“Bailey, listen.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I know you,” he said, his grip softening so he could run his fingers down her arm in an unconscious caress. “You’re as worried as I am about Jacob.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m going to let you insult me in my own home.”
“That was never my intention, little one.” He wrinkled his nose, regret shimmering in the depths of his dark eyes. “Where else would I find antiseptic in this area?”
She was still mad at him. The aggravating brute. But he was right.
She was desperately worried about Jacob.
“There’s a small clinic in town and a healer at the monastery.”
He nodded. “I’ve spoken to the healer.”
She knocked aside his hand. She couldn’t think when he was touching her.
“Did you accuse him of leading Jacob into a trap?”
He eyes narrowed. “Why do you suspect it was a trap?”
She made a sound of disbelief, taking a step backward. What the hell was he implying now?
“Are you serious?”
“Please, Bailey.” He held up a slender hand. “I’m just asking for your opinion.”
Oh . . . hell.
Bailey shoved her fingers through her short tangle of curls.
“Jacob wouldn’t tell me what happened, but it was obvious from his injuries that he’d been beaten, and by more than one person.” She pointed toward the paper he clenched in his hand. “If that map was sent to him to lure him to a precise spot, then obviously it was some sort of ambush.”
“Or someone sent the map because they wanted to meet with Jacob and he was attacked by the unknown assailants before the person could arrive,” he pointed out. “Which was the only reason I thought you might have sent it to him.”
“Oh.” She grimaced. “It wasn’t me. I never met Jacob until I discovered him injured.”
“Did the boy mention any friends or family in the area?”
“He wasn’t much of a talker. He admitted that he was from the monastery and that . . .” She frowned, suddenly recalling the boy’s parting words. “Wait.”
“What?”
“When he left, he said he had a friend he could stay with.”
The air prickled with a tangible tension. Mika was preparing for the hunt.
“Someone local?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know for sure, but he wasn’t strong enough to make it far.”
A sudden buzz interrupted his next question, and pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, Mika glanced at the screen.
“It’s Wolfe, I have to take this.”
She shrugged, returning to the kitchen before Mika could glimpse her expression of frustration.
It was a familiar sensation.
When she was with Mika, they rarely had more than a day or two that wasn’t interrupted by his duty as a Sentinel.
It wasn’t unusual. The warriors were always on call. And even when they weren’t hunting, they were expected to devote hours to training.
If she hadn’t been so young and so sensitized by her parents’ habit of forgetting her existence when they were wrapped up in their work, Mika’s devotion to his position as a Sentinel probably wouldn’t have made her so crazy.
With a shake of her head, she cleared away the plates and put the rest of the dinner in the fridge. Neither of them had eaten much, but at the moment she wasn’t hungry.
She did, however, keep her glass of wine.
She didn’t mind wasting eggplant.
But tossing out a fine wine . . .
Never.
She was leaning against the counter when Mika returned to the room, his expression more stoic than usual.
Always a bad sign.
“What’s wrong?” she instantly demanded.
“Wolfe has been trying to track down Jacob’s family.”
She set aside her wineglass. “Did he find them?”
Mika moved to stare out the window over the sink, his profile grim.
“He discovered that Jacob had been left at the edge of Valhalla around ten years ago by a man who’d run off before anyone could speak with him.”
She licked her lips, not needing to be a psychic to know that this story wasn’t going to have a happy ending.
“Not unusual,” she murmured. “Many families are embarrassed to realize their child isn’t normal.”
He gave a slow nod. They both knew that they’d been fortunate to have families who hadn’t turned their backs on them when their gifts began to develop.
“Wolfe managed to track him down.”
She blinked in surprise. The Tagos had managed to find a stranger who’d dropped off a boy and then disappeared ten years ago?
“How?”
“It’s always better not to ask.”
Yeah. Probably a wise choice.
“Has the man heard from Jacob?”
“Impossible to say.” Mika swiveled his head to reveal his bleak expression. “He was found beaten to death last week.”
She pressed a hand to her lips. “Dear Lord.”
“And he wasn’t alone,” he continued, his voice oddly harsh. “A healer who had been missing for the past three years was found decapitated in the man’s basement.”
Chapter Five
Bailey gasped, the blood draining from her face. “Who was it?”
Mika cursed himself for being so blunt.
Of course she would instantly fear that the dead healer would be someone she knew.
But dammit, he’d been sucker punched by Wolfe’s grim report.
“Benjamin Lyman¸ a healer who lived in Cleveland,” he revealed, carefully watching as Bailey paced the cracked linoleum floor.
There didn’t seem to be any recognition of the name, but her expression remained troubled.
“Why?”
“The human police wrote it off as a drug deal gone bad,” he said in disgust.
She turned to study him with eyes darkened to jade. “And Wolfe?”
“He managed to smuggle someone from the Order into the morgue where they’re still holding the bodies.”
The Order was a group of high-bloods who worked for Calder, the Master of Gifts. They were specifically tasked with finding high-bloods throughout the world. Some because they were a danger to themselves or others, and some because they simply didn’t realize they’d been born with mutant powers.
