The Tracker's Mate: Sunderverse (Mate Tracker Book 1), Ingrid Seymour [red white royal blue TXT] 📗

“Not exactly, but I’m fine,” I reassured her. “I need to crash with you for a few days if that’s okay?”

“Of course! What happened?”

“I’ll tell you later. Right now, I need to get out of here. I’ll be there in twenty.”

I disconnected the call, then got an Uber. I couldn’t get away from Jake fast enough, and I didn’t like the way he stared at my driver one bit. He certainly looked like someone who thought it was his job to worry about me.

Chapter 11

The next day, I woke up with a terrible headache. My head pounded, and no amount of Rosalina’s strong Columbian coffee did the trick. She stood by the stove, scrambling eggs, and frying bacon, while I sat at her kitchen table, holding my head. She lived in a small, two-bedroom, one-bath condo in Soulard. She’d moved in only six months ago and loved it.

In part, our partnership had made it possible. She’d had savings from before, but the agency kept us solvent. We made enough to pay our loan, rent, cover our bills, and still have enough money to do fun stuff, which was more than most people our age could do for themselves.

From what I’d learned about Rosalina during the short sixteen months since I’d met her, she’d always had a good head on her shoulders. She got good grades in college while studying Business Administration, even as she worked odd jobs in her free time and saved as much as possible. I met her at one of those jobs. Starbucks, evening shift after classes, I’d ordered an espresso, and when the change in my pocket came short, she waved it off and said it was on the house. Not only that, but she also noticed my gaunt face and the slobbery way I ogled the pastries behind the glass display.

I’d been on the streets for a month by then, but I hadn’t stopped being embarrassed by charity or hunger. I bit my tongue and took the cup because of the hollow in my belly. Grateful for something warm—it was freezing outside—I sat in a corner, nursing my coffee, and listening to Christmas carols from the overhead speakers.

At closing time, I walked out and glanced around, trying to decide which way to go. My hands itched to call Mom or Daniella, my older sister, but I hated the thought of going back with my tail between my legs, and I didn’t want to hear the inevitable “I told you so.” Stubbornness and pride ranked high on my list of personality traits. So instead, I set my jaw and walked toward Tower Grove Park. I’d slept there before anyway.

“Hey,” Rosalina called, rushing out of the coffee shop, a paper bag in hand.

I turned to face her.

“I thought you might be hungry.” She offered me the bag.

I stared at it with a frown.

“It’s just an egg muffin. They’re pretty good,” she said with a gentle smile that, for some reason, made my heart tighten weirdly.

I was broke and on the streets, and that espresso had been more than I’d expected. And now, here was food. My stomach gave a painful pang, and I couldn’t refuse it, not even after hefting the bulk of my pride on top of my shoulders.

Slowly, my hand reached for the paper bag. Rosalina waited, wearing the same comforting smile. Something about her sincere expression touched me in a way nothing had. Maybe because, at that moment, I’d become as vulnerable as an abandoned kitten. Either way, I immediately wanted to know her, to be her friend.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice breaking.

“No worries. Are you all right?” she asked, her expression full of genuine concern.

I nodded, a lie. I was scared, worried I’d end up in a ditch with my throat cut, another victim of the high crime rate in St. Louis.

Rosalina’s lips had tightened. I could tell she hadn’t believed me. “Um, I live nearby. Would you like to hang out for a bit? We could watch some Netflix or something.”

The rest was history.

Now, I smiled fondly at my friend as she walked up to the table, carrying two plates. She handed me one and sat across from me. “Eat up! You’re gonna need your strength for the trance.”

I dug into the eggs and bacon. She cooked them just the way I liked them, the eggs underdone and the bacon crispy.

“Thank you,” I said through a mouthful. Normally, I didn’t eat a hot breakfast. The loft didn’t have a kitchen, so my first meal of the day came out of a mini-fridge. A yogurt or cheese stick that never did the trick.

Rosalina picked up her coffee cup and held it thoughtfully. “The news are disturbing this morning. Some battle between vampires and werewolves broke out in The Scourge.”

The Scourge was a commercial district reserved for supernatural beings. Regular laws didn’t apply there, and Stales and vulnerable Skews entered at their discretion.

She continued. “A band of werewolves immolated a couple of young vamps. They held them in the open ‘til the sun came out.”

I grimaced. “What a horrible death.”

“The article suggested the vamps belonged to Bernadetta Fiore’s faction and that the attack might have been in retaliation for Stephen Erickson’s kidnapping.”

“Things are getting uglier by the minute.”

“Yes, they are.”

We sat in silence for a moment, then Rosalina got to business.

“Okay,” she held a piece of bacon between her thumb and forefinger as she spoke, “we need to go to the office to pick up the potion. Hopefully, the trance won’t take a huge toll on you this time, and we can go back later to straighten things out.”

“Sounds good.” I really needed this trance to be easy. I had to be at my best to deal with the current shit storm.

“God, I swear, if I could get my hands on that bastard who attacked you, I would kill him all over again,” Rosalina said. “And instead of beetles,