Crap.
Tilting her chin, Regan tried to ignore the constant awareness that buzzed through her like an electric shock. Okay, the damned vamp was the most beautiful creature she’d ever seen. And he oozed sex from the top of his golden head to the tips of his shit-kicker boots. And his kisses were making her so randy she thought she might scream if she didn’t have relief soon.
But he was still the most obnoxious, arrogant, unpredictable, pig-headed brute it was ever her misfortune to encounter.
“If you intended to call Salvatore, then why did you send Levet to look for the curs?” she demanded, her voice sharp with…hell, she’d might as well admit it, if only to herself. Sharp with frustration.
He shrugged. “Salvatore has no greater ability to sense magic than I do. A gargoyle is a creature of magic. There’s no spell, no matter how powerful the demon or witch, that he won’t be able to track.”
“Well, I’m not just waiting in this cave for Levet to return.” She folded her arms over her chest, ready (no, aching) for a fight. “As you pointed out, we don’t even know if Culligan is with the curs.”
He flicked a golden brow upward, tossing her bags of clothing into a far corner. Clothes he’d bought for her just because he knew she wanted them. Her frustration became downright painful. Damn the vampire.
“And what is your plan?” he mocked. “To roam the streets, and hope you stumble over the imp?”
“Do you have a better idea, chief?”
“Yes. I think we should find the RV. The curs might be capable of hiding an imp, but they wouldn’t expend the magic to hide his vehicle.”
She snorted. “What does it matter if he isn’t in it?”
“Culligan was no doubt in a hurry to disappear. He might have left something behind that will reveal why he chose Hannibal.”
Against her will, Regan recalled those chaotic hours after her rescue. She’d been certain Salvatore Giuliani must be some sort of gorgeous guardian angel sent to free her from Culligan’s clutches. It was exactly what she’d dreamed of for years.
Until, of course, the freaking Were had allowed Culligan to escape, followed by her being informed that she had an extended family who obviously hadn’t given a damn that she was being used and abused, and then topped it off with the news she was worthless to him since he could smell her infertility.
Bastard.
“Why would Culligan be in a hurry?” She didn’t bother to hide her bitterness. “Salvatore made it clear he wasn’t going to waste his time tracking down a mere imp to punish him. Not when I’m barren and worthless.”
His lips twisted. “Culligan wasn’t afraid of the damned King of Weres. He was afraid of you.”
“He should be,” she muttered.
His artic gaze flicked over her tense body. “Do you need to feed before we begin?”
She was starving, but she wasn’t about to admit as much. Allowing this vampire to take care of her needs was…disturbing.
“I will later.”
His eyes flashed with annoyance. “That’s no answer.”
“Well, too bad, because that’s all you’re getting.”
“If you need to feed, then you’ll do it now. You’re no good to me weak.”
Regan snapped. There was no other word for it.
One moment she was standing near the entrance of the cave, and the next she was flying through the air to tackle the six-foot-three, two-hundred-fifty-pound vampire.
When they tumbled to the hard ground, Regan wasn’t certain who was the more astonished, her or Jagr.
She did know who recovered first.
She’d barely managed a smirk at the realization she’d landed on top when Jagr gave a low growl, and with one smooth motion had rolled her beneath him, his body pinning her to the hard dirt.
Regan felt her breath being squeezed from her lungs. Of course, who wouldn’t suffocate with a massive vampire squashing them?
It didn’t have anything to do with the thick hair that had loosened from its braid to tumble about them like a curtain of gold satin. Or the scent of raw power flooding her senses.
Nope. No way in hell.
So why were those blue eyes thawing as if Jagr could sense the hot rush of her blood, and the renegade softening of her limbs?
“We both know I could force you to Chicago if I wanted,” he husked, his hand cupping her face in a gesture of pure possession. “Unfortunately I understand your thirst for revenge and I’m willing to indulge you for a day or two. But not if this is a death wish. You take one unnecessary risk or try to sneak away from me again, and I will stuff you in a bag and carry you to your sister.”
