you try L-U-C-I-O-L-A?”

  She used Google again. “A genus of flashing fireflies,” she read. “That helps me as much as saying a ‘constellation of neutron stars.’” Rosalina gave me worried eyes and confused me with her analogy. She was too smart for me. “Maybe you just had a nightmare, afte
r all, a very lucid one.”

  “The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced it wasn’t. Maybe this word will mean something to Jake.”

  Rosalina sighed. “Do you feel up to working today?”

  “Yeah, I think so. I need something to take my mind off things.”

  “All right, let’s get ready and go. Oh, by the way, your mom called several times. She wants you to call her back. She sounded pretty insistent.”

  “Yeah, she’s been pestering me about coming to eat lunch. She’s making me tortellini. I’ll call her back.”

  On our way to the office, we grabbed breakfast at a drive-through. I got a double espresso and two oversized blueberry muffins, while Rosalina went the healthy route and got tea and an egg on a wheat toast.

  “At this rate, all those curves are gonna go flat,” I teased, gesturing toward her boobs.

  “Pfft, they aren’t going anywhere. They’re a family curse. Abuela Esperanza has them, my mama has them, my sister has them, and if I had a brother, he’d have them, too.”

  “A curse?” I rolled my eyes as I turned the Camaro onto our street. “Men love that shit.”

  She nodded reluctantly. “True, but they should be removable or something. Some days I just can’t stand them. You don’t get it because...” She trailed off.

  I raised my eyebrows at her and gave her a look. “Don’t you dare offend my pair. They may be humble, but they’re all I’ve got.”

  We got out of the car laughing. I felt a little lighter, even if the one blueberry muffin I’d eaten had been nearly five pounds. Rosalina had that effect on me. I loved seeing her smile, and our banter always got her going, so it motivated me to tease her.

  She keyed the lock, and we walked inside. It seemed every time I came in, I held my breath expecting the place to be a wreck, but everything looked fine. I wondered how long it would take me to shake the feeling off. I didn’t know, though one thing was for sure, I was never spending another night up in the loft.

  After my 3:30 PM client from yesterday, I had started a potion. The ingredients Rosalina reordered had arrived quickly, though not cheaply. With everything that was going on, I couldn’t pick them up myself, so we’d had to pay a courier to cross into Elf-hame plus a rushed delivery fee. It had been worth it though, even if expensive. We’d lost a few precious days in the fray and had to play catch-up to make rent and bill money. And of course, our salaries, which always took a hit when shit like this happened.

  I had another appointment scheduled for 9:00 AM, which gave me an hour to do a few things such as call Celina Morelli to give her the bad news. I really didn’t want to do that. I’d given the woman false hopes, and I was afraid my call would only break her heart a little more—not to mention hurt the agency.

  Chickening out of the task for the moment, I decided to face my other problem.

  “Hey, I’m going next door to see if Jake’s there.” I had called him, but again, he hadn’t answered.

  Rosalina, already at her desk, glanced up with worry in her eyes. “Okay, I hope he can help.”

  “Me, too.”

  Jake’s door was locked this time. I knocked and waited. Nothing. Apparently, he wasn’t in. I tried his phone again. No answer. I sighed, went back to the office, and set about my day, starting with the dreaded call to Celina Morelli.

  “I’ve been expecting your call,” she said.

  Did I detect a little hope in her voice? Well, shit! “Ms. Morelli, I’m sorry to call with bad news.” I expected her to say she wasn’t surprised or something biting like that, but she remained silent. “I was unable to locate a mate. I apologize. This is a rare occurrence. My mate tracker rate is very good, but not perfect and—”

  “But your partner said you did,” she interrupted.

  “I know, and I apologize for the miscommunication. I thought I’d found someone, but I was wrong.”

  “You sounded so confident about finding someone. What happened?”

  “I can’t give you specific details,” I said. “If you remember, our agency’s contract has a clause about the secrecy of our methods. All I can say is that my skills didn’t reveal anyone.”

  “How is that possible? Is there... something wrong with me?”

  “Oh, no,” I assured her. “Of course not.”

  “Then what?”

  “I’m sorry. This is all I can say. My partner will issue a refund for your deposit.”

  “This is unacceptable.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Celina went on a rant about false promises and shams, and I took it all patiently. I almost broke and told her about Vincent but kept my cool and my dignity. Hopefully, the latter wouldn’t cost me my livelihood.

  Throughout the rest of the morning and afternoon, I kept glancing at my phone, hoping for a call, but it seemed Jake had better things to do. Maybe he was following a true lead while my “Luciola” nightmare was just that.

