“As I said, a few idiots are convinced we are deliberately altering the amount of venom in our bites to lessen their abilities. Once I track down Caine, I intend to bring an end to his dangerous claims.” His sensuous lips curved into a terrifying smile. “A painful end.”
Regan grimaced. “Very Rambo of you, but have you considered the possibility that this Caine has decided to do more than just complain about the fate of curs?”
Salvatore snorted. “He doesn’t possess enough followers to strike against the Weres. He prefers to hide in shadows while stirring the seeds of revolution.”
“Yeah, well, maybe the Benedict Arnold routine is just an act.”
Jagr hissed, reading her mind with unnerving ease. “Yes.”
Salvatore frowned, thankfully not capable of rummaging around in her thoughts.
“What the hell do you mean?”
Regan struggled to put her vague suspicion into words. “If this Caine truly believes he can transform himself into a Were, why would he bother plotting a fight he can never win? Wouldn’t it make more sense to spend his time finding the key to enhancing his gifts?”
“He’s already gone through the change…” Salvatore bit off his words, his eyes glowing with that eerie fire. “Cristo.”
“And if he believes that he can still get the powers he lacks, what would he need?” Jagr rasped.
Salvatore toyed with the heavy signet ring on his finger. “If his theory wasn’t completely illogical, completely unscientific, and completely crazy, I suppose he would need a pureblood.”
Four pairs of male eyes turned to regard Regan as if she were a nasty bug beneath a microscope.
“Surely they would need her alive?” Jagr rasped, the edge of ice in his voice assuring Regan he wasn’t nearly so calm as he appeared.
She was swiftly discovering the stronger his emotions, the deeper he coated them in permafrost.
“Actually, I think they have been trying to take me alive,” Regan admitted, deliberately catching Jagr’s fierce gaze. “It’s you they want to kill.”
“Imagine that,” Salvatore drawled.
Jagr’s attention never wavered from Regan. “How can you be certain?”
“I’m not certain, but Duncan was trying to convince me to come willingly with him while you were still unconscious.”
“The terrifying Jagr knocked unconscious by a cur?”
This time Jagr flashed an icy glare toward the provoking Salvatore. “A witch.”
“Duncan said that he wanted to keep me safe.” Regan hurriedly headed off yet another squabble between the two. “He didn’t say what danger I was supposedly in, but it was obvious he was desperate to take me somewhere, no matter what he had to do get me there.”
Salvatore snarled a low curse. “I look forward to meeting this Duncan. We have a great deal to discuss.”
Something that might have been frustration hardened Jagr’s beautiful face.
“At this point, it’s all nothing more than speculation. Leaping to conclusions could put Regan in danger. For now, all that matters is that she remain protected.”
She instinctively bristled at his possessive tone. Okay, she was ready, willing, and able to take advantage of his bodacious body. Why not? She’d been forced into celibacy for too long. And he’d already proven he possessed the sort of skills a woman in rampant lust could appreciate.
But the last thing she wanted was an overbearing keeper.
She already had one of those on her list to kill.
“I can take care of myself, thank you very much,” she snapped. “And the only thing I’m interested in is the fact that Duncan claims they have Culligan.”
Jagr’s frustration became a tangible blast of frozen air. “It’s a trap.”
She rolled her eyes at his flat accusation. “Ya think?”
“I think when it comes to the imp, you tend to act first and think of the consequences later.”
Salvatore’s soft laugh replaced Jagr’s chill with a brush of warm velvet.
“I see he knows you in more than just the carnal sense, sweet Regan.”
She tossed him an annoyed frown. “Shut up.”
“Is that any way to speak to your king?” he mocked.
She was about to inform her freaking king she’d talk to him any way she pleased when the sudden entrance of Levet had everyone spinning toward him in shock.
Ignoring the various guns, daggers, and flashing fangs that were aimed in his direction, Levet waddled forward, his tiny snout twitching.