Regan hissed, her body trembling with the need to rub against the hard thrust of his arousal.
“You’re really pissing me off.”
His gaze lowered to her lips. “Do we have a deal?”
“Screw you.”
Muttering words she didn’t understand, Jagr buried his face in the curve of her neck, the sensation of his fangs scraping her sensitive skin sending a shocking rash of pleasure through her body.
“You’re playing with fire, little one.”
Regan’s lips parted, her fingers digging into his upper arms as his tongue lightly traced the line of her collarbone revealed by her new pink T-shirt.
“Jagr,” she breathed.
“You smell of hot nights and jasmine.” His mouth brushed her skin as he spoke, the cool stroke of his lips branding her flesh. “Exquisite.”
Regan squeezed her eyes shut, desperately trying to halt the dark tide of need. Okay, her body wanted Jagr. Wanted him with a force that was close to going nuclear.
But it was just lust. The reaction of a woman who had been denied sex her entire life.
“I didn’t say you could kiss me,” she muttered, jerking with pleasure as his lips traveled up her neck to tease the hollow just below her ear.
“Do you want me to stop?”
Stop? Hell, no. She wanted him to rip off her clothes and lick her from head to toe. She wanted him to taste and nibble and bite until she screamed in pleasure. She wanted to wrap her fingers around his thickening cock and guide him into the aching void that refused to leave her in peace. She wanted…
She wanted.
And that was the problem.
“Please, Jagr.”
He nipped the lobe of her ear. “Please what, little one? What do you want?”
“Christ.” Calling upon the considerable strength of her heritage, along with a good dose of panic, Regan slammed her hands against the steel width of his chest, managing to gain enough space to wriggle from beneath his body. Scrambling to her feet, she brushed the dirt from her new clothes and glared at the vampire who gained his feet with a sinuous grace. “What is it with you? One minute you’re giving me frostbite, and the next you have your tongue down my throat. Are you psychotic, or just a garden-variety wing nut?”
With a cold smile, Jagr prowled toward the entrance of the cave. “I think the better question is why a woman who is so obviously desperate for my touch would be so terrified of her own desire.”
Chapter 6
The high ridge overlooking the Mississippi River south of Hannibal was perfectly suited to hide a pack of renegade curs. The abandoned wooden cabin was miles from its nearest neighbor, and the thick tangle of trees deterred all but the most determined hikers. But it was not only the isolation that had lured Sadie and her pack to the remote peak.
No, it was the echoing magic that lingered in the rich black earth, and the power of the churning waters below. In long-ago times, this land had belonged to the native Indians, and residue of their devotion to nature lingered with potent force, resonating through Sadie like a tuning fork.
Not that she wouldn’t have preferred an elegant mansion, complete with acres of marble and priceless works of art. She might be an animal at heart, but she lusted for the finer things in life. Just as she had when she was turning tricks in the nasty alleys of St. Louis nearly thirty years a
go.
That’s where she had first encountered Caine, the cur who had promised to make her a queen before he’d bit her and changed her world forever.
She was still waiting on the whole queen thing, she acknowledged wryly, moving through the main room of the cabin shrouded in the gathering gloom. It offered nothing more than a ratty couch, two overstuffed chairs, and a stone fireplace. There wasn’t even a picture hung on the rough wooden walls.
It was about as far away from the palace she dreamed of as the squalid boardinghouse she’d once shared with three other whores.
But then, revolutions were rarely without sacrifice.
Or blood, she was reminded as a hoarse scream reverberated from the attached shed.
A small smile touched her thin, some would claim cruel, features. Not that many men minded the hint of malicious fire that burned deep inside her. Humans might be attracted to her pale, still-smooth skin that contrasted with her waist-length raven hair and smoldering black eyes, but curs were brought to their knees by the hard muscles of her slender body and air of coiled violence that promised sweet pain.
