The Tracker's Secret: Sunderverse (Mate Tracker Book 2) by Ingrid Seymour (the gingerbread man read aloud .txt) 📗

him represented a challenge to her. Someone to tame and keep her interest. Most of the time, she didn’t have a second date with the men she went out with. They bored her that quickly. I suspected this was one of the reasons she didn’t want me to track her mate. She was afraid he would be a mellow man, the kind you settled for because he would make a good, compliant husband. And she wasn’t ready to settle. Not by a long shot.

Oh, this doesn’t bode well.

We followed Damien to his car, which turned out to be a two-seater black Mercedes. Clearly, he hadn’t planned on giving me a ride.

I tugged on Rosalina’s arm and whispered in her ear. “Maybe you should ride with me.”

“It’s fine. It’ll give me a chance to talk to him and get the scoop about this party.”

She didn’t fool me. She was aching to be alone with Damien. Why did dangerous men have this effect on women? I thought about my own dangerous man and wondered what he was up to. Red perked up as I thought of Jake. My wolf definitely had the hots for him. No surprise there.

As the mage opened the passenger door for Rosalina, I rushed to my Camaro and started it. The engine roared to life. I patted the dashboard. “Good, baby.”

It was still running in tiptop shape. Dad and I had done an excellent job fixing it up. Still, I should take it for a general checkup before long. Old cars needed extra TLC to keep them going.

Damien sped out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell. I stepped on the gas and caught up with him, determined not to let him lose me, if that was his intention. Thirty minutes later, however, we ended up at the address spelled out on the invitation, an affluent neighborhood in Ballwin.

The mansion was one of the most modern I’d ever seen. It was three stories tall, built of concrete and glass, appearing more like an office building than anyone’s home. The party was taking place on the second floor, judging by the purple strobe light that refracted through the glass walls. Dark, dancing silhouettes blinked to life with the light.

We parked in the massive circular driveway and walked up to the front steps. They ran along the side of the house, flanked by concrete planters with well-kept flowers and shrubs, and led to the second floor and a thick glass door that slid open as we stepped in front of it.

A mean-looking guy with a chest as wide as Damien’s refrigerator took our invitations and examined them closely. After pressing them against a UV reader, he scanned us up and down, giving me the feeling that he could see right through our clothes. I squirmed on the spot, biting my lower lip. His inquiring eyes combined with the loud music and strobing lights made my entire body feel like an overfilled water balloon, thin-skinned, and ready to burst.

Damien bore the man’s scrutiny with irritation, but he waited until the man gave us the go-ahead, then strolled forward, Rosalina’s arm tucked under his. I followed behind like the scaredy-cat that I was.

We went around a long wall hung with abstract art set in dark metal frames, then came out on the other side into a large room surrounded by glass walls on three sides. The area was set up more like a club, not a home. In the center of the room, a dance floor filled with people drew my eye. It was hard to miss, considering the large disco ball twirling above and the spotlights dancing in erratic patterns. The bass of dance music thudded in my chest.

Couples in all states of ecstasy and disrobement danced in suggestive ways, grinding their hips together and flat-out making out as if it was the end of the world and all the fun had to be had right then and there. Heat warmed up my cheeks as I stared at a sexy couple pawing each other in the most intimate places.

I jerked my gaze in the direction of the bar at the end of the room. The counter appeared to be made out of ice. It shone with blue light from within and had sculpted ends in the shape of swans. Bottle-filled shelves lined the back wall. I started drifting in that direction, wanting to touch it and, of course, get a drink, when Damien put a hand on my shoulder and whispered in my ear.

“I’ll talk to my friend, then I’ll introduce you to him. Make yourself comfortable for now.”

I nodded and glanced around nervously, wondering who this mysterious friend could be, but I had no clue since Damien was being cagey. Either way, the only thing that could take the edge off right now would be something strong to drink, and I intended to get it.

Rolling my shoulders as if I were going to battle, I walked toward the bar. As I went, I caught the attention of two men standing with their backs against the bar top, whiskeys in hand. I held their gazes for an instant, acting way braver than I felt. They were werewolves, I could tell from their musk and some other instinct that hadn’t been there before.

With my new scent disguised, they would assume I was a Stale, which was nearly as bad as them knowing I was a runt. I made sure to send all the stay-away-from-me vibes that I could, and found an open spot at the bar, far away from them.

I laid my hands on the clear counter, expecting it to be cold, but it wasn’t made of ice. It was glass. I had no idea how something like that could be constructed. It was impressive. I ran my hands over the smooth surface and the intricate edge, which looked like a flower chain. I’d never seen anything like it before.

I waved one of the bartenders over. There were three