“Sacrebleu. What’s that stench?” He blatantly glanced toward Salvatore. “Oh. Dogs. I should have known.”
Salvatore merely smiled, reaching out a hand to catch the bristling cur at his side.
“Easy, Hess. Do you not recall the stunted gargoyle who so kindly led Darcy into our trap?” The smile widened to reveal the white, white teeth. “I never did have the opportunity to offer my thanks.”
“Not much of a trap since Darcy is currently the Queen of Vampires, not Weres,” Levet smoothly countered.
Salvatore’s eyes flashed, but his expression remained mocking. “Her loss.”
The words had barely tumbled from his lips when there was the distant sound of shattering glass.
Within the cave everyone stilled, the very air shimmering with a sense of foreboding. Then with a movement that was too swift for Regan to follow, Jagr had launched himself forward, knocking her to the ground and covering her with his large body, as the concussion of an explosion far below rocked the bluff.
Jagr ignored Regan’s fists that pounded his chest, as well as her colorful descriptions of what should happen to oversized oafs who tackled hapless women, not willing to move until he was certain that the cave wasn’t on the edge of collapse. Only then did he lift himself high enough to run a searching gaze over Regan’s wriggling body, needing to be certain that she wasn’t hurt.
Dodging a fist aimed directly at his chin, Jagr flowed to his feet, hiding his smile.
If she could throw a punch like that, she couldn’t be badly injured.
Sensing he might lose a hand if he offered to help her off the ground, Jagr turned to join Salvatore and his curs at the entrance to the cave. He would no doubt pay for his violent instinct to protect Regan, but there had been no choice. He could no more have halted his reaction than he could halt the sun from rising.
A knowledge he shoved to the back of his mind as he stepped beside Salvatore and studied the expensive Humvee that was now a ball of flame in the parking lot far below.
“Dio,” the Were breathed. “Hess. Max. Bring me whoever is responsible.”
Looking as if they’d been shot from a cannon, the two curs bolted down the steep slope of the bluff, their low growls echoing through the darkness.
Jagr folded his arms over his chest, not entirely displeased to watch Salvatore’s vehicle go up flames. Not just because of his overly intimate manner toward Regan (although that was reason enough to rip out his filthy heart), but because the Were had wounded Regan when she was at her most vulnerable.
The bastard had freed her from the nightmare of Culligan, only to toss her aside when she couldn’t provide him what he desired.
It was no wonder she found it impossible to trust.
“Your curs have a peculiar means of welcoming their king.” He studied the burning Humvee. “Unless this is some ritual I’m unaware of?”
Salvatore ignored the taunt as power rippled beneath his skin. As a pureblood, he was capable of controlling his shifts, but the wolf was obviously struggling to break free.
“I should have sensed them,” the king rasped, his voice low and thick.
Jagr grimaced. “The witch.”
“She’s starting to wear on my nerves.”
“Agreed, but being rid of her is easier said than done. Only the gargoyle can sense her magic, and he seems incapable of tracking her down.”
“Hey.” There was a snap of angry wings as Levet exited the cave, followed closel
y by Regan. “I’m the one who’s been out tromping through the nasty boonies while you were playing splish-splash with our beautiful guest.”
Jagr took a second to savor the sudden heat that stained Regan’s cheeks before returning his attention to the gargoyle with a lift of his brow.
“Tromping that obviously led the curs straight back to this lair.”
“Or maybe they followed Mr. Lord and Master over there. Did you ever think about that?” Levet challenged.
“In either case, they’ve left warning that they know Salvatore is in Hannibal. And more importantly, they know this is our lair.” This time he turned to directly meet Regan’s guarded gaze. “We’re no longer safe here.”
Salvatore muttered a curse. “I have no pack in the area. I will have to return to St. Louis for reinforcements.”
“Why don’t you just call them?” Regan demanded.
“I prefer to give my commands in person. It helps to avoid any confusion.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I bet.”