  Lunch and my 3:45 PM appointment came and went. I reclined on my chair, absentmindedly eating my second giant blueberry muffin. It hit the spot, the sugar waking me up from my afternoon lethargy. Feeling energized, I walked out of the office.

  “Hey, I’ll go see if Jake is back,” I told Rosalina, who was staring at a budgeting spreadsheet making sure we could make ends meet this month.

  This time, Jake’s door was open when I pulled on it.

  Like the last time, there was no sign of him inside. I called out a couple of times, but he didn’t answer, so I went in through the next door. Protective plastic covered the floor as well as cans of paint, fresh rollers and brushes, and rolls of blue tape. No sign of Jake there either. I climbed the steps to the loft. The layout of the place was identical to mine, so the bare walls struck me as odd since I expected to find black-and-white photographs hanging there.

  I found Jake upstairs, sacked out on a mattress directly on the floor. He lay face down, wearing nothing but a pair of tight, black boxer briefs. My eyes raked the length of his long frame. His wide back tapered gently toward a narrow waist with two dimples at its base. In the time he’d been away, he’d grown more muscular and acquired yet another tattoo down his left flank. I took a step closer for a better look. The body art consisted of words inked in a pretty scroll. I tried to read them, but they were not in English.

  His left arm hung off the mattress, and his hand rested flat on the floor. His feet were also off the mattress. He was simply too big for it. I held my breath as I admired him, trying to keep his delicious scent at bay. He was hot as hell, a sight to behold, especially to someone who’d gone celibate for a while—not to mention, someone whose last sex partner had been him.

  Yet, it wasn’t his amazing body that stunned me the most. Instead, it was how vulnerable he seemed. No one got the drop on Jacob Knight and his werewolf senses. That was what he’d told me once, and yet, there he lay while I watched him sleep.

  His brow was furrowed, making him look stressed, even in his sleep. He must’ve really developed a close relationship with Stephen for his disappearance to affect him this badly. I fought the urge to kneel by his side and smooth his hair back. I wanted to tell him that it would be all right, that he would find Stephen, but I had no idea if it was true.

  Clothes lay strewn on the floor in two piles. I imagined them labeled as “dirty pile” and “it doesn’t stink that much pile.”

  “Are you done looking at my ass yet?” he asked without opening his eyes.

  Dammit! Jake wasn’t even asleep, and here I’d thought he looked vulnerable.

  He rolled over onto his back, stretching his arms over his head, and giving me a good morning greeting with a tall flag right in his middle. I turned to face the stairs, my cheeks growing hot.

  Sweet buttered toast, my memories weren’t at all exaggerated. The man was really that... impressive.

  He groaned and yawned, then said, “Didn’t take you for a peeping Toni.”

  “Ha ha, clever.”

  Inhaling deeply, I faced him again,
unwilling to let him embarrass me. He had sat up and reclined against the wall, one knee up and his arm resting on it while a satisfied smile stretched his lips.

  “That’s not what I was doing,” I said. “I didn’t want to wake you. You looked... peaceful and tired, but I was torn because, well, something happened last night that may have given me a clue about Stephen.”

  Jake immediately jumped to his feet, found a pair of frayed jeans in one of the clothes piles, and put them on. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and slapped his cheeks.

  “What clue?” he asked.

  “I had... a nightmare.” I didn’t want to go into details about exactly what had happened, and a nightmare felt like the easiest explanation. “It featured Stephen. He was hurt and asking for help, but right before I woke up, he said something odd. Just one word, but it stuck with me.”

  “What was it?”

  “Luciola.”

  He frowned and repeated the word under his breath. “Luciola.”

  “Do you know what it means?”

  Rubbing his forehead, he started pacing the room. “It sounds familiar, but I can’t remember why.” He stopped and suddenly whirled in my direction. “Let’s go downstairs.” He ran past me, his back muscles rippling as he lithely took the steps two at a time.

  Downstairs, he glanced around his messy work area.

  “Where is it?” he mumbled to himself. “There!”

  He knelt next to a canvas tarp, pulled a pile of manila folders from under it, then riffled through them. He ran his finger down several pieces of paper, his eyes quickly scanning the words. I waited with my heart in my throat, praying he would find something that would help us find Stephen.

  Wait, Us?!

  Since when had it become us?

  “Here!” He jumped to his feet and walked over to me, holding one sheet of paper. “Luciola.” He pointed at a spot at the bottom of the page.

  The word was spelled L-U-C-C-I-O-L-A with two “Cs,” and it seemed to be a physical location, not just some abstract term because the sheet listed an address.