Authors: Alexandra Ivy,Rebecca Zanetti,Dianne Duvall
Tags: #Fantasy, #Romance
On the Hunt (3 page)
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.
“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.
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