The Tracker's Rage (Mate Tracker #3) - Ingrid Seymour Page 0,11

a few times.”

I did as I was told. The first shift was painful and awkward, seeming to happen in stages and leaving me with a tail sticking out of my bottom for far longer than it was comfortable. The next couple of shifts were smoother, happening seconds apart from each other. Then the pain was gone, and I felt right as rain.

Clutching the cloak close to my body, I got to my feet, amazed at how great I felt, especially considering that death had seemed like a distinct possibility just moments ago. The idea of that bed with a hole in the middle had seemed very real for a moment, but thank God for mages and amazing healing skills.

Damien scanned me up and down as if to make sure his work was done, then he rushed down the steps and through the corridor to the right of the staircase. There was an edge of panic in his movements, a sort of desperation and tired resignation.

Rosalina and I exchanged a curious glance, then went after him. We found him in an ample workroom that looked a lot like my potions alcove except on a grander scale. There were several worktables and a large armoire with carved doors and metal handles, their surfaces littered with glassware: pipettes, beakers, tubes, and funnels.

The mage stood in front of a large table, his hands splayed on its top, his head lowered in defeat. A mixture of strong scents rode the air and hit me as soon as I walked in. Broken glass peppered the floor, its contents scattered and trampled. A couple of tables were tipped over, sticky liquid slowly spreading into large puddles beneath them.

I held my breath as a sharp scent seemed to pierce my nostrils like long needles. Rosalina coughed and pressed a hand over her nose and mouth.

“Bastards,” Damien said. “Bastards!” He whirled and faced us, his blotchy pupils large and bottomless.

Was he referring to us? I glanced warily in Rosalina’s direction. Was he going to take his anger out on us?

“Uh, when we got here, the door was open,” I said in one quick breath to make sure he understood what had happened here. “We have nothing to do with this destruction.”

“I know that.” He looked at me as if I were stupid. “The house told me everything as I walked in.”

Huh? His house talks to him? Um, cool.

He glowered at me. “Still, in a way, it is your fault.”

“Our fault?!” Rosalina exclaimed.

“Yes.” The mage stared directly at me with his strange copper eyes and blotchy pupils. “You knew where to find Blake, and you lied to me. He got away because you allowed it. He would have never been here today if you had let me go after him.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “But can you blame me for not trusting you?” At least now I knew the mage was an enemy of my enemies.

“Dammit! And I was so close,” he said. “I had almost created a cure against rhabo’s effects.”

Chapter 5

Rosalina and I gasped in unison.

“You mean... you mean you were working on a cure, and they destroyed it?” I asked, my heart sinking.

Damien took off his top hat, set in on the worktable, and ran a hand through his short white hair, looking at a loss.

“Can’t you start over?” Rosalina asked when he didn’t answer my question.

He scoffed. “One of the ingredients I need is nearly impossible to come by.” He scrubbed at his face. “I suppose I’m paying for my own mistakes.”

Huh? What did he mean by that?

The mage shook his head, then walked out of the room, leaving us behind. He looked utterly defeated and deeply sad, which was odd.

We tiptoed after him.

“You have to keep trying,” I urged.

He ignored me, walked past an arched walkway to the right of the workroom, and entered a small sitting area. There, he collapsed on a sofa, looking disgusted.

“You can’t give up,” I said.

He dragged his copper gaze in my direction. “What is it to you, anyway? Don’t werewolves like it when vampires die?” His voice was charged with resentment as he said this.

I bristled. “Hey, that’s not fair. You know better. I wasn’t raised that way. I think every life has value and should be respected.”

He snorted. “So altruistic. Try to remember that when you send the cops to someone’s house without any evidence.”

Ouch, that hurt. Judging by Rosalina’s wince, the comment had also gotten to her.

She stepped forward, holding her chin high. “I’m greatly sorry for that