On the Hunt (8 page)

Craziness.

Still trying to accept the cataclysmic shift in her world, Bailey caught the unmistakable smell of blood.

A high-blood was injured.

Keeping a hold of her phone, she headed out of the kitchen, already suspecting who she would see as she stepped into the early-morning sunshine.

The young man standing at the edge of the barrier had light brown hair that fell onto his forehead and a bluntly carved face that was bloody and bruised from a recent beating.

His gangly body was equally wounded, the loose shirt and cargo pants covered in filth.

Christ. He looked like he’d been tortured.

Sliding her cell phone into her pocket, she took a step forward.

“Jacob?” she breathed. “Who did this to you?”

He held up his hand, pressing it against the shield. “I need your help.”

She took another step forward. “What happened?”

He licked his busted lips, one eye nearly swollen shut. “Can I come in?”

Bailey twisted her hands together, her every instinct urging to her rush to Jacob and bring him into her home so she could heal him.

It was what she did. What she’d been born to do.

Only her promise to Mika kept her standing in place.

“Tell me how you were injured,” she instead urged.

“I was attacked.”

“By who?”

“I . . .” His gaze shifted to the side, almost as if he was looking for someone hidden among the nearby trees. Shit. Was he afraid he was being followed? “The Brotherhood.”

She blinked in shock.

She’d heard of the secret society that supposedly hated high-bloods, but she’d never realized there were any in this area.

“Why would they attack you?”

“Please, I really need to be healed.”

Bailey shook her head, the hair standing up on her nape at the edge of desperation in Jacob’s voice.

“I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Jacob sucked in a sharp breath. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t let you into my home until my friend returns,” she said. “He wants to speak with you.”

“I can’t wait.” Jacob smacked his hand against the barrier, his panic a tangible force in the air. “I’ll die.”

Bailey stepped back, her brows drawing together at the boy’s strange behavior.

It was true he was wounded. And no doubt in pain.

But he wasn’t near death.

“No, you won’t.”

There was a rustle in the undergrowth before a man stepped out of the trees and pressed a gun to Jacob’s temple.

“Yes, he will.”

Bailey’s heart thundered in her chest, her wide-eyed gaze taking in the stranger.

He was medium height and medium weight with mud-brown eyes and black hair that was neatly combed from his square face. Dressed in a pair of khaki slacks and a pressed cotton shirt, he looked more like a politician than a cult fanatic.

Well, as long as you didn’t bother to notice he was holding a gun to the head of a poor, innocent boy.

“Who are you?” she rasped.

“I don’t give my name to freaks,” he said with patent disdain. Creep. Then he lifted his free hand, gesturing toward her. “Come here.”

Her mind raced.

She didn’t know why they were there, or what they wanted from her, but she knew it couldn’t be good.

Her only hope was that she could keep the bastard distracted long enough for Mika to return.

“Screw you,” she muttered.

Soul-deep hatred glowed in the man’s eyes. The sort of hatred that allowed him to view her as an object in need of destruction, not a real person.

“Do it, or the boy dies.”

“No.” She forced herself to breathe even as her stomach twisted with dread. God almighty, could she truly stand there and watch the man kill Jacob just to protect herself? “Why are you doing this?”

“You have something we need,” he said.

She frowned. What the hell would the Brotherhood need from her?

And how was Jacob involved?

“I can’t heal humans.”

A strangely mocking smile twisted the stranger’s lips. “You would be surprised.” He grabbed Jacob’s hair and tilted the boy’s head back, placing the gun directly beneath his chin. As if he felt the need to make the threat more dramatic. “Now, make your choice. Do you come with us nicely or does the boy die?”

As if there was a choice?

It didn’t matter what she’d promised to Mika. Or even that she knew she was being manipulated.

She was a healer.

It was profoundly, utterly impossible for her to stand and watch someone being harmed.

“I’m coming,” she said, resentfully moving forward.

Stepping through the barrier, Bailey wasn’t surprised when two more men appeared from the trees. Dressed in matching jeans and muscle shirts, they had identical arrow tattoos on the side of their thick necks.

Bailey grimaced. She assumed the Bobbsey Twins were the muscle of the nasty trio.

