“Shouldn’t you get rid of the mess in the bedroom?”
Jagr shrugged, turning to head for the door leading out of the apartment. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on the intense pleasure that had caused his power to shatter Tane’s repulsive works of art. Not when he needed his few remaining brain cells to make sure he didn’t lead them into yet another disaster.
“Tane’s servants can toss it into the trash. That’s where the junk belonged in the first place,” he muttered, opening the door and waiting for her to step past him before closing it and heading down the narrow hallway.
She walked at his side, her dry glance her only reaction to his surly mood.
“So you don’t have your own lair decorated with Hustler rejects?”
“I haven’t bothered decorating at all.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“It didn’t seem necessary.” Coming to an abrupt halt, Jagr cupped her face and stole a swift, frustrated kiss. Lifting his head, he met her startled gaze. “Until now.”
Her lips parted with a scathing remark, but before she could catch her breath, he was stepping into Command Central and speaking to the dark-haired vampire on guard.
“We need transportation.”
The warrior with his dark hair shaved close to his head, and his large body covered with a variety of weapons, rose to his feet, clearly under orders to offer Jagr whatever he needed.
“Follow me.”
Wryly wondering what Tane would demand in repayment for his hospitality, Jagr followed the vampire across the room.
Waiting for the servant to push open a narrow door, he wasn’t surprised to discover the vast underground garage that held a half dozen gleaming cars. Many vampires possessed a fascination with expensive automobiles. Regan, on the other hand, sucked in a shocked breath.
“Jeez. No Batmobile?”
“It’s having its tires rotated.” He led her across the paved garage toward a shadowed corner.
Her hand reached out to stroke over the elegant curves of a silver Mercedes they passed.
“I wonder if Salvatore needs a Were assassin. I could use a pay grade that’s obviously in the Donald Trump territory.”
Jagr bristled. Salvatore might not be willing to take Regan as his queen, but he was more than interested in taking her to his bed. Jagr would see the king in hell first.
“There’s no need for Salvatore. The Anasso would willingly offer you whatever luxury you want.” His lips twisted. “I can promise you that his pay grade is much higher than Donald Trump.”
“I don’t need the Anasso’s charity.” She jerked her arm from his grasp. “Or the strings attached.”
“No, you’d much rather cut off your nose to spite your face,” he growled, ignoring her glare as he stopped next to a battered red truck. “This should do.”
“This?” She wrinkled her nose. “Are you kidding me? There’s a Lamborghini, a Porsche, an Aston Martin, and two Corvettes just begging to go for a drive, and you want to take this piece of junk?”
Opening the passenger side door, he eyed her with a lift of his brows. “I prefer not to attract any unwanted attention. How many Lamborghinis have you seen in Hannibal?”
“Fine.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Then why don’t we just go back the way we came? I’d rather run than be jolted around in this thing.”
“The curs won’t be looking for a red truck,” he pointed out. “And we might need it if either of us is injured.”
“Killjoy,” she muttered, grudgingly grabbing the handle of the door to vault into the high cab.
“So I’ve been told.”
Jagr waited until she was settled on the worn leather seat before closing the door and rounding the front of the truck to take his place behind the wheel. Ignoring the key in the ignition, he used his powers to start the powerful engine and headed toward the tunnel that led out of the underground complex.
They exited the tunnel in the middle of a thick tangle of trees and underbrush that hid the opening from prying eyes. Or at least from human eyes. Regan possessed enough wolf to spot the numerous cameras concealed among the branches, and the occasional vampire that slid through the dark shadows.
“Crap.” Her gaze lingered on the heat detectors hidden in a clump of wild daisies. “What happens if someone accidentally stumbles into this little Area 51?”
Jagr shrugged. “They’re removed and their memories altered.”
“Just like the other Area 51.”
His lips twitched. “Not quite.”
He took the narrow path through the surrounding fields, keeping the lights off until they reached a paved road heading south. Then ignoring any claim to intelligence, he gunned the engine and they hurtled their way toward Hannibal.
For long minutes they traveled in silence, Jagr brooding on his plunge into insanity and Regan watching the passing scenery with an odd sort of curiosity.
At last, Jagr chalked up his peculiar behavior to the onset of dementia and allowed his attention to return to the woman at his side.
“You’re frighteningly quiet. Are you plotting general mayhem, or just my own demise?”
“I’m enjoying the scenery.”
His gaze lingered on the fields that would eventually be planted with corn and soy beans and the occasional patch of sorghum. The recently tilled fields were no doubt a lovely sight for the local farmers, but hardly one of the Seven Wonders of the World.
“The scenery?”
Her lips curved into a wistful smile. “Culligan used to drive through the back roads when we traveled from town to town. I always envied the humans tucked safely in their beds with no idea of the monsters lurking in the dark.”
Jagr grimaced. He didn’t have a memory of his time as a human, but the rumors of his brutal rampages were legendary. There hadn’t been many tears shed when he’d mysteriously disappeared.
“Humans are not without their own share of monsters.”
“Maybe not, but the countryside always seems so peaceful. Especially at night.”
