Darkness Unleashed

by Alexandra Ivy

  Darcy was never going to drag the proud vampire fully into the twenty-first century.

  “The meeting with Duncan is set for dawn,” Styx revealed, his voice hard. “He refused to offer the location.”

  “Refused?” Jagr shook his head. “Arrogant dog.”

  Styx grimaced. “He has proclaimed it Were business and I have no authority to interfere, although Darcy may have a different opinion when I tell her.”

  “Good God, you actually listen to your mate’s opinion?” Regan demanded, her tone overly sweet.

  Jagr frowned, but Styx seemed to find the jab amusing. “Believe me, it was a hard-earned talent,” he admitted with a low chuckle.

  Jagr’s frown deepened as he glared at his king. Traitor.

  “Do you intend to return to Chicago?”

  Styx briefly closed his eyes, testing the air. “It is too late to make the journey tonight,” he concluded, opening his eyes. “And I would prefer to clean up any loose ends before leaving.”

  Jagr gave a dip of his head. “Speaking of loose ends, I have an imp to track down.”

  “The dawn is only two hours away,” Styx warned.

  Jagr patted one of the numerous daggers strapped to his body. “This won’t take long.”

  “I will join you.” Styx took a step forward. “Once the imp is dead, we can search the cabin that Regan found. It could be the remaining curs have returned there.”

  “Which means you’ll need me if you want to find the place,” Regan said, a smug smile curving her lips.

  “There’s no need. We can follow your trail,” Jagr said, unable to halt the futile words even as Regan was sticking a finger in his face.

  “Don’t even start. I’m coming.”

  The two stood there, glaring at one another, until Styx moved forward to slap Jagr on the back.

  “I would suggest you let it go, old friend,” Styx warned, leaving the room.

  Jagr didn’t concede defeat as much as give into the inevitable. Regan was a force of nature he didn’t know how to control.

  In silence, he followed Styx out of the lair and to the waiting Porsche parked in the circle drive. He even managed to hold his tongue as Regan climbed into the back, and he took his position in the passenger seat.

  He’d barely shut the door when Styx revved the powerful engine and hurtled them through the empty streets, his lips twisted in what Jagr strongly suspected was a smile of amusement.

  What the hell happened to vampire solidarity?

  Bastard.

  At least the car was able to make the trip at a pace just short of light speed, and directing Styx through the back roads, he at last held up his hand.

  “Stop here.” He pointed toward the frilly house on the corner. “The tea shop is just ahead.”

  The Porsche came to a halt, and they climbed out to stand in the shadows of a dogwood tree.

  A dogwood that was currently decorated with a familiar, albeit considerably worse for the wear, truck.

  Styx studied the ruined vehicle with a lift of his brows. “Tane’s?”

  “It was.” Jagr glanced toward Regan, who was looking decidedly guilty. “Your handiwork?”

  “Hey, I’d never driven before.” She gave an awkward lift of her shoulder. “Besides, it was already a piece of junk.”

  “I would suggest you keep your keys close at hand, my lord,” he said, dryly.

  “Ha. Very funny.” With a toss of her head, Regan moved down the street, her back rigid.

  Styx smiled. “Although I hate to question Regan’s skill in demolition, I have to admit she is a mere amateur in destroying cars compared to Levet. That gargoyle possesses an exquisite ability to mangle even the finest vehicle. Just ask Viper.”

  “Considering Viper’s unnatural obsession with his cars, I would rather not provoke any unpleasant memories.”

  “Wise choice,” Styx drawled.

  “I occasionally have moments of self-preservation.” His gaze was instinctively drawn to Regan as she paced impatiently just across the street from the tea shop. “Although not nearly so many as I might hope for.”

  Styx laid a surprisingly gentle hand on his shoulder. “I would tell you that it gets easier, but I try to make it a policy not to lie any more than necessary.”

  Jagr winced as a sharp pang pierced his heart. “Our time together draws to an end.”

  “Only the Oracles can read the future. Cezar is proof of that.”

