The Rogue Hunter by Lynsay Sands Read Free Book Online

slowly, and then pointed out, "Most immortals would be jumping for joy at the prospect of finally meeting their life mate."
    Mortimer opened his mouth to snap again, but then let his breath out on a sigh and said more calmly, "And I would be too if she truly were my life mate. But she isn't. She can't be."
    "She can't?" Decker asked with surprise, and when Mortimer shook his head firmly, asked, "Why not?"
    "Well, just look at her, Decker," he said, amazed that he would even ask. "She's clumsy and awkward and flat and—That woman in no way resembles the mate I—" Mortimer snapped his mouth shut before he could blurt the words have fantasized about for well over seven hundred years .
    And he had. In his eight hundred years of life, Mortimer had lain awake many a night imagining what his life mate would be like. In his dreams she'd been blond, and cool, and intelligent in a sexy Jessica Rabbit kind of way. He smiled just thinking about the glamorous cartoon character, and then his eyes settled on the woman named Sam, and his smile died. This woman was nothing like the fantasy character. Tall, skinny, awkward, and clumsy, she was more like Olive Oyl. She even had the dark hair, though hers was long.
    Mortimer's seething thoughts were distracted when Decker patted his shoulder sympathetically.
    "I have a certain vision in my mind of what my life mate will be like too," the other immortal admitted. "Mine's Angelina Jolie in Mr. and Mrs. Smith … or Tomb Raider … hell, pretty much in any role she's played. But I'll probably end up with a short Betty Boop."
    Mortimer closed his eyes on a sigh as he realized that Decker had read his thoughts, something he normally wouldn't be able to do. It was starting already then, he thought unhappily, the lack of control over his own mind, leaving his thoughts vulnerable to every immortal who wished to read it. Like not being able to read the life mate's mind, this too was a symptom of meeting the life mate. He supposed he'd start eating soon too, and not that fake push-food-around-your-plate business he normally indulged in to keep Bricker company. No. He'd really start eating; scarfing down food, enjoying it, and hungering for more.
    Damn. This was the last thing he'd expected from this trip.
    "Jessica Rabbit?" Bricker said suddenly with disbelief. "Olive Oyl? Jeez, Mort. I mean, I've heard of sexism, but… seeing women as cartoon characters? You've got a major problem there, my friend." He shook his head. "Maybe it wasn't such a good thing we watched that animation marathon on television last week. It was my fault. You didn't want to watch it, but I—"
    "Bricker," Mortimer said wearily, running a hand through his hair. "This isn't your fault and it isn't about cartoons. She just isn't to my taste."
    A moment of silence passed as the men all turned to peer at Sam. Decker had taken control just as she'd stumbled and landed on her butt on the muddy path under the trees between the two properties. She still sat there, living proof of her own clumsiness.
    Mortimer noted the exchange of glances between the other two men, and then Decker asked, "So, how old are you, Mortimer? Eight hundred and something, isn't it?"
    "Yes," he agreed warily, knowing it wasn't just mild interest.
    Decker nodded. "And how many women have you met in that time that you can't read?"
    His mouth tightened at the question. Sam was the first. And it had been a long eight hundred years too. Lonely. Was he being a fool?
    No, Mortimer decided grimly. If he was judging the woman on her looks, that would have been one thing, but it wasn't just that. It was her complete lack of grace and—What if she really was an alcoholic? Maybe that was why he couldn't read her, he thought suddenly. Maybe she was drunk right now and—
    "Alcohol usually makes it easier to read them," Decker pointed out quietly, revealing that he was still reading Mortimer's thoughts. "A drunk's thoughts might be sloppy and disorganized, but they have no