They hurried forward to grab her arms in a painful grip.

“Check her for a phone,” the leader commanded. “We don’t want to be followed.”

Bailey swallowed a groan. Dammit. She’d been depending on that phone to help Mika locate her position.

She didn’t bother to struggle as one of the men ran his hand over her dress, swiftly locating her phone and tossing it into a clump of weeds.

What was the point?

It wasn’t as if she could fight off the three grown men, even if they were human.

Besides, as long as they held a gun to Jacob’s head, they had her between a rock and a hard place.

“Take her to Limburg.”

Bailey parted her lips to demand to know who Limburg was, but before she could speak she saw the flash of a hand, then the world went black as the fist connected directly with her chin.

When Bailey woke, she knew two things.

One: She was in a dark, cramped room that reeked of rotting fish.

And two: She had the headache from hell.

Lying flat on her back, it took a painful minute to remember exactly why she was waking in a strange place with a throbbing brain.

The Brotherhood goon had knocked her out.

The bastard.

Rubbing her chin, she slowly forced herself to a sitting position.

“Damn,” she muttered, forced to lean back against the moldy cement wall as her head began to spin.

“Are you okay?” a voice whispered from the darkness.

She frowned, waiting for her eyes to adjust.

She couldn’t see in the dark like a Sentinel, but there was enough sunlight creeping beneath the heavy steel door to allow her to make out the wooden pallets shoved in one corner and the stacks of empty crates that threatened to topple over.

“Jacob?” she called softly.

“I’m here.”

The young man stepped from behind the crates, moving to squat beside her.

Bailey took a close inventory of his face. His eye was only slightly swollen and most of the bruises had begun to fade.

Which meant that she’d been out around three hours.

“Where are we?” she demanded.

Jacob grimaced, glancing around the small space. “It’s a warehouse near the Gulf.”

Bailey didn’t know what she was expecting, but it wasn’t that.

“Why would they bring us here?”

“I think they’re waiting for a boat to arrive.”

“You mean the Brotherhood?”

“Yes.”

Bailey lowered her hand from her aching jaw, stabbing her companion with a suspicious glare.

From the beginning she’d assumed that Jacob was a victim. Now she wasn’t nearly so certain.

“You know them,” she accused.

“No.” He halted, grimacing as he heaved a sigh. Sentinels could technically tell a falsehood, but they were trained from the second that they entered the monastery that lying held dire consequences. Of course, that didn’t mean that they always shared all the info. Or that they couldn’t twist the truth until it was nearly unrecognizable. “I mean, I don’t know all of them,” he at last muttered.

“Which one do you know?”

“The leader. He goes by the name Limburg.” Even in the darkness Bailey could make out the young Sentinel’s sick expression. “He’s my father.”

She made a sound of shock before her brows abruptly drew together in confusion.

“I thought your father was dead?”

“Why would you think that?”

She struggled to think through the fog of pain that still clouded her mind.

“The Sentinels tracked down the man who left you at Valhalla.”

“Oh.” He gave a shake of his head. “That wasn’t my father; it was my uncle.” He paused, glancing toward the steel door as he leaned toward her. “You’re sure he’s dead?” he asked in a low voice.

Was Jacob indicating that there were guards outside the door?

Bailey grimaced, not for the first time wishing she possessed the enhanced senses of a Sentinel.

“Yes.”

“Damn.” Genuine regret touched Jacob’s face. “They told me he was. But I’d hoped—”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured as his words trailed away.

He gave a slow shake of his head. “It’s okay. We weren’t that close,” he said. “My uncle wasn’t exactly accepted into the Benson clan once he confessed he was a high-blood.” Holding out his arm, he unfastened the wide leather band. Then, turning over his arm, he revealed the small black arrow that was tattooed onto his inner wrist. “See?”

Bailey had a vague memory of similar tattoos on the goons who’d grabbed her.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“It’s the mark of the Brotherhood,” Jacob explained. “My family has been loyal members since the society first started.” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “We’re like royalty.”

Oh . . . hell.

Bailey grimaced. “It must have been a shock when your uncle and then you turned out to be high-bloods.”

