On the Hunt by Alexandra Ivy, Dianne Duvall, Rebecca Zanetti Read Free Book Online Page B

he reluctantly pulled back. “Until later.”
    Without waiting for her reply, he was headed out of the cottage and through the magical barrier. The shield was created to keep people out, not in.
    Then, pulling a gun from the holster beneath his shirt, he moved through the dense undergrowth with a slow caution.
    He wasn’t afraid of the local wildlife. He was a Sentinel, which meant that he was faster, stronger, and more lethal than any other predator. Plus, he had a natural immunity to most poisons.
    But he didn’t want to miss any clues that might lead him to Jacob.
    Returning to where the monk’s car had run off the road, he circled the area, hoping for anything that might reveal who might be interested in the boy.
    Finding nothing, he headed toward the clinic at the edge of town.
    Again there was no hint of Jacob, or anything that looked remotely out of place.
    Dammit.
    Slipping out of the back of the clinic, he came to a sudden halt, his senses on full alert.
    Someone was near.
    “Show yourself,” he commanded, keeping the gun hidden behind his leg as he stepped away from the building.
    He wanted plenty of room to maneuver.
    There was the sound of shuffling footsteps before a man appeared from the shadows, his head bald and his thin body bent with age.
    “Sentinel.” The stranger’s voice held the singsong rhythm of a local. “You on the hunt?”
    Mika sucked in a deep breath, sifting through the various odors that clung to the man.
    Tobacco. Home-brewed moonshine. And stale French fries.
    No metal. Which meant he wasn’t armed.
    Not that Mika lowered his guard.
    Right now he had to assume that everyone was the enemy.
    “I’m searching for a young man from the monastery,” he said, his gaze searching the darkness for any hidden assailants. The old man might be a distraction. “He was wounded.”
    “Don’t know nothing about a boy. Most folk in this town know not to stick their noses in high-blood business.” The man turned his head to spit out a stream of chewing tobacco. “You won’t find what you be searching for here.”
    Mika nodded. He believed the stranger. Most norms preferred to avoid high-bloods.
    “Do you have a suggestion of where I should look?” he demanded.
    “Heard a rumor that strangers were seen out near Badger Island straight north of here.” The human shrugged. “A smart man might start there.”
    Mika held the man’s gaze. “I’m in your debt.”
    “Watch your back.” The man stepped back into the shadows. “People who come to the swamps don’t like trespassers.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind.”
    Keeping the gun in his hand, Mika headed north, cutting through the swamp rather than following the narrow road.
    He assumed that any guards would be focused on the main pathways.
    An assumption that nearly got him killed.
    Silently halting near the edge of a lily-clogged channel, Mika surveyed the narrow island. It was difficult to see through the thick cypress trees, but he thought he could make out the outline of a small structure and catch a glimpse of a lantern reflecting in a window.
    He was busy trying to decide whether to try to get closer or to wait for backup before he continued to scout the area, when he heard a distinctive pop.
    It was only his quick reflexes that allowed him to avoid the killing shot. Leaping to one side, he felt a searing pain as the bullet clipped his shoulder.
    Shit. His gaze searched the darkness across the channel, belatedly locating the human male who was hidden in the upper branches of a tree.
    His fingers tightened on his gun, the urge to shoot the bastard nearly overwhelming.
    His wound wasn’t fatal, but it hurt like a bitch.
    Only the knowledge that whoever was on that island had not only military-grade weapons, but the skill of a trained sniper, had him melting back into the tangled coverage of the bayou.
    This wasn’t some local yokel who was taking potshots at stray intruders.
    He needed backup.
    Ripping off his shirt, he pressed it