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

“You don’t have to worry about that today,” he said. “Your wolf will be content. Now, go. I have a long day ahead of me.”

He picked his phone up and rushed out of the room in the direction of his study.

I headed toward the front door, telling myself not to be dissatisfied. He’d said my wolf would be content today, and he sounded certain about it, so I had to trust him. He was the expert, after all. This temporary reprieve was more than I could ask for from someone who didn’t owe me anything.

I walked with my head down, deep in thought, and reached the front door. It slid open on its own to let me out. I took a step forward and, too late, noticed a figure standing outside. Startled, I halted and gave a yelp of surprise. Then the figure lunged forward—claws extended, fangs dripping—and attacked.

Chapter 18

THE CREATURE SMASHED into me, wrapping its arms around my waist, and pushing me against the wall that faced the entrance. My back banged painfully against it. Paintings fell from their hooks and crashed to the floor. I crashed down too, the creature falling on top of me, its sharp claws at my throat.

“Where issss it? Give it to me,” it hissed.

I cringed, trying to shrink and melt into the floor. I stared at its disfigured face, terrified. The features were drawn back, made sharp and savage. The eyes were all black, huge voids ready to swallow me whole. The lips were pale and thin, set in a gray face that appeared cracked, like ancient stone.

Vampire!

The word hit me like a fist to the chest. I was dead. There was no way I could survive a vamp’s attack. Something about the creature seemed familiar. I knew this vamp, but I couldn’t remember from where. An overpowering scent wafted from her, something like rot and death with a sprinkle of sourness.

“Give it to me,” she hissed again. “Or I’ll drain you dry.”

Okay, Red, right now would be a great time to show yourself.

My body began to tremble all over, my skin rippling strangely.

Good girl. Now, shift!

Nothing happened. Not even my claws came out. Really?

Bad time to take a freaking holiday, you erratic bitch!

Well, this was going to have to be a groveling kind of task. “P-please don’t hurt me,” I begged. “I don’t know what you want.”

“Liessss,” the vamp hissed, and lowered her head, angling her mouth toward my neck.

Turning my face away, I pushed against her chest with all my strength, but she was like a slab of marble. I squeezed my eyes shut, resignation and fear mingling in my gut. Yep, I was dead.

Suddenly, her oppressing weight was gone, and a loud crash followed.

My eyes sprang open. I caught a glimpse of Eric standing over me before he bounded away. I sprang to a sitting position like a Jack-in-the-Box, my back smarting with pain. Eric landed next to the fallen vamp and grabbed her by the throat. With one powerful arm, he slammed her against the thick glass wall and held her in place.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “Who sent you?”

The vamp writhed and spat and hissed but didn’t answer. Instead, she clawed at his arm, cutting into his skin. Yet, he didn’t falter, didn’t even flinch from pain.

I scrambled to my feet. “What do we do? Call the cops?”

“No!” Eric shot back.

He lowered the vampire just a bit. Slowly, his features turned wolf-like, fur springing over his arms, ears growing pointed, nose elongating, and terrible fangs unsheathing. Still, he remained mostly human, a trick I was suddenly envious to learn.

“Who sent you?” he repeated in a deafening, blood-curdling roar that made goosebumps ripple across my skin.

I took a step back, fighting the urge to hunker low against the wall like a tiny rodent in the presence of a lion—or worse a freaking dragon. But I managed to stay on my feet, even if I had to hug myself, and my shoulders caved inwardly to help me disappear. The vampire’s face twitched, losing its sharp edges and reverting to a more human semblance.

I blinked at her, recognizing her face. “I’ve seen her before,” I blurted out, without thinking.

Eric’s pointed ears swiveled in my direction, and without taking his eyes off the vamp, he demanded, “Where?”

“Here, at your party the other night.”

He snarled and pulled away from the vamp, letting her go immediately. She crumpled to the floor in a heap and lay there, spent, looking very much like a corpse, except she was a vamp, so that was normal.

“Damn it all to hell!” Eric cursed, stomping around the room, his werewolf features retreating slowly.

“That smell,” I asked. “What is it?”

Eric’s head snapped in my direction. “What smell?”

“That... toxic rot. I don’t know how else to describe it. There’s also that sour tang she had the other night, but it’s overpowered by the rest.”

He looked confused or surprised. I didn’t know which. At last, he said, “Most can’t perceive that sour smell, not even werewolves.”

“My sense of smell has always been good, thank you very much,” I said, annoyed that he kept underestimating me. “But what is it? Do you know? I’ve smelt it on someone else.”

“Wherever you’ve smelled this before, you can expect death to follow.”

I rolled my eyes. “Do you always have to be so cryptic? Can’t you for once just make sense?”

He huffed, and I thought he might yell at me, but he took a step closer to the vamp and regarded her crumpled body with an upturned lip. “That sour smell, like mothballs in a closet, is the harbinger of death in one who shouldn’t have a semblance of life in the first place.”

“You mean like... she’s sick.”

Eric nodded.

I opened my mouth, then shut it again. That was impossible. Vamps didn’t get sick. Eternal health came with the territory. Their causes of death belonged in a very short list among cutting their heads off,