“Did they find anything?”
“The man was a soul-gazer. Not strong enough to attract the attention of Valhalla, but he was definitely a high-blood.”
She nodded. A soul-gazer could see the auras of others, giving them a glimpse of the person’s inner nature, good or evil. Or more likely, a combination of both. It was a passive talent that often went unreported.
“What else?” she prompted.
His jaw tightened until it felt as if his teeth would shatter.
“The autopsy file revealed he’d been routinely beaten over the past three years and then healed.”
Her eyes widened. “Why?”
“It could be a sick way to torture him, or some sort of scam. It’s impossible to say.” He shrugged. Right now he didn’t give a shit about the why. All that mattered was the who. And how quickly he could dispose of them. “But the fact that Jacob was recently attacked and then healed is too much a coincidence not to assume it’s related.”
She shook her head. “It just doesn’t make any sense.”
He squared his shoulders, preparing himself for battle.
Bailey wasn’t going to like what he had to say.
“I have to track down Jacob, but first I want you to return to the monastery with me.”
“No,” she said before he’d even finished speaking.
“Dammit, Bailey,” he growled.
She met him glare for glare. “I’m safer here than I would be anywhere else.”
Well hell.
He couldn’t argue with her logic.
The shield
meant that only a powerful witch could enter the cottage without Bailey’s assistance. Besides, they still didn’t know how or by whom Jacob had been contacted. It was quite possible that there was a traitor at the monastery.
That didn’t, however, ease his gut-deep fear.
This was Bailey.
The Queen of Impulsive Behavior.
“As long as you stay behind the barrier,” he pointed out.
“I don’t have any intention of taking unnecessary risks.”
He grimaced. Oh, if only that were true.
“Until someone needs to be healed, or Jacob asks for your help,” he muttered.
“If he contacts me, I’ll call you.”
“You swear?”
Her lips flattened with annoyance. “I’m not an idiot.”
He moved forward, gently cupping her face in his hands.
This female was, and always would be, the most precious thing in his entire world.
If he lost her . . .
A savage pain ripped through him.
“No, but you lead with your heart, and that makes you vulnerable.”
She met his concerned gaze with a stubborn frown. “It’s not a bad thing.”
“No,” he breathed, ruefully accepting he wouldn’t change anything about her. Even if she scared the hell out of him. “Will you let me come back tonight?”
She frowned, a hint of wariness rippling over her face.
“Mika—”
“I know,” he muttered, recognizing that expression. He’d seen it far too often when he they’d been together. “I’m smothering you. I just need to know you’re safe.”
Her lips parted, as if she was going to deny his assumption that she was feeling oppressed by his concern. Then she gave a small shake of her head.
“Okay.”
He held his breath. “Okay?”
“You can come back here,” she said softly.
Thank God.
Relief reverberated through him.
Leaning down, he pressed a swiftly, wholly unsatisfactory kiss against her lush lips.
Later, a voice whispered in the back of his mind.
Once he was certain she was safe he intended to devour her.
“Don’t leave this cottage,” he said, an edge of command in his voice. “Not for any reason.”
“You’re pushing your luck,” she warned, narrowing her gaze. “Besides, you’re the one who needs to be careful. If you get hurt—”
“I won’t.” Another kiss before he reluctantly pulled back. “Until later.”
Without waiting for her reply, he was headed out of the cottage and through the magical barrier. The shield was created to keep people out, not in.
Then, pulling a gun from the holster beneath his shirt, he moved through the dense undergrowth with a slow caution.
He wasn’t afraid of the local wildlife. He was a Sentinel, which meant that he was faster, stronger, and more lethal than any other predator. Plus, he had a natural immunity to most poisons.
But he didn’t want to miss any clues that might lead him to Jacob.
Returning to where the monk’s car had run off the road, he circled the area, hoping for anything that might reveal who might be interested in the boy.
Finding nothing, he headed toward the clinic at the edge of town.
Again there was no hint of Jacob, or anything that looked remotely out of place.
Dammit.
Slipping out of the back of the clinic, he came to a sudden halt, his senses on full alert.
Someone was near.
“Show yourself,” he commanded, keeping the gun hidden behind his leg as he stepped away from the building.
He wanted plenty of room to maneuver.
There was the sound of shuffling footsteps before a man appeared from the shadows, his head bald and his thin body bent with age.
“Sentinel.” The stranger’s voice held the singsong rhythm of a local. “You on the hunt?”
Mika sucked in a deep breath, sifting through the various odors that clung to the man.
Tobacco. Home-brewed moonshine. And stale French fries.
No metal. Which meant he wasn’t armed.
Not that Mika lowered his guard.
Right now he had to assume that everyone was the enemy.
“I’m searching for a young man from the monastery,” he said, his gaze searching the darkness for any hidden assailants. The old man might be a distraction. “He was wounded.”
“Don’t know nothing about a boy. Most folk in this town know not to stick their noses in high-blood business.” The man turned his head to spit out a stream of chewing tobacco. “You won’t find what you be searching for here.”
