On the Hunt

by Alexandra Ivy

  “I found the car, which had been run into the ditch,” he said.

  Brother Noland flinched. “He wasn’t—”

  “No. The crash wasn’t enough to hurt him,” he reassured the monk, revealing what he’d hidden from Bailey.

  Not that it was a big secret. He suspected she’d been well aware the boy’s injuries had come from something besides a car ride into a tree.

  “Thank God.”

  “There was, however, blood at the scene.”

  “Jacob?”

  “Yes.” He glanced over his shoulder, ensuring there was no one lurking in the long corridor outside the office. “I would guess that he was deliberately run off the road and beaten.”

  Brother Noland’s breath hissed between his teeth, anger flashing through the blue eyes.

  Monks were just as lethal as any trained Sentinel. “Who would do such a thing?”

  “I intend to find out.”

  “I agree,” the monk said. “But the most important thing is finding Jacob. Was there any sign of him?”

  Mika’s lips twisted. “I traced his blood to the middle of the swamp.”

  “Really?” The blue eyes widened, a sudden comprehension softening the tension etched onto his lean face. “Ah. Bailey must have found him.”

  “You know her?”

  Mika didn’t know why he was surprised. High-bloods usually sought out one another’s company, unless they were trying to pass as a norm.

  Of course, most high-bloods chose to live in Valhalla or one of the numerous satellite compounds spread around the world.

  Not alone in the middle of the damned bayou.

  “Our paths have crossed,” the monk admitted. “Although she prefers to keep her distance from the monastery.”

  Mika gave a humorless laugh. “Don’t take it personally. Bailey has a prejudice against anyone she thinks is a part of the vast conspiracy to enslave the high-bloods.”

  Brother Noland lifted a brow. “Enslave?”

  “Her word, not mine.”

  “Ah.” He shrugged. “She’s a free spirit.”

  Mika clenched his hands. God. He really, really hated those words.

  It implied that Bailey merely breezed through life without touching the world.

  Not that she was a bullheaded wrecking ball who managed to create utter chaos.

  “She’s—” He bit off his words, giving a shake of his head. “Never mind.”

  The monk studied him with an oddly knowing gaze. “You have a past with the healer?”

  A past. And a future. Even if she didn’t know it yet.

  “Yes.”

  “She’s a kind woman who is always eager to help those in need.”

  No shit.

  “Even those who don’t deserve her help,” he said, his expression stoic despite the frustration that simmered just below the surface.

  “Yes, well, it’s a rare person who doesn’t judge others,” Brother Noland murmured.

  Mika narrowed his eyes. He didn’t give a damn about others. Not when they put Bailey at risk.

  “If she helped Jacob, then she could be in danger.”

  The monk gave a slow nod. “True.”

  “Unfortunately she’s too stubborn to accept that she might need my protection.”

  “Then it’s even more imperative that we find Jacob.”

  That much they could agree on.

  “Can you show me his room?”

  “Certainly.” The monk was instantly moving to pass by Mika and step out of the room. “This way.”

  In silence they traveled to the acolyte dormitory, climbing the narrow stone steps to reach the upper attic where the newest students were lodged.

  Mika grimaced as he studied the four narrow beds that were shoved into the center of the dark loft.

  In one corner was a washstand and in another a small shelf for the few belongings a student was allowed to have. Clean robes, an extra blanket, and one book from the monastery library.

  That was it.

  “I had forgotten how barren the cells are,” he muttered.

  “The fewer distractions, the less cluttered the mind.” Brother Noland spoke the words that every monk clearly had memorized.

  Mika crossed the loft, forced to bend over to avoid knocking himself out on the low, open-beamed ceiling.

  “Maybe, but we all have a few secrets that are tucked away,” he said, making a quick sweep of the seemingly empty room.

  In less than ten minutes he’d uncovered a stash of hidden nudie magazines, a homemade bottle of gin, and stack of letters from a lovesick girlfriend. Then, pulling up a warped floorboard beneath one of the beds, he at last found something of interest.

  Straightening, he unfolded the paper.

  Brother Noland moved to his side. “What is it?”

  “A map.” He pointed toward the X that had been marked along a narrow road leading into the nearby swamp. “This is where I found the car.”

  “Odd.” The monk gave a shake of his head. “Why there?”

  “It’s isolated. Other than that . . .” Mika shrugged, unable to think of any pressing reason someone would choose that particular spot.

  Taking the map, Brother Noland turned it over to read the short note that had been written on the back.

  Tuesday, eleven a.m.

  “This isn’t Jacob’s handwriting.”

  Mika took back the map, studying it with a frown. Although acolytes weren’t prisoners, as Bailey was so fond of claiming, they were cut off from much of the world.

  No cell phones, no TV, and no unofficial visitors.

  “Could someone smuggle in a message?” he demanded.

  “It wouldn’t have to be smuggled,” the monk said. “We don’t monitor the students’ mail.”

  “Damn.” About to toss the map aside, he instead lifted it to his nose as he caught an odd smell that clung to the paper. “Strange.”

