On the Hunt Read online

  It was difficult to decide what was more aggravating.

  The swarm of bugs that attacked without warning.

  The goopy mud that clung to her shoes.

  Or the air that was so thick with humidity that breathing was an Olympic sport.

  August in the swamps of Louisiana was a lesson in endurance.

  Still, there were bonuses to choosing the area for a temporary home, Bailey Morrell reminded herself as she ran her fingers through her short mop of blond curls that were already clinging to her damp skin.

  It was isolated. Dangerous for humans. And best of all, a local witch had wrapped her small cabin and the surrounding grounds in a powerful layer of magic that meant no one could enter without her allowing them through.

  A perfect place to set up her tiny clinic to help those high-bloods who preferred to avoid the more formal healers.

  Like the young man standing beside her.

  She frowned as she glanced at Jacob, no last name given.

  As a healer she possessed the rare talent of being able to sense when a high-blood was injured or sick in the local vicinity. Which was what had led her from her cottage yesterday morning to discover Jacob staggering along the deserted road that ran next to the bayou.

  She’d been horrified to see his battered and bruised body. Although he was still young and hadn’t yet received the tattoos that would offer him protection, he was a potential guardian Sentinel. Which meant that he could endure ten times the battering to his body than a normal human could.

  For him to be so grievously injured meant he’d taken one hell of a beating.

  Not that the acolyte would tell her what had happened.

  And she hadn’t probed.

  That was her mantra.

  Live and let live.

  Now, however, she couldn’t help but try to convince the boy he was making a mistake.

  Despite her healing, he remained dangerously weak. He needed rest and plenty of good food to complete his recovery.

  Gently smoothing the light brown hair from his forehead, she studied him with a worried gaze.

  “Jacob, I don’t think you’re strong enough to leave,” she said in soft tones.

  He grimaced, one eye swollen and his bottom lip split.

  “I have to,” he muttered.

  “If you’re worried about the monks, I could contact them and explain—”

  “No.” Jacob grabbed her arm, his panic making him clutch her hard enough to bruise her pale skin. She winced, and Jacob instantly eased his grip, but his distress remained. “Please. I can’t face them. Not yet.”

  Her lips flattened. Unlike those healers who worked for Valhalla, she wouldn’t force him back to the monastery.

  “Where will you go?” she instead demanded.

  “I have a . . .” He paused, his gaze shifting away in a gesture that warned he was about to lie. “Friend I can stay with.”

  Her hand cupped his cheek, her healing power naturally flowing from her palm into his still-weak body.

  “Jacob, if you’re in trouble you can tell me.”

  He shuddered, his shoulders hunched. “I can’t,” he whispered so softly she barely caught the words.

  “I swear that whatever you tell me won’t go any further, and I might be able to help,” she assured him.

  “I—”

  “Tell me,” she urged when his words trailed away.

  He slowly squared his shoulders. “I have something I must do first.”

  Bailey didn’t like the grim edge in his voice.

  Was he planning to exact revenge on whoever had attacked him?

  Reaching into the pocket of her denim shorts, she pulled out a crumpled business card that was printed with her cell number. She always kept them handy.

  “Here’s my number,” she said, pressing the card into his hand. “You can call me day or night.”

  He studied the card, the tension that hummed around him a tangible force.

  “You’ll come for me?” he demanded, his voice low, intense.

  A strange chill inched down Bailey’s spine as she lowered her hand. There was something going on with this young man.

  But what?

  “Always,” she promised.

  Far from comforting the Sentinel, her words seemed to add to his distress.

  “I have to go,” he muttered, taking a quick step forward.

  “Jacob.” She halted his hurried retreat.

  He grudgingly halted. “Yes?”

  “Sometimes it’s hard to know what’s right or wrong,” she told him in soft tones. “Listen to your heart.”

  He gave a sad sigh. “That’s what I’m doing.”

  Without giving her the opportunity to respond, Jacob stepped through the magical barrier and swiftly disappeared in the thick foliage.

  Bailey stood there for a long moment, her heart troubled.

  She wished she could do more, but she wasn’t going to force Jacob to stay.

  He was old enough to make his own decisions.

  Finally accepting Jacob wasn’t going to have a change of heart and return, Bailey headed toward the nearby town to replenish the food she’d used during her patient’s short visit.

  Although calling Gilford a town was being extremely generous.

  There was nothing beyond a dozen houses and handful of shops that were huddled near the vast monastery. The monks and their students were remarkably self-sufficient, but they did hire a few local workers.

  And, of course, there were those hardy souls who called the swamps home. They depended on the stores in Gilford when they were in need of supplies.

  Two hours later she was done with her shopping and had stopped by the home of a local witch who had become a friend since Bailey had arrived in the area several months before.

  Walking back to her cottage along the narrow path, she was skirting the treacherous edge of a bog when the sound of a male voice filled the air.

  “Bonjour, Bailey.”

  Pressing a hand to her racing heart, she whirled around to glare at the man who was standing only a few feet away.

  For a brief second Bailey was staring at an exact replica of herself.