Mika nodded. He believed the stranger. Most norms preferred to avoid high-bloods.
“Do you have a suggestion of where I should look?” he demanded.
“Heard a rumor that strangers were seen out near Badger Island straight north of here.” The human shrugged. “A smart man might start there.”
Mika held the man’s gaze. “I’m in your debt.”
“Watch your back.” The man stepped back into the shadows. “People who come to the swamps don’t like trespassers.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Keeping the gun in his hand, Mika headed north, cutting through the swamp rather than following the narrow road.
He assumed that any guards would be focused on the main pathways.
An assumption that nearly got him killed.
Silently halting near the edge of a lily-clogged channel, Mika surveyed the narrow island. It was difficult to see through the thick cypress trees, but he thought he could make out the outline of a small structure and catch a glimpse of a lantern reflecting in a window.
He was busy trying to decide whether to try to get closer or to wait for backup before he continued to scout the area, when he heard a distinctive pop.
It was only his quick reflexes that allowed him to avoid the killing shot. Leaping to one side, he felt a searing pain as the bullet clipped his shoulder.
Shit. His gaze searched the darkness across the channel, belatedly locating the human male who was hidden in the upper branches of a tree.
His fingers tightened on his gun, the urge to shoot the bastard nearly overwhelming.
His wound wasn’t fatal, but it hurt like a bitch.
Only the knowledge that whoever was on that island had not only military-grade weapons, but the skill of a trained sniper, had him melting back into the tangled coverage of the bayou.
This wasn’t some local yokel who was taking potshots at stray intruders.
He needed backup.
Ripping off his shirt, he pressed it against the wound to prevent any blood from giving away his trail as he made a zigzag path through the deepest part of the swamp. If someone wanted to try to follow him, he wasn’t going to make it easy.
It took nearly an hour before he finally finished his attempts to throw off any pursuers and circled back to Bailey’s cottage.
Not surprisingly, he’d barely reached the edge of the barrier when the door was thrown open and Bailey rushed toward him.
Her talents as a healer would have warned her that there was an injured high-blood in the area.
“Mika.” Wrapping her arm around his waist, she led him through the magical shield and across the spongy ground into the welcoming comfort of her kitchen. “Damn you. I told you to be careful.”
Bailey was furious.
She’d been pacing the floor since the moment that Mika had left, a ball of dread lodged in the pit of her stomach.
He could call her impulsive and headstrong, but she wasn’t the one who was always charging into danger. And she certainly never thought of herself as invincible.
No, that was Mika.
And now he was hurt.
Dragging him across the linoleum floor, she pressed him into a chair and hurried to gather her supplies.
“It’s nothing, little one,” he assured her
, pulling away the wadded-up shirt to reveal the wound that continued to leak blood. “Just a scratch.”
She placed the leather bag on the table, opening it to pull out an antiseptic and some gauze.
“It’s not a scratch, it’s a bullet wound,” she growled, carefully cleansing the narrow gouge in his flesh with a practiced expertise.
Inside she was battling against the pure terror that was threatening to overwhelm her.
God. He’d been shot.
She could have lost him.
She abruptly dropped the gauze, her legs threatening to collapse.
Mika reached up to grasp her hand, bringing it to his lips so he could press a kiss to the center of her palm.
“I was grazed, nothing more.”
“You were shot at,” she said between clenched teeth.
“Yes.” He casually glanced toward the wound, which was already healing. “Hazard of the job.”
She sucked in a pained breath. “Don’t.”
He frowned, slowly rising to his feet as he sensed her distress.
“Bailey?”
“Don’t you dare tease about putting yourself in danger.”
He grimaced, reaching to cup her pale cheek in his hand. “I’m sorry, little one, it wasn’t deliberate,” he assured her, his starkly beautiful face softening with a genuine concern. “I’ve called Wolfe to send more Sentinels. I won’t go back alone.”
She bit her bottom lip, reaching up to place her hand over the injury.
“Let me heal you.”
Focusing her powers, Bailey sent small pulses of healing energy from her hand into his damaged flesh, acutely aware of his dark gaze that was examining her face with a fierce intensity.
“Is this why?”
“Why what?”
“Why you left?” he asked, his voice husky with emotion. “Because my job puts me in danger?”
She stiffened at the unexpected question, feeling the instinctive urge to scurry behind her façade of the free-spirited hippie who refused to settle down.
That was her comfort zone, after all.
But standing so close to Mika, she could see the bone-deep pain that shimmered in his dark eyes and feel the slight tremor in the hand that was pressed to her face.
Dammit. She’d wasted too many years.
It was past time for a little honesty.
“It bothers me. The thought you could be hurt or even . . .” She shivered, her hand no longer healing as it smoothed over the chiseled muscles of his shoulder. She needed to reassure herself he was alive and relatively well. Besides, she loved to stroke his skin. Heated silk. “Hell, I can’t even say the word,” she rasped. “But I understood that was the cost of being with a Sentinel.”
On the Hunt Page 5
