On the Hunt

by Alexandra Ivy

  “As long as I followed your rules.”

  He heaved a deep sigh. Yep. She was right. They’d been over this waaay too many times.

  He should walk away and leave her in peace.

  Already the icy composure he used to protect himself was forming hairline fractures. Enough time with Bailey and it would shatter into a thousand pieces.

  But his size twelve boots refused to obey.

  In fact, they took a renegade step forward, bringing him close enough to reach out and brush his fingers through her satin curls.

  “I assume you choose to live here so you can keep your strays hidden from Valhalla?” he murmured.

  She stiffened, but made no effort to pull from his light touch.

  “It’s peaceful.”

  His lips twisted. This volatile female spread chaos wherever she went.

  “You’ve never sought peace.”

  “We all change as we get older.”

  “I wish that was true,” he husked, his fingers compulsively moving to brush over her flushed cheek.

  She sucked in a startled breath, something that might have been yearning darkening her eyes.

  “Mika,” she breathed.

  Desire jolted through him.

  God. It’d been so long.

  He’d almost forgotten the scorching thrill of satisfaction when she trembled beneath his light touch.

  “Your skin is still as soft as silk,” he murmured.

  She licked her lips. “Mika.”

  He stepped closer, breathing deep of her sweet jasmine scent.

  “I’ve missed you, little one.”

  She jerked, as if his soft words had caught her off guard.

  “No, you haven’t.”

  He cupped her cheek in his palm, studying her with a frown. “You’re a psychic now?”

  She held his gaze. “If you missed me, you would have contacted me.”

  He blinked. Was she kidding? He’d been busy preparing their wedding when she’d packed her bags and left Valhalla without so much as a good-bye.

  “You disappeared.”

  A blush stained her pale cheeks. “You’re the best tracker in the world. If you wanted to find me, you could have.”

  He didn’t bother to admit that he’d tracked her movements from the moment she’d left the protected high-blood community. And that he hadn’t halted his stalker routine until he was sure she was safely home with her parents.

  “I was waiting for you to return,” he said with simple honesty.

  “And that says it all, doesn’t it?” She heaved a soft sigh. “We’re always on opposite sides.”

  “Perhaps,” he muttered, wondering why he wasn’t nearly as certain as he’d been just an hour ago.

  He grimly shoved aside the treacherous thought, jerking his hand from her face as if he’d been burned.

  Dammit, this woman had screwed with his head enough for one lifetime, thank you very fucking much.

  As if agreeing with his inner dialogue, Bailey stepped back, her arms wrapping around her waist in an unconsciously protective gesture.

  “Is there a reason you’re creeping through the swamp?” she demanded.

  He shrugged. “I’m working.”

  “Of course you are.” She rolled her eyes. The constant demands of his job had been just one of many battles between them. “Always the dutiful Sentinel.”

  “I won’t apologize for being good at my job.”

  She grimaced, almost as if she regretted having stirred up unwelcome memories.

  “I’m sorry, I know it’s important to you.”

  “Just as healing is important to you.”

  She gave a jerky nod, leaning down to gather the groceries that had tumbled out of the linen bags.

  “Who are you hunting?”

  He instinctively bent down to help her, gathering the apples and fresh vegetables that were spread across the mossy ground. His lips twitched at the familiar sight. God. How many dinners had they shared where Bailey had tried to convince him that tofu was an adequate replacement to his twelve-ounce T-bone steak?

  “A young acolyte ran away from the monastery three days ago.” He absently answered her question.

  Bailey made a choked sound as she abruptly straightened, reaching to take the bag from his hand as he rose to his feet.

  “Ran away?” She forced a stiff smile. “Do the monks keep them prisoners?”

  He narrowed his gaze. He recognized that wary tone.

  She knew something about the boy.

  Something she didn’t want to share.

  God. Damn.

  He’d been an idiot. No new thing when he was in the company of this female.

  He should have suspected from the second he’d caught her scent that Bailey was involved. She would have sensed a wounded high-blood the second he’d stumbled into the swamp, and rushed to his rescue.

  But he’d allowed himself to be distracted by the tangle of emotions that Bailey always managed to create when they were together.

  Now he could only curse himself for his stupidity.

  “No more than parents keep their children prisoners,” he said, resisting the urge to grab her and demand that she tell him where the acolyte was. Yeah. That worked about as well as ramming his head into a brick wall. “They have rules and regulations to keep their students safe, and they expect them to be obeyed,” he instead pointed out, hoping he could reason with her.

  She grimaced. “Yes, I’m sure they’re big on obedience.”

  “That’s not fair,” he chided. Bailey might be impetuous, but she wasn’t a fool. She knew as well as he did the danger of rogue high-bloods. “Without proper training, many Sentinels would risk killing themselves or others.”

  She hunched a shoulder. “They should have the freedom to come and go as they please.”

  His lips flattened.

  It was her standard line.

  The one she threw out when she was losing the argument.