Jagr frowned. “Do you have a magic-user among them?”
“No, but I can negotiate with the local coven.” Salvatore toyed with his heavy signet ring, his expression hard. “Unfortunately, it will take time. Witches are notoriously reluctant to offer their services to demons.”
“What am I?” Levet threw his hands in the air. “Chopped gall bladder?”
Jagr narrowed his gaze, in no mood for the annoying gargoyle. “What?”
“I think he means liver,” Regan wryly translated. “Chopped liver.”
“Gall bladder, liver…whatever.” Levet puffed out his chest. “I am a magic-user. What could a witch do that I can’t?”
“Track the curs? Weave an enchantment to hide our own presence? Ward this cave from intrusion?” Jagr smoothly pointed out.
“Bah, I will find the curs, and if you want an enchantment…” The tiny gargoyle lifted his hands.
“No,” Jagr and Salvatore bellowed at the same time.
“Fine.” With a twitch of his tail, Levet was marching down the steep bluff. “You want curs, I’ll find you curs.”
Regan spread her annoyed glare between both Jagr and Salvatore as she called out softly.
“Levet.”
With a stiff dignity, Levet turned to face her. “Oui?”
“Please, be careful.”
The ugly features softened. “For you, ma cherie, I will take the greatest care. Be assured that I will return in magnificent, vigorous, and virile health.”
Jagr swallowed his urge to snarl. “You can return any way you want, but we won’t be here. We have to find a new lair.”
“Do not fear, I will find you.”
“That was my fear,” Jagr muttered.
Levet blew a raspberry in Jagr’s direction before continuing down the slope.
“That creature is an embarrassment to gargoyles everywhere,” Salvatore said with a shake of his head.
For once, Jagr could actually agree with the Were.
Not that he was about to admit as much.
Especially not when he could smell Salvatore’s henchmen approaching.
The two curs appeared from the woods behind the cave, a matching expression of frustration on their faces.
“We followed their footprints to the river, then they disappeared,” the larger, bald-headed Hess grudgingly confessed. “We searched the area, but there was no sign of them.”
Jagr clenched his fists in annoyance. He didn’t like being taunted by a pack of worthless dogs.
“They can’t have gone far.”
“No, but without a scent we’re incapable of hunting them.” Salvatore gestured toward his companions. “There’s nothing more to be done here. I will return as soon as possible.”
Jagr didn’t attempt to halt Salvatore as he disappeared into the surrounding shadows. What good was the Were if he couldn’t track the curs?
Besides, having two alpha predators in the same territory was never a good idea. Jagr doubted that Styx would be pleased to learn one of his vampires had the pelt of the King of Weres nailed to the wall of his lair.
“Well, this is going just peachy,” Regan muttered, her damp hair fluttering like strands of silver in the night breeze. “Christ. All I wanted was to find Culligan and kill him, not get mixed up in some stupid war between the curs and the Weres.”
Jagr reached out to capture one of the silky strands, his expression somber.
“You would be safe in Chicago, Regan. Not even this Caine and his renegade pack of curs would be suicidal enough to attack a vampire stronghold.”
“A really stupendous idea if I wanted to be buried alive,” she mocked. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not exchanging one prison for another.”
He gave a tug on her hair. “You would be an honored guest, never a prisoner.”
“Oh, I’m sure my cell would be something out of the latest episode of Cribs, and my guards would be oh so kind while they explained why it was too dangerous for me to go out alone, or spend a weekend in Vegas.”
His brows lifted. “You have a particular desire to visit Las Vegas?”
“I have a particular desire to go where I want, when I want, without asking for permission.”
Jagr considered his words as his fingers shifted to brush down the seductive line of her throat. What could he say? There was no way in hell that Styx would allow Regan to come and go as she pleased. At least not as long as there was any threat to her.