Running her hands over the black leather pants that hung low on her hips and matched the barely-there halter top, Sadie was debating between returning to the shed and enjoying some quality torture with her captive, or going on the hunt, when a familiar scent had her rushing across the room.
Jerking open the door, she frowned as the tall, slender cur stepped from the thick shadows of the trees.
He was a tasty toy with dark hair he parted in the middle and allowed to brush past the line of his firm jaw. His eyes were indigo blue and surrounded by a tangle of thick lashes, and his features were carved with bad-boy perfection. An image only enhanced by his precisely trimmed goatee.
Black Irish.
Delectable.
Tonight, however, her first thought was not mounting him like a mechanical bull. It was pure fury that he’d obviously failed at his mission.
Stepping aside, Sadie waited for Duncan to enter the cabin before slamming the door and leaning against the wooden panels.
Outside, half a dozen curs and her personal witch roamed the woods, keeping constant guard on the area. She could catch the occasional rustle of underbrush as they circled the cabin. None would intrude without her permission.
“Where’s the bitch?” Sadie growled. She’d never been one for pleasantries. Why use a scalpel when a sledgehammer was so much more fun?
With the familiarity of a longtime lover, Duncan strolled across the room to grab a bottle of whiskey from the mantel, taking a deep swig before turning to meet her glowing gaze.
“There were…complications.”
“Do I look like I give a shit about complications? I told you to bring me the Were.”
Duncan grimaced. “She wasn’t alone.”
Sadie hissed as she straightened from the door. “Salvatore followed her to Hannibal?”
Another swig of the whiskey. “Worse. She had a vampire with her.”
“What the hell would she be doing with a bloodsucker?”
“Not just any bloodsucker.” Duncan’s sharp laugh ricocheted uneasily through the room. “I’d bet my ass it was the reclusive, legendary Jagr. I caught a glimpse of him once when I was in Chicago, but he’s not a demon you forget.”
“Jagr? I thought he was a myth.”
“Tooth fairies are a myth. Jagr is a force of nature that even other vampires fear.”
Sadie stormed across the room, yanking the bottle of whiskey from Duncan’s hand and swallowing the remaining dregs.
Perfect. Absolutely freaking perfect.
It wasn’t bad enough that Regan had slipped from her grasp, now she was being protected by the Hannibal Lecter of vampires?
Shit, Caine was going to skin her alive.
Literally, not figuratively.
“Why would he protect the Were?”
Duncan leaned against the stone mantel, folding his arms over his chest.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawled. “Perhaps it has something to do with the fact her sister is the current Queen of Vampires?”
The thought of Darcy being discovered after so many years, only to be snatched away by the King of the Living Dead, sent another wave of fury through Sadie, forcing her to battle the instinctive urge to shift.
“Interfering leeches. I warned Caine that leaving that ditzy Were in the hands of the vamps was trouble.”
Duncan’s lips twisted as his gaze skimmed down her tense body, lingering on the tattoo of a striking snake that coiled about her waist.
“I heard your complaints, but I noticed you didn’t offer yourself to become fodder in the skirmish between the vampires and purebloods, Sadie, luv.”
Sadie stepped back from Duncan’s pulsing heat. Now was not the time to be distracted.
“Where are the others?” she demanded.
“Dead.”
Sadie whirled to hurl the empty bottle of booze into the fireplace. The shatter of glass was satisfying, but it did nothing to soothe her scalding fury.
It wasn’t that she gave a crap about the dead curs. They were nothing more than renewable resources. But the fact they had failed in their duty made her want to rip their corpses apart piece by piece.
“The vampire?”
Duncan rubbed his side as if remembering a painful blow. “No, we were hit by a spell.”
Sadie sucked in a sharp breath. “They have a witch?”
“Not human. Some sort of demon.”
“Shit. What kind?”
“I didn’t wait around for DNA testing.”
Sadie grabbed the front of Duncan’s blue cashmere sweater he’d matched with black chinos. The male was addicted to Project Runway.
“You’re certain you weren’t followed?”