“Obviously you haven’t read In Cold Blood.”
She rolled her eyes. “Spoken like a true city vamp.”
“I haven’t always lived in cities, you know,” he drawled. “I’ve spent centuries hidden in lairs so remote I had to travel hours to feed.”
“Centuries of solitude?” She sucked in a deep breath. “It sounds like heaven.”
“At times.” He slowed the truck as he turned to study the smooth perfection of her profile. “There are also times when it’s lonely and tedious and frightening.”
She turned to catch his intense gaze. “Frightening?”
“Without a connection to the world, it becomes far too easy to question the purpose in continuing to exist.”
Even in the darkness he had no trouble seeing the shock, and something that might have been horror, that rippled over her face.
“Did you…?”
“If I hadn’t discovered a passion for my research, I would not have struggled against the lure of ending it all,” he readily confessed. “It’s a temptation that all immortals must battle.”
Without warning, she shivered, wrapping her arms around her waist as if warding off a sudden chill.
“You’d better not do anything so stupid while I’m around, chief,” she muttered. “I intend to be the only tragedy to befall you.”
A stab of satisfaction rushed through him at her unmistakable distress. She didn’t like the thought he had very nearly put an end to his empty existence.
“Don’t worry, little one, you won’t get rid of me that easily.”
She deliberately turned her head to stare out the window, pretending an interest in clumps of houses and car lots and gas stations that replaced the fields as they skirted the edge of town. Jagr allowed her to wrestle with her emotions in silence, forcing himself to concentrate on where he’d seen the sign for the tea shop.
Crawling through the sleeping residential streets, he nearl
y missed the refurbished three-storied house that was set behind two towering oaks.
“This is it,” he said, abruptly pulling the truck to a halt on the opposite side of the street. It was nearly two in the morning and, in the finer neighborhoods of Hannibal, the citizens were safely tucked in their beds.
Leaning forward, Regan studied the pretty white structure with pink trim, and all those curly doodads that Victorians were addicted to.
“No.” She shook her head. “This can’t be right.”
He deliberately glanced at the gold letters painted in the bay window. “It claims to be the Clemons Tea Shop. Do you think there’s more than one?”
“It’s way too upscale for any of Culligan’s friends,” she muttered. “He hangs around with bottom-feeders like himself.”
“Fine. We can return to the lair, and…”
He hid his smile as she hastily shoved open her door and jumped out of the truck.
“We might as well have a look while we’re here.”
He caught up with her as she vaulted over the white picket fence, his senses assuring him that there was nothing in the house but a prowling cat. Of course, his senses were worthless when it came to the curs and their damned witch, he reminded himself, tugging the handgun from his waistband as they rounded the house and entered the tiny rose garden at the back.
Reaching the edge of the patio dotted with tables, they both came to a sharp halt.
“Do you smell that?” Regan demanded, her eyes glittering at the distinct scent of peach that had nothing to do with the tarts or scones served from the nearby kitchen.
Jagr nodded. It wasn’t the distinct plum scent of Culligan, but definitely fey.
“Imp. And male.” His fingers tightened on the handle of the gun. “Do you recognize the scent?”
“No.” She sucked in a deep breath, using her Were senses to test the air. “I don’t think Culligan was ever in contact with the imp while he held me captive.”
“So why would this mysterious imp contact him with an invitation to meet in Hannibal?”
Her gaze widened. “A trap?”
It had been Jagr’s first thought as well. “An imp would sell his own mother if he could get a profit.”
Her lips curled in anticipation. “I think I’d like to meet this imp.”
Jagr scowled, rebelling at the mere thought of Regan hunting an imp that might possess all sorts of nasty skills.
“I’ll track him.” He was careful to keep his words closer to a request than a demand. “You return to Tane’s lair, and I’ll…”
“Don’t even start with me.” Her hands landed on her hips, her expression at its most stubborn.
“Regan, we know nothing about this imp or how closely he’s associated with the curs.”
“Look, I’ve let you hang around because you’re occasionally useful, but I don’t take orders from you.” Her eyes narrowed. “Got it?”
He muttered a low curse. “So you’re willing to put yourself in danger to prove you can?”
“I’m willing to do what’s necessary to track Culligan. In case you’ve forgotten, that’s why I’m here.” Turning, she marched toward the back hedge, her back stiff as she followed the trail of the imp. “It’s the only reason I’m here.”
Jagr held himself still, waging war with his predatory nature that was stirred to a fever pitch by Regan’s brash challenge.
If he’d already claimed her, then these skirmishes would be nothing more than the delicious games played between mates. But, without the bond…
Damn.
He’d assumed Kesi was the expert on torture.
She was an amateur compared to Regan.
Levet kicked a stray rock as he wandered along the edge of the Mississippi River.
He’d caught the plum scent of an imp two hours ago, and had eagerly been on the hunt since. Mon Dieu. He’d been so certain that this was his opportunity to show that frozen Visigoth chief who was the better demon.
His mood of elation, however, was swiftly spiraling down to weary annoyance as the trail led him on a seeming goose chase through the mud and muck that Missouri produced in astonishing abundance.