  Jagr’s lips twisted. Cezar’s mate had turned out to be one of the rare Oracles, a fate that Jagr wouldn’t wish on anyone.

  Bad enough to have a bad-tempered Were with a commitment phobia.

  “I don’t need an Oracle to tell me that Regan is determined to remain a true lone wolf.”

  Obviously weary of waiting, Regan planted her hands on her hips and glared at the two vampires.

  “Are we doing this, or what?”

  Styx slanted Jagr an amused glance. “Bossy little thing, isn’t she?”

  “You have no idea.”

  Throwing up her hands in defeat, Regan turned on her heel and marched across the street to the silent tea shop.

  “Maybe we should make sure she doesn’t run into trouble,” Styx murmured.

  “If only it was possible.” Jagr was swiftly rushing after her tiny form, a sudden urgency lending him speed as she disappeared through the gate of the picket fence and rounded the back of the house. Even at a distance, the scent of rotting peaches filled the air. “Regan.”

  She came to an abrupt halt, her expression wary. “I smell it. Is he dead?”

  “Yes.” Jagr didn’t need to see Gaynor’s body to feel the violence that shrouded the house. “And his death wasn’t pleasant. There’s a lot of blood.”

  Appearing from the shadows, Styx studied the broken French doors. “There are three dead curs, and one unconscious, as well as the dead imp. I sense no one else.”

  Jagr’s gaze searched the dark garden, his instincts tingling with an unmistakable warning.

  “That doesn’t mean they aren’t prowling around,” he growled. “Those damn amulets make it impossible to be certain.”

  Styx frowned. “We should make a quick sweep of the house.”

  “You go.” Jagr continued his wary survey. “We’ll stay here.”

  “Jagr…”

  He placed a finger over Regan’s lips to halt her protest. “No, Regan, this has nothing to do with protecting you.”

  Styx stepped closer. “What is it?”

  “Nothing I can put my finger on. I just think we should keep guard.”

  The ancient vampire nodded, not questioning Jagr’s vague unease.

  “I trust your instincts, my brother. I will not be long.”

  Chapter 19

  Regan watched as the very large, very scary Styx disappeared through the French doors before turning to study Jagr with a frown.

  She felt strangely numb as the smell of death and violence wrapped around her.

  Maybe not surprising after the last few days.

  There was only so much a woman, even one accustomed to demon brutality, could bear without going into emotional overload.

  That didn’t mean, however, she was oblivious to the danger that continued to haunt her.

  She had only to glance at Jagr’s tight expression to be reminded.

  “What do you sense?” she whispered.

  “We’re being watched.” Without even glancing in her direction (a seeming trend this evening), Jagr tugged two daggers from his boots and handed her one. “Here.”

  Gingerly taking the dagger, she grimaced at the long, lethally sharp blade.

  “Silver?”

  “Yes. Try not to stick yourself.”

  “I know where I’d like to stick it.”

  Expecting a sharp response, Regan was caught off guard as Jagr slowly turned, his expression somber.

  “Are we destined to be enemies, little one?”

  She floundered at the soft, but inexorable question. />
  Christ, this vampire tied her knots. Why couldn’t he just let her panic and drive him away with her volatile, completely irrational behavior?

  It’s what any decent demon would do.

  Instead, he stood there staring at her with that icily guarded expression that she knew hid just how much her answer meant to him.

  “No,” she at last whispered, unable to deliver the final, unalterable blow. “I don’t want to be your enemy, Jagr. I seem to have enough of them already.”

  Lifting a hand, he gently cupped her face. “Regan…”

  She had no idea what he was about to say, nor was she destined to discover, as Jagr abruptly turned toward the house, his body stiff with tension.

  “Jagr, what is it?”

  “A trap,” he rasped, charging toward the French doors with a near blinding speed. “Styx.”

  Momentarily stunned, Regan watched as Jagr disappeared into the tea shop. What the hell? Regan stepped forward, intent on following Jagr, when there was an audible click, followed instantly by the sound of an explosion that made the earth shake beneath her feet.