Jacob abruptly wrapped his arms around his upper body, as if trying to protect himself from the pain of his memories.

“No one knew I was different,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “Not until—”

Her hand instinctively reached out to lightly touch his arm, allowing the power of her healing to ease his distress.

She might not yet be entirely convinced he wasn’t playing some game with her, but she wouldn’t withhold her skill. Not if she could help.

“What happened, Jacob?”

Jacob shuddered beneath her touch, breathing out a small sigh of relief.

“I was in training.” His gaze was fixed on the far wall, his expression distant as he allowed his memories to return. “Despite my size I was always stronger and faster than the other kids. My father was so proud, telling everyone that it was our pure breeding that made me win every competition.” A sudden heat filled the air as Jacob’s pain shifted to anger. “Then one day I accidentally tossed one of my opponents through a door. I nearly killed him. My father had to admit that it wasn’t superior genes that made me better than the other students.”

It wasn’t an unusual story.

Many boys might realize they were stronger or faster than other kids, but it wasn’t until they’d accidentally injured or even killed someone that they understood how truly different they were from others.

“So he had you taken to Valhalla?” she asked softly.

“Not hardly.” Without warning, Jacob surged upright, his face grim. “He intended to kill me.”

Bailey wasn’t naïve.

As a healer she’d seen the damage that people could do to one another.

But the thought of a father willingly destroying his own son just because he was a high-blood . . .

“Good God,” she breathed.

Jacob suddenly looked far older in the darkness, his lips twisting with a humorless smile.

Sometimes age had nothing to do with how many years a person had been on the earth.

“Thankfully my father was so shamed by the thought he could have created a monster, he was determined to execute me in a grand ceremony,” he explained, his voice harsh. “It was supposed to cleanse the stain from our family honor.”

Bailey gave a sad shake of her head. “The bastard.”

Jacob shrugged. “At least it gave my uncle the opportunity to hear what was happening. He managed to sneak me out of the cellar where I’d been locked away and take me to Valhalla. It was the one place not even my father could get his hands on me.”

And now the uncle who had saved him was dead.

Poor Jacob.

“What about your mother?” she asked, unable to bear the thought that he was all alone. Although she rarely saw her parents, she knew deep in her heart if she truly needed them, they would come. “Surely she must have tried to stop your father?”

“I never knew her. My father refused to even tell me her name.” Jacob once again glanced toward the door before he turned his attention back to her. “Until now.”

Bailey drew in a slow, deep breath. Her jaw still ached and the stench from the fish was making her stomach queasy, but her attention was locked on Jacob.

“What changed?” she forced herself to ask even as she suspected she didn’t want to know the answer.

“A few days ago my father contacted me, demanding that we meet.”

The crazy-ass father had contacted him after he’d planned to murder him in a grand ceremony?

Ballsy.

“How did he know how to find you?”

Jacob shrugged. “I’m not sure, but I suspect they have spies in Valhalla.”

Bailey gave a low snort at the thought of anyone being able to infiltrate Valhalla.

Not only was it protected behind layers of magic, but nothing got past the Sentinels. Hell, you couldn’t sneeze without it being captured on camera.

Still, she needed to let Wolfe know that the Brotherhood had some means of tracking Jacob.

The suspicion he might have a potential security leak was going to make the Tagos . . .

She grimaced at the mere thought.

It wasn’t going to be pretty.

“You didn’t go, did you?” she instead demanded.

“I’m not an idiot. As far as I was concerned, Limburg stopped being my father when he condemned me to death.”

“No one would blame you, Jacob,” she said, understanding it had to be confusing.

The parent/child relationship was difficult enough without adding in a planned homicide.

Jacob hunched a shoulder. “I hoped he would leave me alone, but he sent me a message that said he was holding my mother hostage.”

“Hostage?”

“It was the only way he could force me to meet with him.” Jacob clenched his hands at his side. “He said he’d kill her if I didn’t do as he said.”

“Dear Lord.” Bailey shook her head. The man was pure evil. “And he calls you a monster?”

“What else would you call a freak of nature?” a male voice demanded as the steel door was thrust open.