Not for the first time, he considered washing his hands of this whole vampire-helping-business and retiring to a nice quiet church in Florida.
Or maybe Arizona.
The humidity did nothing for his skin.
After all, it wasn’t like the cold-blooded bastards actually appreciated his spectacular skills. Sacrebleu, they barely acknowledged he was a full-blooded gargoyle, let alone treated him with the respect or dignity that was his due.
So why was he tromping through the nasty weeds, following an even nastier imp, when once again the damnable vampire was busy sweeping the beautiful damsel in distress off her feet?
Because he was an imbecile, that was why.
An imbecile with sore feet, an empty stomach, and a sinking certainty that he was doing nothing more than walking in circles.
He needed a pizza. An extra large, meat-lovers, double cheese, thick crust…
“Psst.”
Startled by the unexpected sound, Levet jerked his head to discover a woman swimming in the powerful waters of the river, her pure white skin, slanted blue eyes, and pale green hair revealing she was something other than human.
Water sprite.
And one that he’d encountered before.
Cursing the hideous luck than had crossed his path with Bella, the-pain-in-the-ass sprite, Levet attempted to ignore the flighty fey.
“Hey. Hey, you.” Swimming closer to the shore, she waved an arm, as if he were too stupid to notice a water sprite bobbing a stone’s throw from him. “Over here. Psst.”
“Stop pssting me,” he growled, continuing his path along the edge of the river.
“I know you.”
“Non, you do not,” he denied.
“I do. You’re Levet, the stunted gargoyle.”
He halted at the insult, spinning to point a gnarled claw at the stupid pest. “I am not stunted. I am vertically challenged.”
She batted her long lashes, her beauty near breathtaking in the silver moonlight. Of course, it was that beauty that had been leading sailors to their doom since the beginning of time.
Levet had learned his lesson when the sprite had crawled through his portal when he’d been attempting to save Viper and Shay from the previous Anasso who’d gone completely nuts.
“I made you big before, when you fought that icky vampire,” she whispered, reminding him of the pleasure he’d felt in commanding the stature that most of his brethren took for granted. Mon Dieu. It had been such a lovely thing. “Do you want me to make you big again?”
“I didn’t summon you. Go away.”
“I’m bored.”
“Then go pester the fishes.” He puffed out his chest. “I am on important business.”
“What kind of business would a miniature gargoyle have? Are you hunting leprechauns?” she mocked, her laughter tinkling through the night air. “Oh, I know, I know. You’re hunting hobbits.”
“Very amusing…not.” Clenching his claws, Levet resumed his trek through the mud. “I happen to be hunting a very dangerous, very cunning imp.”
“Imp?” She kept pace with his angry stride. “There’s no imp around here.”
“Is too.”
“Is not.”
“Is too.”
“Is not.”
Levet threw his hands in the air. “I smell him, you annoying creature.”
“The only thing that’s gone past here besides a raccoon was a cur.”
“A cur.” Levet halted in shock. “You are certain?”
Pleased to have his full attention, Bella ran a tempting hand through her hair. “I know a dog when I see one. He was far more handsome than you, but covered in blood.” She grimaced. “Bleck.”
A cur covered in blood?
Had one of them been injured?
And why did they smell like an imp…
“Sacrebleu.” Smack, smack. “I have been such a fool.”
“Well, your brain isn’t very big,” Bella sympathized.
Lifting his head, Levet glared at the water sprite. “One more word out of you and I’m turning you into a carp.”
“Why do you want a stupid imp?” she pouted, blithely ignoring his threat. “They’re nasty, tricky beasts. Sprites are much more fun. Don’t you remember how you liked me rubbing your wings? Summon me and I’ll make you the happiest gargoyle in the world.”
“Enough, you make my head hurt,” Levet snapped.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t tempted. Bella was lovely, and he was a healthy male who liked having his wings stroked as well as the next gargoyle. Still, he understood the dangers of playing with the fey.
They always ended up being more trouble than they were worth.
Squaring his shoulders, Levet concentrated on the fading scent of plums. The damned cur may have tricked him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use the situation to his advantage.
“Wait.” Breaking into his concentration, Bella swam closer to the shore. “Where are you going?”
He muttered a curse at the interruption. “I have a cur to capture.”
“I can help.”
“Bah.”
“I know where the imp is.”
Levet scowled. “How would you know?”
“I see things.”
“See things? What could you possibly see? You cannot be in this world unless you’re summoned…”
He stumbled to silence as his words sank through his thick skull. She couldn’t be here. Not unless she’d already been summoned.
She was nothing more than another bit of bait. Just like the scent of imp that had led him to this precise spot.
“Oh, shit,” he breathed, whirling just in time to watch the tall cur step from behind a tree.
His hands lifted to conjure a hasty spell, but the words didn’t have time to form before he was struck by a brilliant explosion.
The world went black.
Chapter 13
Regan shivered, absently rubbing her hands over her bare arms. The chill in the air had nothing to do with the brisk spring breeze and everything to do with the very large, very annoyed vampire stalking silently behind her.
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