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

“A curse?” I rolled my eyes as I turned the Camaro onto our street. “Men love that shit.”

She nodded reluctantly. “True, but they should be removable or something. Some days I just can’t stand them. You don’t get it because...” She trailed off.

I raised my eyebrows at her and gave her a look. “Don’t you dare offend my pair. They may be humble, but they’re all I’ve got.”

We got out of the car laughing. I felt a little lighter, even if the one blueberry muffin I’d eaten had been nearly five pounds. Rosalina had that effect on me. I loved seeing her smile, and our banter always got her going, so it motivated me to tease her.

She keyed the lock, and we walked inside. It seemed every time I came in, I held my breath expecting the place to be a wreck, but everything looked fine. I wondered how long it would take me to shake the feeling off. I didn’t know, though one thing was for sure, I was never spending another night up in the loft.

After my 3:30 PM client from yesterday, I had started a potion. The ingredients Rosalina reordered had arrived quickly, though not cheaply. With everything that was going on, I couldn’t pick them up myself, so we’d had to pay a courier to cross into Elf-hame plus a rushed delivery fee. It had been worth it though, even if expensive. We’d lost a few precious days in the fray and had to play catch-up to make rent and bill money. And of course, our salaries, which always took a hit when shit like this happened.

I had another appointment scheduled for 9:00 AM, which gave me an hour to do a few things such as call Celina Morelli to give her the bad news. I really didn’t want to do that. I’d given the woman false hopes, and I was afraid my call would only break her heart a little more—not to mention hurt the agency.

Chickening out of the task for the moment, I decided to face my other problem.

“Hey, I’m going next door to see if Jake’s there.” I had called him, but again, he hadn’t answered.

Rosalina, already at her desk, glanced up with worry in her eyes. “Okay, I hope he can help.”

“Me, too.”

Jake’s door was locked this time. I knocked and waited. Nothing. Apparently, he wasn’t in. I tried his phone again. No answer. I sighed, went back to the office, and set about my day, starting with the dreaded call to Celina Morelli.

“I’ve been expecting your call,” she said.

Did I detect a little hope in her voice? Well, shit! “Ms. Morelli, I’m sorry to call with bad news.” I expected her to say she wasn’t surprised or something biting like that, but she remained silent. “I was unable to locate a mate. I apologize. This is a rare occurrence. My mate tracker rate is very good, but not perfect and—”

“But your partner said you did,” she interrupted.

“I know, and I apologize for the miscommunication. I thought I’d found someone, but I was wrong.”

“You sounded so confident about finding someone. What happened?”

“I can’t give you specific details,” I said. “If you remember, our agency’s contract has a clause about the secrecy of our methods. All I can say is that my skills didn’t reveal anyone.”

“How is that possible? Is there... something wrong with me?”

“Oh, no,” I assured her. “Of course not.”

“Then what?”

“I’m sorry. This is all I can say. My partner will issue a refund for your deposit.”

“This is unacceptable.”

“I’m sorry.”

Celina went on a rant about false promises and shams, and I took it all patiently. I almost broke and told her about Vincent but kept my cool and my dignity. Hopefully, the latter wouldn’t cost me my livelihood.

Throughout the rest of the morning and afternoon, I kept glancing at my phone, hoping for a call, but it seemed Jake had better things to do. Maybe he was following a true lead while my “Luciola” nightmare was just that.

Lunch and my 3:45 PM appointment came and went. I reclined on my chair, absentmindedly eating my second giant blueberry muffin. It hit the spot, the sugar waking me up from my afternoon lethargy. Feeling energized, I walked out of the office.

“Hey, I’ll go see if Jake is back,” I told Rosalina, who was staring at a budgeting spreadsheet making sure we could make ends meet this month.

This time, Jake’s door was open when I pulled on it.

Like the last time, there was no sign of him inside. I called out a couple of times, but he didn’t answer, so I went in through the next door. Protective plastic covered the floor as well as cans of paint, fresh rollers and brushes, and rolls of blue tape. No sign of Jake there either. I climbed the steps to the loft. The layout of the place was identical to mine, so the bare walls struck me as odd since I expected to find black-and-white photographs hanging there.

I found Jake upstairs, sacked out on a mattress directly on the floor. He lay face down, wearing nothing but a pair of tight, black boxer briefs. My eyes raked the length of his long frame. His wide back tapered gently toward a narrow waist with two dimples at its base. In the time he’d been away, he’d grown more muscular and acquired yet another tattoo down his left flank. I took a step closer for a better look. The body art consisted of words inked in a pretty scroll. I tried to read them, but they were not in English.

His left arm hung off the mattress, and his hand rested flat on the floor. His feet were also off the mattress. He was simply too big for it. I held my breath as I admired him, trying to keep his delicious scent at bay. He was hot as hell, a sight to behold, especially to someone who’d gone celibate for