On the Hunt by Alexandra Ivy, Dianne Duvall, Rebecca Zanetti Page B

he revealed the small black arrow that was tattooed onto his inner wrist. “See?”
    Bailey had a vague memory of similar tattoos on the goons who’d grabbed her.
    “I don’t understand,” she said.
    “It’s the mark of the Brotherhood,” Jacob explained. “My family has been loyal members since the society first started.” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “We’re like royalty.”
    Oh . . . hell.
    Bailey grimaced. “It must have been a shock when your uncle and then you turned out to be high-bloods.”
    Jacob abruptly wrapped his arms around his upper body, as if trying to protect himself from the pain of his memories.
    “No one knew I was different,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “Not until—”
    Her hand instinctively reached out to lightly touch his arm, allowing the power of her healing to ease his distress.
    She might not yet be entirely convinced he wasn’t playing some game with her, but she wouldn’t withhold her skill. Not if she could help.
    “What happened, Jacob?”
    Jacob shuddered beneath her touch, breathing out a small sigh of relief.
    “I was in training.” His gaze was fixed on the far wall, his expression distant as he allowed his memories to return. “Despite my size I was always stronger and faster than the other kids. My father was so proud, telling everyone that it was our pure breeding that made me win every competition.” A sudden heat filled the air as Jacob’s pain shifted to anger. “Then one day I accidentally tossed one of my opponents through a door. I nearly killed him. My father had to admit that it wasn’t superior genes that made me better than the other students.”
    It wasn’t an unusual story.
    Many boys might realize they were stronger or faster than other kids, but it wasn’t until they’d accidentally injured or even killed someone that they understood how truly different they were from others.
    “So he had you taken to Valhalla?” she asked softly.
    “Not hardly.” Without warning, Jacob surged upright, his face grim. “He intended to kill me.”
    Bailey wasn’t naïve.
    As a healer she’d seen the damage that people could do to one another.
    But the thought of a father willingly destroying his own son just because he was a high-blood . . .
    “Good God,” she breathed.
    Jacob suddenly looked far older in the darkness, his lips twisting with a humorless smile.
    Sometimes age had nothing to do with how many years a person had been on the earth.
    “Thankfully my father was so shamed by the thought he could have created a monster, he was determined to execute me in a grand ceremony,” he explained, his voice harsh. “It was supposed to cleanse the stain from our family honor.”
    Bailey gave a sad shake of her head. “The bastard.”
    Jacob shrugged. “At least it gave my uncle the opportunity to hear what was happening. He managed to sneak me out of the cellar where I’d been locked away and take me to Valhalla. It was the one place not even my father could get his hands on me.”
    And now the uncle who had saved him was dead.
    Poor Jacob.
    “What about your mother?” she asked, unable to bear the thought that he was all alone. Although she rarely saw her parents, she knew deep in her heart if she truly needed them, they would come. “Surely she must have tried to stop your father?”
    “I never knew her. My father refused to even tell me her name.” Jacob once again glanced toward the door before he turned his attention back to her. “Until now.”
    Bailey drew in a slow, deep breath. Her jaw still ached and the stench from the fish was making her stomach queasy, but her attention was locked on Jacob.
    “What changed?” she forced herself to ask even as she suspected she didn’t want to know the answer.
    “A few days ago my father contacted me, demanding that we meet.”
    The crazy-ass father had contacted him after he’d planned to murder him in a grand ceremony?
    Ballsy.
    “How did he know how to find you?”
    Jacob