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

subsided. Some sounds fell away, but most stayed, mainly the constant, unrelenting hum of an engine. In the background, I perceived the drum of traffic, tires against asphalt and gravel, the occasional blare of a horn, the squeal of brakes, the rattle of loose chassis—all diminished by the tireless hum.

Oddly, just like with the scents, one thing overpowered all others, obscuring what should be the main clues.

I tried harder to pinpoint unique sounds, like a bell tower, the horn of a basketball game, a certain tune, a voice I might recognize. Nothing like that came to the surface, only that hum. Useless.

Fear gripped me, knowing what came next. It had been some time since I’d engaged my sight, and I hated to do it. It terrified me. Being deaf was difficult enough, but losing my vision left me feeling as vulnerable as a newborn kitten. I didn’t know how to navigate life without my senses. I was trying to get better at it, but the process was slow. Logically, I knew other people led perfectly capable, self-sufficient lives without them, but there was nothing rational about my fear. It was born of a raw and unadulterated self-preservation instinct.

Hunkering down, I forced the uneasiness away, knowing this trial would only make me stronger. Gathering all my courage, I released my sense of sight.

My eyes opened to utter darkness.

Panic seized me at the complete absence of light.

I glanced all around, searching for the smallest pinprick of illumination. I found nothing, just absolutely blackness.

Where are they keeping you, Stephen?

A room without lights would still have windows, a door. Slivers of light, no matter how thin, would get through, but not here. Wherever Stephen was, his kidnappers had purposely sealed every source of light.

Frantically, I peered around in every direction, pausing to make sure I didn’t miss something. My heart hammered while the sweet smell, the unrelenting hum of an engine, and the darkness combined to a crescendo of unbearable stimuli. I whirled and whirled, panic mounting, and a sense of dread and disappointment settling on my shoulders.

For the first time, I had failed to find a known mark, and because of it, Stephen would die.

Chapter 23

When I broke out of the trance, utter darkness still surrounded me. For a panicked moment, I feared I’d gotten trapped in that limbo, unable to escape, but it was just the blindness. I sat up with a jerk, my shaking hands flat on the bed in an effort to feel grounded. My breaths came in fast, but I couldn’t hear them. The world was silent, dark, and void of all smells.

Where am I? Where am I?! The question was irrational, but the panic was real.

I felt three taps on top of my hand, then the bed dipped. Relieved, I clenched Rosalina’s hand and pressed it to my chest. My heart pounded like the drums of the salsa music she liked to dance to. Sensing my distress, she moved closer and wrapped me in a tight hug, hands smoothing my hair, warm breath brushing my ear in words of comfort that I couldn’t hear.

“I couldn’t find him,” I sobbed, fighting the knot in my throat, my exhausted body collapsing against her.

She pulled away, took my hand, and traced several circles in my palm.

The letter “O”.

She was trying to tell me it was okay. We had come up with several hand gestures to help us communicate. Nothing fancy, but we could understand each other. She pressed a cool glass to my hand and wrapped my fingers around it. I drank the water greedily until I finished it.

After she took the glass away, I held both palms up in question. She tapped my left hand five times. I collapsed back on the bed. Five minutes, I’d been under for five minutes, which meant it would take five hours to regain my senses. This was the longest I’d ever been under and for nothing.

I felt Rosalina’s fingers slide down my chest bone. Sign language for “Hungry?”

I shook my head.

Her fingertips alighted on my forehead next, then slid downward gently, gathering at my chin. Sleep.

“I can’t. I’m too restless. My heart is dancing to some of your salsa music.” She had Cuban roots and grew up speaking Spanish. Odd for someone raised in The Hill with all the Italians around, but her family remained faithful to their origin, which was so cool.

She repeated the sign. Sleep.

I sighed. “I’ll try.”

Rosalina signed on my hand that she was leaving. The bed shifted as she stood, and I imagined her walking out of the room and shutting the door behind her.

I knew that time would pass faster if I just slept, but I didn’t think I would be able to—even despite my deep fatigue. I closed my eyes, and even here, on the bed, my mind stirred with the memory of that sweet smell and the unrelenting hum of an engine, and since darkness still surrounded me, I felt as if I were still in the trance.

You’re not. You’re not. You’re free.

I touched the bed, my pillow, my face to convince myself. I tossed and turned, willing sleep to come.

Only five hours. You can sleep for five hours.

I lay on my back, on my belly, on my side.

How long has it been? How much longer?

In this state, I always found it impossible to calculate time. I didn’t know how long had passed when Rosalina came back into the room. She snatched my hand and scribbled something in it, too fast for me to understand.

“Slow down,” I said.

She traced a single character on my palm. The letter “J”.

“Jake?” I said.

She tapped my palm once for yes.

“He’s here?”

Another single tap.

“Can you keep him out of the room?”

I waited for another tap, but instead, two came. She released my hand, abruptly, which let me know that Jake was trespassing again.

Shit.

I rolled over, turning my back on the door and lay as still as a log. I imagined him standing behind me, screaming, demanding