  The monk watched him with a steady gaze. “What is it?”

  “Antiseptic.” Mika narrowed his gaze. “The sort of thing that a healer would use.”

  Without giving himself time to consider the late hour or the fact that Bailey was hardly likely to allow him into her cottage, he was headed toward the door.

  He had questions and he intended to get answers.

  Now.

  Chapter Four

  Bailey had been determined to scrub Mika from her mind.

  What was the point in brooding on what-might-have-beens?

  It wasn’t like she could change the past. Even if a renegade part of her was whispering that she’d been a fool to ever walk away from the only man she’d ever loved.

  But while she determinedly cleaned the small cottage from top to bottom and concentrated on preparing her favorite eggplant parmesan for dinner, she couldn’t stop her thoughts from replaying her brief encounter with Mika.

  Over and over.

  Worse, she found her body unable to shake the restless desire that had been stirred to life by his arrival.

  Damn.

  She’d known plenty of handsome men over the years. Many of them far more charming than her stoic Sentinel.

  But no man had ever made her feel as if she’d been struck by lightning just by walking into a room. And certainly none of them had made her ache with the need to be wrapped in their arms.

  In the process of dishing up her dinner, Bailey abruptly stiffened.

  It was one thing to be plagued with constant thoughts of the man she’d loved since she was a teenager, and another to actually feel his presence.

  Which meant she was losing her mind—a very real possibility—or Mika was near.

  Smoothing her hands down the casual yellow sundress she’d slipped on after her shower, Bailey sucked in a deep breath and forced her heartbeat to slow from hypersonic to a speed just below turbo.

  Then, pulling open the back door, she stepped onto the porch and allowed the fragrant darkness to wrap around her.

  Nearby she could hear frogs cro
aking and the cry of an owl as it hunted the small critters that scurried through the thick foliage. Farther away was the distinctive sound of a boat heading out of the swamp as the fishermen finished up for the day.

  But there was no indication of an intruder.

  Predictable.

  Sentinels were not only trained to move in silence, but they had the ability to “will” others not to see them. Not that they were invisible. Not entirely. But a person had to make a deliberate effort to search for their presence.

  It was only because Bailey was hypersensitive to anything related to Mika that she’d known he was nearby.

  Searching the shadows, she at last caught sight of his lean form leaning nonchalantly against a tree at the edge of her shield.

  Her breath was squeezed from her lungs as she took in the sight of his finely chiseled features that were perfectly outlined in the moonlight. His glossy hair had been pulled back and held at his nape with a leather string, and his dark eyes were locked on her with that unwavering focus that used to make her melt in pleasure.

  Now it . . . oh hell, it still made her melt in pleasure, she acknowledged with a stab of annoyance.

  She planted her fists on her hips, trying to match his detached composure when inside she was trembling from head to toe at the sight of him.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I need to speak with you.”

  His expression was impossible to read.

  “It’s late.”

  “And?”

  She bit back a curse. “And I want to eat my dinner and go to bed in peace.”

  There was unexpected silence, Mika’s expression suddenly softening with some inner thought.

  “Tell me, Bailey, do you still kick the covers off in the middle of the night?” he asked in a low voice.

  She flinched. How the hell did he remember such a small detail of their all-too-brief time as lovers?

  Somehow she’d assumed that he’d simply forgotten about her after she’d left. And why wouldn’t he?

  It wasn’t like he’d tried to follow or even contact her.

  “Is that why you’re here?” she asked. “To ask if I still kick off the covers?”

  “Not entirely, but I’ll admit that it’s a question that’s bothered me over the years.”

  Bothered him? She frowned. “Why?”

  “When we were together I could pull you into my arms and keep you warm.” The dark gaze slowly skimmed down her body. “I didn’t like the thought you might be cold and alone.”

  A soft sound of distress was ripped from her throat.

  Damn him.

  It’d taken her years to repair the damage done to her heart by this man.

  Was he trying to rip open wounds that were barely healed?

  “I . . .” She halted, forced to clear the lump from her throat. “Why are you really here?”

  Something that might have been regret tightened his features before he was reaching into the back pocket of his jeans to pull out a folded piece of paper.

  “This.”

  “What is it?”

  “A map I found beneath Jacob’s bed.”

  Okay. That was strange. Why would anyone hide a map beneath their bed?

  “A map to where?”

  “To the spot he was nearly beaten to death.”

  It took her a second to realize just what he’d revealed.

  “Beaten?” She tried to look innocent. “But you said—”

  “Bailey, the boy might be in trouble.” Mika abruptly straightened from the tree, his expression somber. “Let me in.”

  She hesitated before heaving a resigned sigh.

  Mika was right.

  It was one thing to fear that Jacob had been caught by a bunch of locals and beaten because he was high-blood. It was another to fear he’d been actually lured there.

  “Fine.” Walking forward, she reached through the barrier.

  Once she had a hold of his hand, he easily stepped through the shield, a wry smile twisting his lips.

  “Was that truly so hard?”

  “Yes.”

  Turning, she led him through the back door of the cottage and straight into the kitchen.