  “Not until it’s certain that they understand the danger of their superior strength and are fully capable of controlling their magic,” he countered. “You wouldn’t give a child a loaded gun and send him out in the world, would you?”

  She bit her bottom lip, knowing that he was right.

  “What happens when you find the student?” she asked.

  He folded his arms over his chest, his expression hard. He wasn’t going to pretend there weren’t going to be consequences.

  “First I intend to discover why Jacob was so anxious to leave that he was willing to run down a monk with his car.”

  Her lips parted in genuine shock. Clearly Jacob didn’t feel the need to share that little tidbit of info.

  “A monk was injured?”

  “Yes.”

  She was instantly concerned. “Do you need me—”

  “He’s been healed,” he interrupted. She would be headed to the monastery if he didn’t assure her that the monk was well. For all her refusal to play by the rules, she was utterly committed to her role as healer. “He should recover within a few days.”

  She heaved a sigh of relief, but her expression remained concerned.

  “Will the boy be punished?”

  “Right now all I want to do is find him,” he hedged. Until he knew what was going on, he wasn’t taking anything off the table. Including punishment. “And I suspect you can help me.”

  Chapter Three

  Bailey knew she was busted.

  She had several talents, but lying wasn’t one of them.

  Especially not when she was with Mika.

  Not only did he know her better than anyone on this earth, but he’d been trained to see through any attempt at deception.

  Still, her first instinct was to try to protect the young man who she’d treated.

  Not because she feared Mika would hurt him.

  Sentinels were harsh in their training, but they never abused their acolytes.

  “Me?” She awkwardly cleared her throat. “I don
’t have any contact with the monastery.”

  He gave a short, humorless laugh. “No, but you’re notorious for taking in waifs and lost souls,” he said. “If the boy came to you injured, you would never turn him away.”

  He knew her too well to deny his words.

  “Why do you think he’s injured?” she hedged.

  “I found his car smashed into a tree.”

  “Ah.” Bailey did her best to disguise her surprise. Odd. Although Jacob refused to tell her how he’d gotten his injuries, she’d assumed he’d been beaten. A car crash seemed . . . wrong. “Maybe you should have checked the local hospitals.”

  “We both know there’s no need.” He leaned forward, his gaze searing over her face. “I tracked him here.”

  She frowned. She’d been drawn to Jacob because he was injured, but he was far enough into his training to have learned to mask his trail.

  “He’s a potential guardian,” she said. “How could you track him?”

  “I could smell his blood.”

  Well, duh.

  She wrinkled her nose. It’d been a while since she’d spent any time with a Sentinel. It was easy to forget just how dangerously acute their senses could be.

  “Of course.”

  He studied her with a knowing gaze. “If you haven’t seen Jacob, how did you know he was a guardian Sentinel?”

  Well . . . hell.

  She gave a shake of her head, suddenly wishing that Mika had never intruded into the swamp.

  Okay, there might be an unexpected joy that bubbled deep inside her at the sight of his starkly beautiful face. And a treacherous voice might be whispering that she’d been an idiot to ever walk away.

  But there was also a familiar pain that was threatening to rip her heart in two.

  It was a pattern that she’d shared with Mika for as long as she could remember.

  “I don’t have anything to say to you,” she muttered, covertly backing toward the cottage.

  He frowned. “This isn’t a game, little one.”

  “I never said it was.” She sent him a glare, ridiculously disturbed by the sound of the pet name he’d called her for as long as she could remember. “And my name is Bailey.”

  His expression hardened, a hint of temper in his hauntingly beautiful eyes.

  “Where’s the acolyte?”

  She took another step back. “I don’t know.”

  He scowled, looking every inch the lethal Sentinel. “Bailey.”

  “Don’t try to bully me,” she warned, refusing to be intimidated.

  “As if I could,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Why would you try to hide the boy?”

  She made a sound of impatience. “I’m not hiding anyone, but even if I was, you know that my policy is never to ask questions of those I heal.”

  His jaw tightened, a silent disapproval of her long-held belief that her gift was meant to be shared without unnecessary complications.

  “Even if they might be in danger?” he demanded.

  She hesitated. Was he screwing with her?

  That seemed very un-Mika-like.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Give me the boy,” he repeated.

  “Tell me why you think he might be in danger.”

  He shrugged, his emotions cranked down so tight they were impossible to read.

  Dammit. She hated when he did that.

  It meant he was hiding something from her.

  “The monks are convinced he would never run off unless there was something troubling him,” he at last said.

  It wasn’t a lie.

  Sentinels never lied.

  But that wasn’t the whole story.

  “He’s barely out of his teens,” she pointed out. “He’s overdosing on testosterone, of course he’s troubled.”

  “True. That was my first thought as well,” he said. “Males tend to be highly erratic when they’re at the mercy of their hormones.” His lips twisted into a wry smile. “Especially if there’s a female involved.”

  A ridiculous blush touched her cheeks at the memory of Mika’s own battle with hormones.