  The world seemed stuck in slow motion as Regan watched in horror while the flames and smoke billowed through the house. Then without warning, the concussion hit, sending her flying backward as the house shattered from the force of the blast.

  Jagr.

  Stark panic clawed through her, but she was helpless as she was tossed like a piece of trash through the air, at last crashing into an oak tree with enough force to briefly knock her unconscious.

  The blackness came and went with a blazing flare of pain, but Regan ignored the dizziness and urge to toss up what little remained in her stomach. She didn’t have time to be sick. Jagr had been in the house. She had to reach him, and by God, if he’d let himself be killed, she was going to…

  “Alone at last, bitch.”

  Consumed with her desperate fear, Regan was completely unprepared for the tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed woman who dropped from the branches of the tree to stand directly in her path.

  Stumbling to a halt, Regan gritted her teeth as her gaze swept over the stranger, absently grimacing at the leather bustier and pants that matched the high-heeled boots. It wasn’t the Sluts-R-Us outfit, however, that caught and held her attention. Instead it was the hard, perfectly toned muscles that revealed this woman wasn’t just a local stripper on her way home from a hard night.

  That, and the complete absence of scent.

  “Sadie,” she breathed, her gut twisting with fury.

  This woman was behind luring Regan to Hannibal, behind Gaynor imprisoning Jagr, and now behind an explosion that might very well have killed her vampire.

  She was going to cut her heart right out of her freaking chest.

  “I see my reputation precedes me,” the woman taunted, clearly unaware that she was already dead. “What? No snappy banter? I knew you were bound to be a disappointment.”

  Regan slowly began to circle the cur. During her unexpected flight, she’d dropped the dagger that Jagr had given her. Go figure. And while her instincts howled for an opportunity to rip out her heart, she wasn’t stupid.

  Now was not the time to take chances. Not when Jagr needed her.

  “I don’t need snappy banter to kill you,” she drawled, hoping to keep the woman distracted.

  “You kill me?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re nothing without your vampire, you genetic freak,” the woman mocked. “A Were who can’t even shift.”

  Regan’s heart twisted at the mention of Jagr, but she grimly kept circling the cur.

  “I may be a freak, but I’m a pureblooded freak, which is more than you can say…cur.”

  Reaching behind her back, Sadie tugged free a tightly coiled whip.

  A whip?

  Who the hell used a whip? Well, who besides Indiana Jones?

  With a practiced flip of her hand, the cur snapped her wrist, sending the tail of the whip cracking a mere inch from Regan’s face.

  Holy shit.

  Leaping back, Regan swallowed a curse of frustration. The whip couldn’t kill her, but it could wrap around her and hold her immobile.

  Not to mention it had enough reach to keep her from easily retrieving the dagger.

  The only hope was leading Sadie away from the damned thing so she could try and make a dash for it when the cur was off guard.

  “You think you’re better than me?” The whip snaked out again, slicing through the flesh of Regan’s cheek.

  “I don’t think, I know.” Ignoring the blood that dripped down her neck, Regan altered her course as if she were trying to reach the nearby gate. “You’re nothing more than an infected human who can imitate a Were but never become one. A pathetic wannabe.”

  The dark eyes flared as the words hit their mark. “You know nothing.”

  Regan jerked to the side as the whip flared out. “I know of your psycho plan to use my sister as some sort of guinea pig, in the pathetic hope you can become more than the bottom-feeders of the demon-world.”

  “It’s our destiny to rule.”

  Regan took two steps closer to the gate, hiding her grim satisfaction as Sadie followed.

  “Because some idiot saw it in a vision?”

  Crack. The whip cut a deep slice through her abdomen, ruining her new shirt.

  Bitch.

  “Caine is a prophet,” Sadie hissed.

  Regan didn’t bother hiding her flare of pain as she stumbled, deliberately glancing over her shoulder as if judging the distance to the open gate.

  “He’s a whack job who should be put in a straightjacket, and you’re even more of a whack job to believe him. I suppose the old saying is true—‘There’s a sucker born every minute.’”

  A hard smile curved the woman’s lips. A pity really. The cur would have been beautiful if not for the vicious expression.