  The same untidy halo of pale curls. The same heart-shaped face. The same slender figure that was casually dressed in white cotton shorts and a red halter-top.

  Only the eyes were different.

  While hers were a clear mint green, the creature standing in front of her had eyes of pure white that glowed with a frightening power.

  “Boggs.” She gave a shake of her head. “You startled me.”

  There was a shimmer before her image was replaced by a pale, hairless man who stood nearly six feet tall. His features looked as if they’d only been half-formed, giving him the creepy appearance of a larva while his thin body was covered by a heavy robe.

  The eyes remained white even as the power faded, revealing he was completely blind.

  Not that Boggs needed his eyes to see.

  As a doppelgänger he was capable of sensing another person’s essence, allowing him to take their shape for a limited period of time.

  He also had the ability to touch an object to have it “whisper” to him. She wasn’t sure what that meant beyond the fact he would have a glimpse into the past or the future, or even the present. And that he couldn’t control what he could hear.

  Needless to say, his odd appearance and strange talents didn’t make him particularly popular. Not even among the high-bloods who took weird to a new level.

  Bailey, however, enjoyed his sporadic visits to the swamps.

  Like her, Boggs had never found a place at Valhalla. They were both outsiders who enjoyed a life without rules and expectations.

  Free spirits.

  “Did you miss me?” the doppelgänger demanded.

  She gave a toss of her silvery curls. “I missed beating the pants off you at chess.”

  Something that might have been humor twisted the half-formed features.

  �
�You don’t need to use chess to get my pants off, pet.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t start,” she warned. She knew Boggs was just teasing, but she didn’t flirt.

  Not with anyone.

  Not since . . .

  She slammed the door on the treacherous thought.

  Nope. She was soooo not going there.

  “A pity,” he murmured.

  She reached into one of her bags and pulled out an apple, tossing it in Boggs’s direction.

  Despite being blind, he easily grabbed the fruit out of the air and took a bite.

  “Have you been out saving the world?” she asked. The doppelgänger claimed that he’d recently given information to end a threat by a crazed necromancer.

  He shrugged. “Always.”

  “So what brings you here?”

  Boggs took time to finish the apple before he tossed the core toward the thick line of cypress trees.

  “I’ve missed your companionship,” he said, his fingers smoothing down the front of his robe as he seemed to search for the appropriate words. “And—”

  “No,” Bailey sharply interrupted, abruptly sensing he was about to share a vision. It wasn’t that she was morally opposed to psychics and clairvoyants. They often prevented tragedies for high-bloods. But she preferred to live her life without a safety net. “I’ve told you. No sneak peeks into the future. I like to be surprised.”

  Boggs made a sound of annoyance, clearly desperate to warn her. “You must take great care, Bailey.”

  “Boggs—”

  “One that you trust will betray you,” he said in a rush.

  Bailey slapped her hands over her ears. “Stop.”

  Boggs held up his slender hands in a gesture of defeat. “So stubborn,” he muttered.

  “Yeah, I’ve been told that,” she admitted wryly. More times than she wanted to acknowledge. “Do you want to join me for dinner?”

  “Not tonight,” Boggs said, his hand reaching out to lightly touch a curl that rested against her cheek. “Take care, pet. Danger stalks you.”

  With his unwelcome warning delivered, Boggs stepped back, and with his usual love for drama, he spread his arms and simply disappeared.

  Bailey gave a shake of her head.

  As far as she knew, Boggs was the only high-blood who could actually perform that little trick.

  Even the guardian Sentinels who could use their magic to travel in a blink of an eye had to use copper posts that transported them from one monastery to another.

  None of them could just . . . poof.

  Shifting the bags of groceries in her arms, she continued around the bog, her feet sinking into the mossy ground as she at last caught sight of her small cottage, which was nearly lost in the gathering shadows.

  She’d stayed in town longer than she’d intended, she abruptly realized.

  Being a high-blood meant that she was harder to kill than a normal human, but she didn’t possess the same strength as a Sentinel. There were plenty of things that crept through the swamp at night that could hurt her.

  She picked up her pace, frowning as a strange prickle of alarm raced through her.

  What was wrong with her?

  It was one thing to be sensible enough to avoid unnecessary danger, and another to suddenly feel as if she were being stalked.

  “Get a grip, Bailey,” she muttered, beneath her breath. “It’s only because of Boggs and his creepy warnings. . . .”

  Her words trailed away as she heard a distinct rustle in the underbrush.

  The wind?

  An animal?

  A ghost?

  She shivered, judging the distance between herself and the cottage.

  Too far to make it beyond the barrier if she was actually being hunted.

  Turning, she continued to back toward the protective shield while scanning for any hidden intruders.

  “Who’s there?” she called out, her voice not entirely steady. “Show yourself.”

  Nothing moved beyond a startled squirrel that darted into a patch of milkweed, and the stirring of the thick Spanish moss as a sluggish breeze wound its way through the trees.

  Okay. She was being ridiculous.

  There was nothing but bugs and gators and . . .