Styx was by nature a control freak, and while Darcy had gone a long way to soften his rigid instincts, he couldn’t change centuries of habit overnight.
“Even if it puts you in danger?” he at last demanded.
“Yes.”
“Independence is one thing, Regan, and stubborn foolishness another.”
“Do you live under the roof of the Anasso?” she challenged.
His fingers lingered on the pulse at the base of her throat, the rush of her blood teasing his senses with sweet temptation.
“I have a private lair, but I owe fealty to the Anasso, as well as Viper,” he murmured, unwittingly lowering his head to drink in her intoxicating scent.
Her pulse leaped beneath his fingertips.
“Viper?” she rasped.
“Clan chief of Chicago. When either commands my service, I must obey.”
“Like coming to Hannibal to collect a dysfunctional Were?”
His lips twitched. “Yes.”
She sucked in a shuddering breath, as conscious as Jagr of the potent awareness that jolted between them.
“Why give them such power?”
Abruptly realizing his fingers had drifted to the distracting fullness of her lips, Jagr dropped his hand and stepped away.
What the devil was he doing? His highly honed senses might assure him that there were no dangers in the area, but that didn’t mean they weren’t sitting targets.
Where was his ruthless self-discipline? His icy logic? His barren disinterest in others?
When it came to Regan, he was as easily distracted as a dew fairy high on honey.
“A vampire without a clan is always seen as a threat,” he retorted, taking her arm to steer back through the narrow entrance into the cave. “My only hope for a measure of peace was to find a chief who controlled a stable clan with no thirst for war. Nothing is without cost. Even freedom.”
Shaking off his hand, Regan folded her arms over her chest and dug in her heels.
“Well, I’m not willing to become a pampered hostage to my sister in exchange for safety. I’d rather take my chances with the curs.”
His lips twisted at her predictable response. “Hardly a logical decision.”
“I don’t want to be logical. I want to find Culligan and kill him. Speaking of which…”
With a blur of speed, Jagr had moved to block the opening. “Wait, little one.”
A frustration that Jagr fully appreciated tightened her beautiful features.
“Now what?”
> “Unless you want to leave behind your clothes, you will need to take them with us. We can’t risk returning here.”
“Why bother finding a new lair? They’ll just track us down again.”
“Trust me.”
Emerald eyes sparked with irritation at his command for her blind faith, but astonishingly, she spun on her heel and marched toward the back of the cave rather than try to rip out his heart.
Jagr wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or terrified as he followed in her stormy wake.
In silence, she gathered the bags that were so obviously precious to her, stoically ignoring Jagr as he placed his own belongings into the leather satchel he’d brought from Chicago.
Tossing it over his shoulder, he moved to halt Regan as she reached for the rumpled clothes he’d peeled from her delectable body such a short time ago.
“Leave a few behind.”
Her brows snapped together. “Why?”
“I thought you were going to trust me.”
Chapter 10
I thought you were going to trust me…
Regan clutched the stuffed bags to her chest, her jaw clenched at Jagr’s soft words.
She wanted to laugh at his words.
She’d spent thirty years being tormented, betrayed, and abused by everyone she had ever known. Now, a lethal vampire she’d met only days ago wanted her to blithely put her life in his hands?
Yeah, right.
So…why wasn’t she laughing?
Maybe because her every instinct told her that Jagr would do everything in his power to keep her safe.
Whether out of fear his Anasso would mount him on the wall of his throne room or for some more personal reason was impossible to say.
“Here.” Reading her conflicting emotions with annoying ease, Jagr moved forward, holding out a silver box in an obvious effort to distract her.
It worked.
Her eyes widened as she took Culligan’s private safe. “I dropped this when you went juggernaut and launched us through the back of the RV.” She met his searching gaze. “How’d you get it?”
“I had Levet retrieve it. There are papers in the bottom we haven’t looked through yet.”
“You think they might be important?”
“We can only hope.”
Darkness Unleashed Page 12