Bailey tensed as a middle-aged man stepped into the room, his frail body covered by a loose robe.

Her immediate thought was that the man was ill.

The knowledge didn’t come from her healer skills.

It was obvious by the thinness that had nothing to do with the latest diet and the way the jowls sagged from the once round face. His skin was pasty and his head bald from his past radiation treatments.

The dark, sunken eyes, however, remained bright with a cunning intelligence as he studied her with a disdainful curl of his lips.

Right behind him was the jackass who’d punched her in the face.

Her gaze returned to the older man. Despite his age and fragile health, he was by far the more dangerous of the two.

“Who are you?” she rasped.

“Limburg.” His smile was mocking. “Jacob’s father and your new master.”

 

 

Mika slammed into the invisible barrier with enough force to rattle his teeth, his heart beating at a frantic pace.

“Bailey, let us through,” he called, raising his hand to bang it against the shield. “Bailey.”

Wolfe halted at his side, his dark face grim. “She isn’t in the cottage.”

“Damn.” Fear blasted through him. The sort of fear that could cripple a man. “I told her to stay behind the barrier,” he growled. “She promised.”

Wolfe made a swift sweep of the area, pausing to crouch down at the edge of the trees.

“There were humans here,” he murmured; then with a hiss, he reached into a clump of trees and pulled out a cell phone. “Is this Bailey’s?”

Mika’s blood ran cold as he recognized the distinctive pink case.

“They have her,” he rasped.

“We’ll find her,” Wolfe said, his words a rough pledge. Rising to his feet, he moved to lay a hand on Mika’s shoulder, offering his comfort before he was turning to jog back toward the narrow road. “This way.”

Mika took a moment to suck in a deep breath.

His every instinct screamed for blood. He wanted the bastards who took Bailey in his hands so he could squeeze the life from them. Then he would rip their carcasses into small pieces and toss them into the bayou as gator food.

It was a dangerous, explosive anger that could too easily cloud his mind.

Bailey needed him.

Until he found her, he would have to shove his terrified fury to the back of his mind.

He was a hunter.

Cold. Ruthless. Unstoppable.

Focusing on his finely honed skills, Mika jogged over the spongy ground to join Wolfe as the Tagos studied the tire tracks that were visible in the mud.

“Two cars,” he said. “They headed south.”

“Can you follow their trail?”

Wolfe grimaced. “No. Trying to pick out one particular scent in this area is like finding a needle in a haystack.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’ll call for backup.”

Mika’s heart twisted with an agony that was so profound it was a wonder it didn’t strike him dead.

“I can’t lose her, Wolfe,” he said, his voice not entirely steady. “It’ll break me.”

There was a faint pop, as if the air pressure had just shifted, then a strange, larva-like man abruptly appeared in the middle of the road.

“If you care so much, Sentinel, then why didn’t you protect her?”

Mika had his gun aimed and his finger on the trigger when Wolfe lightly touched his arm.

The Tagos’s gaze never wavered from the peculiar creature. “Boggs,” he muttered, his voice carefully stripped of emotion.

Mika grudgingly lowered his weapon. He’d heard of Boggs, of course.

The mysterious doppelgänger was renowned for his ability to see glimpses of the past and the future.

He was also rumored to travel around the world collecting folk stories that related to the high-bloods.

“The Keeper of Tales?” he demanded, puzzled what would bring the elusive man to the middle of the swamp.

And what his connection was to Bailey.

“I warned her,” Boggs muttered. “I told her she would be betrayed.”

Mika’s brows snapped together. “Betrayed by who?”

Boggs’s weirdly unformed features twisted with anger. “Jacob.”

Damn. If Bailey weren’t in danger, Mika might have felt a stab of regret.

Sentinels were rare. To lose one to treachery truly hurt.

Wolfe was clearly thinking the same thing.

“He’s a traitor?” the Tagos demanded.

The creature shrugged, his robe thankfully hiding the thin body beneath.

“Not by choice, but that doesn’t help Bailey.”

Mika shook his head. They could deal with Jacob later.

“Where did they take her?”

The pure white eyes turned in his direction despite the fact he was supposed to be blind.