  There was no point in standing outside. Not when the heat was still smothering.

  Besides, she wanted her dinner.

  Entering on her heels, Mika closed the door and bypassed her to take a slow inventory of the small space.

  He quickly skimmed over the white painted cabinets and appliances that had seen better days, instead lingering on the framed pictures of her parents that she’d placed on a wooden shelf.

  “Where are they now?” he asked.

  She shrugged as she reached into the fridge to pull out a bottle of wine.

  “I think they’re still in the Congo,” she said. “But the last letter I had from Mother said that they thought they would be traveling to visit me before they went to New Zealand for their next mission.”

  He turned to watch her pour two glasses of wine.

  “Does it bother you that they spend so much time away from you?”

  “Of course not.” She automatically denied any regret that her parents always put their careers as teachers before their only child. They loved her. Of course they did. It was just . . . “Do you want some dinner?”

  “Very much.” He crossed the floor to watch as she spooned out two plates of the eggplant parmesan. “Smells good.”

  She snorted, even as she took a deep breath of his potently male scent.

  Oh . . . hell. She’d missed that intoxicating combination of warm skin and sandalwood soap.

  When he’d had to leave Valhalla, she’d slept with one of his shirts on just so she could be surrounded by the feel of his presence.

  Now she struggled not to press her face to the curve of his neck and suck in a deep breath.

  “You hate when I cook,” she muttered.

  He brushed a finger down her cheek, as if sensing her traitorous thoughts.

  “Only when you try to make me eat tofu,” he teased, flashing his rare, extraordinarily beautiful smile. Her heart came to a painful halt. For a breathless second their eyes locked, a dangerous awareness fluttering in the pit of her stomach. Then Mika dropped his hand and grabbed the two plates to head to the tiny wooden table that was pushed against one wall. “Besides, it’s been hours since lunch. I’m starving.”

  She followed behind him with the wine, settling in her seat as she watched Mika sit across from her.

  It felt disturbingly right.

  She shoved aside the unwanted thought as Mika took a cautious taste of the eggplant.

  “Well?” she prompted.

  He swallowed, his expression genuinely startled. “It’s good. I mean, really good.”

  She couldn’t halt her burst of laughter. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

  He went hunter still, the air heating. A Sentinel always ran hotter than norms, and when their passions were aroused they could actually affect the temperature.

  A blast of lust raced through Bailey.

  God, the memory of having that hot, hard-as-steel body pressing her into a mattress was something she’d battled against on a nightly basis.

  “Your eyes shimmer like the finest emeralds in the candlelight,” he murmured, his voice a soft caress.

  Her fork dropped onto the plate, her body instinctively swaying forward.

  Mika had been her one and only lover.

  And even after all these years, he still could make her shiver with need.

  Dangerous . . .

  The voice whispered through her mind, and with a tiny gasp she forced herself to sit back in her chair.

  God. What was wrong with her?

  She’d built a new life for herself. It would be the worst sort of stupidity to open herself up to more pain.

  “Tell me about the map,” she abruptly demanded.

  Just for a second his beautiful face hardened, as if he were considering the pleasure
of knocking the table out of the way and hauling her into his arms.

  Then, with an obvious effort, he leashed his raw desire, pulling the map out of his back pocket to toss it on the table.

  “Here.”

  She reached for the folded paper, recognizing the glossy picture on the front as one she’d seen at a dozen gas stations between the bayou and Lafayette.

  “You can buy this anywhere.” She spread open the map to see the large X that had been marked at a location not far from her cottage. “It’s not going to be much help.”

  “Smell it.”

  She arched her brows. “Are you serious?”

  He sent her a wry glance. “Always.”

  Well, that was true enough.

  Even when they were young, Mika had been a somber, oddly aloof young man. In part because it was his natural demeanor. But she suspected that the death of his mother when he was just five had added to his air of reserve.

  Only when he was with her had he ever revealed his warm, unexpectedly tender side. The knowledge had always made her feel special.

  She grimaced. A pain slicing through her heart.

  Okay. Not going down that road.

  Instead she lifted the map to her nose and sniffed.

  “It smells like ethanol,” she murmured, sending Mika a startled glance. “Antiseptic?”

  “That’s my guess.”

  “Why would . . .” Her baffled words came to an abrupt halt as she shoved herself to her feet, glaring at Mika in pained disbelief. Suddenly she understood why he was at her cabin. And it had nothing to do with old times, or the crushing desire that still held her in its grip. “Oh, my God. You think I gave Jacob this map?”

  “Not anymore.” He grimaced, pushing himself upright. “You’re a terrible liar.”

  “Screw you.”

  Tossing the map at his face, she whirled to head into the narrow living room that barely had enough space for her battered sofa and one easy chair that was shoved next to the bookcase that was overflowing with her precious collection.

  Places came and went, even people. But her books always traveled with her.

  As a child she’d learned they were the one thing she could depend on in her crazy, unpredictable life.

  She’d reached the middle of the room when Mika grabbed her arm and turned her to face him.