  An arm abruptly wrapped around her from behind, jerking her against a rock-hard body.

  Bailey dropped the grocery bags to the ground, her lips parting to scream. Before she could make a sound, however, a hand was pressed over her mouth, stifling her cry of fear.

  “Gotcha,” a male voice whispered in her ear.

  She sucked in a shocked breath, her heart coming to a perfect, painful halt.

  Shit. She recognized that voice.

  “Mika.”

  Chapter Two

  Mika’s lips twisted in a wry smile. He hadn’t missed the dismay in Bailey’s muffled voice.

  Of course, to be fair, he hadn’t been overjoyed when he followed the trail into the swamp and caught the sweet scent of jasmine.

  The delicate fragrance might have been native to this particular area of the swamp. And even if it wasn’t, there could always be some random woman wearing perfume.

  There were a dozen explanations. But he knew the truth.

  The scent didn’t come from a plant or a bottle.

  It was a unique, intoxicating aroma that could only belong to Bailey Morrell.

  Damn.

  He’d nearly turned on his heel and walked away.

  Ten years ago, this female had ripped out his heart and stomped on it. Did he really want to endure some awkward reunion that was bound to end with yet another night of pacing the floor?

  Hell no.

  But then the realization of where they were had penetrated his shock.

  Barely aware he was moving, he’d tracked the scent through the thick bogs until he reached a small clearing.

  There.

  His heart slammed with painful recognition.

  Nothing had changed.

  The curls that were so pale they looked silver in the gathering shadows remained a riotous, untamed halo around her head. Her pretty heart-shaped face with the wide, mint green eyes and slightly uptilted nose still gave her the image of a charming urchin. And her body remained as slender and perfectly curved as the last time he’d seen her.

  A dangerous brew of regret and lust and yearning churned through him, but it was the overriding anger at the knowledge she was waltzing through the swamp as if nothing could hurt her that won top billing on his emotional meter.

  Now, with his arm wrapped around her and his hand pressed against her mouth, he continued to whisper directly in her ear.

  “Hello, Bailey.” He smiled as he felt her shiver. It wasn’t fear. It was the same combustible awareness that was searing through him. “It’s been a long time.”

  For a gut-wrenching second Mika sensed the beautiful healer soften in his arms, her back pressed intimately against his chest as his hand rested on the flat plane of her stomach, which was left bare by the indecently skimpy halter-top.

  A moan lodged in his throat, a brutal need that he hadn’t felt for ten long years clenching his body.

  He desperately wanted to bury his face in the satin halo of jasmine-scented curls while his hand slid beneath the teeny-tiny top to cup the soft swell of her breast.

  But before he could give in to the madness, Bailey was suddenly squirming against him, grabbing his wrist to tug his fingers from her mouth.

  “Let me go,” she commanded.

  Instantly Mika released his arm, stepping back to watch as Bailey spun around to study him with a wary frown.

  She should be worried, he acknowledged, folding his arms over his chest.

  The realization that she was so lacking in concern for her own safety was enough to make him nuts.

  “What are you doing here?” he abruptly demanded.

  Her lips thinned. “I live here.”

  His narrowed glare shifted toward the cottage. “Alone?”

 
“None of your business,” she snapped.

  It really, really wasn’t, but that didn’t stop the urgent need to know.

  “It’s a simple question.” His voice was carefully stripped of emotion and his expression unreadable.

  “Yes, I live alone.” She impatiently brushed a silvery curl from her cheek. “Satisfied?”

  He ignored the flare of vicious pleasure at the confession. The days when he had the right to consider this female as his were in the past.

  Instead, he concentrated on the confirmation she was indeed living in this isolated space without protection.

  “Not nearly,” he growled. “You’ve always been impetuous and bullheaded.”

  Her brows snapped together. “Hey—”

  “But to choose to live alone in the middle of the swamp is stupidly reckless even for you,” he continued in grim tones.

  “Great.” With a glare that could strip paint off a wall, she turned to head toward the cottage. “A real pleasure to see you again, Mika.”

  Shit. He was going about this all wrong.

  As usual.

  Being a Sentinel meant that he was a natural leader who made snap decisions and expected others to follow his orders.

  This female, on the other hand, had a perpetual allergy to any hint of authority.

  Oil and water.

  “Bailey.”

  She halted to glance over her shoulder. “We’ve had this conversation. I’m not interested in going through it again.”

  He moved until he was standing directly in front of her. “It bothers you that I’m worried about you?”

  She met his steady gaze, her hands on her hips. She was half his size and quarter of his weight, but she never backed down from anyone.

  Not ever.

  “It bothers me that you think I can’t be trusted to make my own decisions for my life,” she said.

  He grimaced, shoving his hand through his dark hair, which he’d left loose to fall past his shoulders. She had a point, but dammit . . . he better than anyone knew that this woman too often allowed her heart to lead her head.

  Her unwavering belief in the goodness of others might be a large part of her charm, but it left her far too vulnerable.

  “All I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy,” he said gruffly.