  Well, that and the tart-from-hell outfit.

  “Where’s your faith, Were?” Sadie demanded.

  “When someone starts babbling about visions, my first thought is medication, not hallelujah.”

  “You see, that’s what is wrong with youth today.”

  “Sanity?”

  “Cynicism.” A hand stroked up the bustier, cupping a still pert breast. “Look at me, I was a two-bit whore who was regularly raped by my father, and traded my body for the heroin that made my personal hell bearable. Then Caine changed everything, and soon I’ll be a queen.”

  “Queen of Dogs?” She mocked, ignoring the heat of the burning tea house as she managed another few steps. Dammit, she had to get to that dagger and kill the bitch. If Jagr were still alive…no, he was alive. She couldn’t allow herself to think anything else. And she had to get to him. “Big deal.”

  “It’s certainly better than wasting my time whining and pouting because you think you got a bad break.”

  “Bad break? Culligan tortured me for the past thirty years.”

  “Boohoo. So you had a few cuts and bruises.” The whip sizzled through the air, striking Regan’s neck even as she dove to the side. “Did you have to spread your legs for every disgusting male who couldn’t get it up unless he was beating on you? Did you sleep in an alley and pray someone would slit your throat so you didn’t have to wake up?”

  Regan gritted her teeth. She healed swiftly, but she was losing too much blood.

  “Worse, I’ve had to listen to your entire life story,” she taunted, luring Sadie even further from the dagger. “Do you bore everyone with it? Because that might explain why your only friend is an outlaw cur with delusions of grandeur.”

  “Better than a stunted gargoyle and a walking corpse.” The black eyes smoldered with hatred. “Tell me, what’s it like banging a cold stiff?”

  Regan hissed, her wolf howling with the urge to kill.

  “God damn you.”

  “Ah, did I touch a nerve?” Sadie unwittingly stepped further from the dagger, using the whip to slice another wound on Regan’s stomach. “Yo
u know, you have no one to blame but yourself for his untimely death. Well…second death. If you’d just come along nicely, there’d be no reason for the gorgeous vampire to die.”

  Shit. Regan pressed a hand to the gaping wound. A few more steps.

  Just a few.

  “I have issues with becoming a lab rat for a bunch of dogs. Sue me.”

  “I’d rather kill you, but unfortunately that’s going to have to wait until Caine is confident he has all he needs from your sister.”

  Regan never halted her slow circle, but her eyes narrowed at the mention of her sister.

  Just maybe she could kill two birds with one stone.

  Or two worthless curs.

  “Why does he want me?”

  Sadie sneered as she flicked a dismissive gaze over Regan’s tattered, bloody body.

  “You, my freak, are our backup in case she’s so ill-mannered as to croak on us.”

  “Nice.”

  “Revolutions are always messy.” She lashed out with her whip, frowning when Regan managed to dance out of the path. “At least for the losers.”

  “Oh, you have that right.” From the corner of her eye, Regan could see the silver of the dagger glittering in the moonlight. Time to bring out the big guns. “As your beloved Caine is about to discover. Salvatore is already on his trail.”

  Sadie snarled, her eyes suddenly glowing with an eerie light as the urge to shift pulsed through her body.

  “I suppose this is some pathetic trick to try and distract me?”

  Regan managed a mocking smile despite her pain. “You really need to work on that sparkling personality of yours, Sadie. It doesn’t seem to inspire the sort of loyalty that successful revolutions are made of.” Her smile widened. “Duncan has already turned traitor.”

  Sadie froze. “Liar.”

  Regan began to covertly angle directly toward the dagger. She couldn’t waste any more time.

  “Surely you can’t be surprised?” she demanded, inwardly judging the remaining distance. “I don’t know what you did to him, but the cur hates you with a passion. He couldn’t wait to set up a meeting with Salvatore to squeal everything he knows about Caine and his secret laboratories.”

  “As if Caine would reveal anything to a mere peon like Duncan,” Sadie scorned, although she couldn’t disguise the tightening of her hard features. “They’ll never find him.”