  They’d been childhood friends before they’d both gone their separate ways, Mika to the monastery and her to Valhalla.

  It’d been years before he’d finally been allowed to come and visit her. High-bloods tended to age far more slowly than norms, which meant their training could take decades to complete.

  But the moment they’d been reunited they’d instantly realized that their relationship had turned into something far more intense.

  Over the next few years they’d become passionate lovers. Hell, they couldn’t be in the same room without tearing off each other’s clothing.

  But eventually the fact that Mika was too often returning to the monastery for training or on the hunt as a Sentinel had started to undermine her confidence in his love. She’d started to feel as if they were strangers who hooked up for great sex, quickly followed by Mika’s annoyance with her refusal to follow Valhalla’s rigid rules and regulations.

  She felt stifled. As if the life was slowly being smothered out of her.

  So she bolted.

  She told herself she had to escape. But deep inside, she’d always thought this man would come for her....

  Bailey gave a sharp shake of her head.

  Dammit. She’d put the past behind her.

  It was too late to go back now.

  She forced a stiff smile to her lips. “They certainly don’t think with their brains.”

  He studied her with a brooding gaze, his own thoughts clearly traveling the same sad path as hers.

  “Some things never change,” he rasped.

  She flinched. Damn, this hurt.

  Gut-deep, to-the-bone hurt.

  She took another step backward, feeling the magical barrier press against her back.

  “If he’s chasing some girl, why don’t you leave him alone?” she asked.

  “Because the monks are worried. Brother Noland has asked for my help and I’m happy to offer my skill.”

  She grimaced. As usual, his simple explanation made her feel in the wrong.

  “Fine. Go search for him.”

  The dark eyes flashed with a growing exasperation. It was the only hint that he was anything but his usual stoic self.

  “You can’t keep him hidden.”

  “For the last time, I don’t know where he is.”

  He moved forward. “Bailey—”

  “Good-bye, Mika.”

  With one last step she was through the barrier, watching with a childish satisfaction as he tried to follow.

  “Not so . . .” Running into the invisible shield, Mika came to a sharp halt, his brows snapping together. “Damn.”

  She sent him a tight smile. “You see, I’m not so stupidly reckless as you assumed.”

  His hand lifted to press against the magical barrier. “How did you get a shield?”

  “I healed a witch who was very grateful for my services.”

  He stepped back, his expression unreadable. “This isn’t finished, little one.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  He held her gaze for a long, heart-stopping minute.

  “A promise.”

  The soft words were still floating on the air when Mika turned and melted into the thick undergrowth.

  Bailey grimaced, any sense of smug pleasure disappearing as tiny tremors of shock racked her body.

  Mika.

  “Damn,” she whispered.

  The monastery was truly an astonishing sight in the middle of the bayou.

  Built long before norms had made their way to the remote section of Louisiana, it was constructed of pure gray granite that had been mystically transported by guardian Sentinels from Scotland.

  In the center was the great cloister that included an unexpectedly whimsical fountain, surrounded by a chapter room, the monks’ and students’ dormitory, a library, refectory and kitchens. There was also a large yard that was used by
the Sentinels for their weapon training.

  More recently the stables had been converted into a firing range, while a new garage that could hold up to twenty cars had been built near the gatehouse.

  And surrounding it all was a ten-foot stone wall that effectively turned the place into a fortress.

  Not that the walls were really necessary.

  Who would be stupid enough to try to sneak into a place that held at least six monks and two dozen Sentinels-in-training?

  That was the definition of a death wish.

  Entering through the kitchens, Mika ignored the speculative glances from the various students who were stuck on dishwashing duty.

  Acolytes were expected to do the majority of work around the monastery in between their training sessions, as well as learning some sort of craft that would teach them that there was more to their duties than just destruction. They could also create beauty.

  Mika had personally chosen to work with the scribes, learning the delicate task of calligraphy as he translated ancient texts into modern languages.

  Entering the central cloister, he headed directly to the back of the monastery where a small office was tucked next to the library.

  At his entrance a slender man with a lean face and long, narrow nose straightened from behind a large desk to smooth his hands down his robe, made from a rough brown fabric.

  At a glance Brother Noland looked like he was in his early forties. His short blond hair was untouched by gray and there were only a few lines that radiated around the pale blue eyes. But his position as the leader of the monastery meant that he’d been around at least a couple of centuries.

  “You didn’t find him?” the monk demanded.

  Mika stayed near the doorway, his gaze instinctively skimming the tidy room lined with leather-bound books before returning to the monk.

  He didn’t expect to walk into a trap, but then again, he was always prepared for trouble.

  Well, that wasn’t entirely true, was it?

  If he was always prepared he wouldn’t have been blindsided by Bailey Morrell.

  He grimaced, grimly shoving aside the thought of the beautiful healer.

  During his return to the monastery he’d come to a few conclusions.

  Number one, he wasn’t done with his former lover. Not even close.

  Number two, his decision number one would have to wait until Jacob was safely returned to the monks.