Duncan’s jaw tightened, but he was smart enough not to struggle. “I still have the amulet the witch gave me, and just to be certain I headed straight south before doubling back. If there was anyone on my trail, they’re in St. Louis by now.”
Sadie briefly considered crushing her fist into the cur’s face, if only to relieve the frustration that curdled in the pit of her stomach. A pity she still had need of the incompetent fool.
Tossing the cur away, Sadie paced the narrow room. “We have to get the Were before Caine returns.”
“Don’t look my way, luv.” Duncan smoothed his sweater, his natural arrogance back in full force. “I’ve already had my near-death experience for the week.”
Sadie curled her lips. “Be careful, Duncan. Your balls get any smaller, they might disappear altogether.”
“At least I’ll still have them intact.” He cupped his impressive package. “You want the Were? Go get her.”
“Oh, I intend to.”
“And the vampire?”
Sadie shrugged, her cunning mind already plotting her next move. “Beneath all that fang and fury, he’s just a man.”
“Get over yourself, Sadie,” Duncan drawled. “You might be a cur’s wet dream, but you’re way out of your league when it comes to vamps. Every demon knows they accept nothing less than perfection.”
Sadie merely smiled. Her years as a whore had taught her that any man could be controlled. It was all a matter of finding what buttons to push.
“I could have the vampire on his knees if I wanted,” she purred, “but men have more weaknesses beyond just an inability to think with anything besides their cock.”
“And those would be?”
“Overblown ego, and an insatiable need to flex their testosterone.” Sadie tossed her raven curls. “I set the trap, and he walks in. Bringing the sweet little Were with him.”
“You’re in over your head, luv.”
“Unlike you, Duncan, I have a spine.”
“Until Jagr rips it out.”
Sadie’s smile faded, a ruthless chill of unease inching down her still-attached spine. With a low growl, she thrust away the stupid sensation.
The years of her being a fe
eble victim were long gone. She was the hunter now, not the prey.
Shoving her hand into the front pocket of her leather pants, she pulled out a set of keys and tossed them to the startled Duncan.
“Here.”
His brows lifted. “Babe, you shouldn’t have.”
“I didn’t. The keys are to the imp’s RV.”
His teeth flashed white in the thickening darkness. “I’m more a Lamborghini man.”
“Caine wants the RV torched before it’s discovered by the humans.”
An eerie glow came and went in Duncan’s gaze. He was alpha enough to resent Caine’s superior position in the pack.
“That’s below my pay grade. Get one of the grunts to play pyro.”
“Scared, Duncan?” Sadie taunted, turning to stroll toward the side door. She was itching to hurt something. And she had a tasty toy already tied up and waiting for her attention. How fortunate. “Don’t worry, I’ll send Silk with you. Her magic will keep the big bad vampire away.”
“Bitch.”
With a low chuckle, Sadie stepped through the door that connected the small shed. The bald lightbulb hanging from the open rafters by an electric cord swayed at her entrance, filling the cramp space with harsh light and revealing the broken shovels, axes, hammers, and coffee cans filled with nails left to rust in the corners.
Sadie had no interest in the abandoned tools or the thick dust that blanketed the interior of the shed. Her entire attention was focused on the imp with long red hair and green eyes who was stripped naked and chained to the wall.
A smile of anticipation curled her lips as her gaze ran over the tall, muscular body. Except for a few flecks of dried blood, Culligan’s ivory skin had healed to smooth perfection. It made her hands twitch with anticipation. Slicing through unmarred flesh was just like dipping her finger into a new jar of peanut butter.
And speaking of peanut butter…
Her smile widened as she crossed to the overturned barrel where she’d left her favorite peanut butter fudge, wrapped in foil. She popped a large bite into her mouth before retrieving a silver dagger hanging on the wall and approaching the cowering imp.
He looked like an ancient sacrifice with his arms and legs spread wide, his flame hair flowing over his naked body. And, ah…his scent. Rich, plum-spiced, with a heady edge of stark, raving terror.
Darkness Unleashed Page 7
