The Tracker's Mate: Sunderverse (Mate Tracker Book 1) by Ingrid Seymour (book recommendations website TXT) 📕

on the sofa with a blanket, and watching Supernatural reruns on Netflix. As I closed the door behind me, she glanced up and gave me a bleary-eyed stare.

“Thank God you’re home.” She pressed the off button on the remote control and rose to her feet, the blanket Abuela Esperanza had crocheted for her dropping to the floor. “How did it go?”

“Fine. We were able to talk to Ulfen.” I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water.

She followed me into the kitchen and pretended to check my head from different angles. “Well, if he tried to bite your head off, at least he didn’t succeed.”

“He was pretty pissed at first, but in the end, he gave me this.” I pulled the cufflink out of my jeans pocket.

“You’re in for it, then.”

I sighed and nodded.

“When do you want to do it?” She hoisted herself on top of the counter and sat with her legs dangling. She wore a pajama set with a red tank top and white shorts with the imprint of kisses.

“I’m too tired now. Tomorrow. First thing.”

“What you mean is later today.”

Shit! It was already tomorrow.

After a quick shower, I crawled into bed, wearing a loose T-shirt over a pair of comfortable cotton underwear. The sheets felt cool and wonderful against my legs as I tried to push away the memories of the blazing heat that had lapped at my skin, burning, making me feel like a rotisserie chicken.

When I closed my eyes, I saw the hanging ceiling tiles, the sparking wires, and Jake’s bleeding back. It seemed impossible that the explosion had happened only this morning. I was grateful for the healers at the hospital and was reminded of Daniella, my older sister. She worked at St. Louis Children’s Hospital, doing just that type of work. She had saved countless lives in the two years she’d been working there. I hadn’t seen her or talked to her in almost a month. I made a mental note to call her once this was over.

I could have died today, and the last thing I’d told my sister was “keep your nose out of my business.” She had been trying to advise me not to buy my own place yet. She said I should save a little more, make sure my business got a good foothold before I jumped into such a big responsibility. Daniella, as the oldest, had always been the most sensible. She’d only been trying to help.

And what about Leo? I didn’t even remember the last thing I’d told him, but I doubted either Daniella, Lucia, or Mom could remember either. We hadn’t seen him in over a year, and we only knew he was all right because, every once in a while, he sent Mom a postcard from whatever city he was visiting. The last one we’d received had come from Peru. Machu Picchu, that was where he’d been. We all wished we could write him back or at least that he would send pictures of himself, but he seemed to be doing some soul-searching and needed this time to himself.

I would write him a letter the first chance I got. I did that whenever I missed him extra hard. Normally, I would tell him about my day and that I loved him and missed him, then I would fold the letter, put it in an envelope, and stuff it in a drawer with all the others. When he got back, I would give them all to him and demand that he told me everything he’d done and seen.

With a sigh, I rolled onto my back, stared at the ceiling, and prayed I would be able to track Stephen. Even if I wasn’t looking forward to the task, I would do my damn best to find him to get Jake off my back for once and for all.

Chapter 22

I woke up at 9:30 the next morning, assaulted by the deep hunger that sometimes attacked me and nothing seemed to satiate. I sighed and sat up, thinking it might be a ten-blueberry-pancake kind of day. On top of that, the skin on my forearms itched as if I’d gotten into poison ivy, which probably meant I was allergic to the new detergent. Great! Scratching and yawning, I got out of bed and slipped on a pair of sweats and slippers and went to the kitchen. Rosalina wasn’t up yet, so I decided it was my turn to be extra nice to her.

The kitchen was familiar. I knew where everything was, and it took me no time to get a pot of coffee going along with blueberry pancake batter. When I heard Rosalina moving around in her bedroom, I heated the skillet and started cooking. By the time she came out, I had a stack of golden flapjacks ready to eat along with butter, honey, and marmalade.

“It smells delicious.” She sat at the kitchen table with her eyes closed and her nose up in the air as she enjoyed the smell of a hot brew and griddled pancakes.

We dug in and didn’t exchange a word until we’d eaten at least two pancakes each. I snatched two more, drizzled honey on top, and let Rosalina start the conversation.

“I’m glad you used the blueberries,” she said, sipping her coffee. “I was afraid they might start mutating.”

“They were frozen blueberries. They don’t mutate. They just shrivel away, but they looked fine.”

“I bought them during my smoothie craze. I’m surprised.”

“One of them did jump off the counter calling out Geronimo,” I joked.

Rosalina laughed her goofy laugh that must have some sort of magical qualities because it always cheered me up no matter what was going on in my life.

Together we washed the dishes and put everything back in place. After that, she gave my hair a quick trim to get rid of the damage the explosion had caused.

We each had two cups of coffee before we started talking about work and customers. Yesterday evening, she’d