“Oh, they will.” Regan grunted as the whip caught her across the shoulder. She was going to shove that thing up Sadie’s ass once this was over. For the moment, all she could do was grin and bear it. “And, if you’re as smart as you claim to be, then you’ll contact Salvatore and try to make your own deal. If you can lead him directly to my sister, he might be willing to negotiate with you rather than Duncan.”
“There will be no negotiating,” Sadie hissed, trembling with the need to shift. “If Salvatore interferes, he’ll die.”
“I hope you’re not a betting woman, Sadie, because you’re backing the wrong horse.”
“Enough,” the cur screeched. “We’re leaving. Now.”
“I don’t think so.”
Prepared for Sadie’s attempt to wrap the whip around her, Regan lunged to the ground, managing to avoid the strike. Remaining on her hands and knees, she crawled the short distance, at long last managing to grasp the dagger.
A surge of victory tingled through her. About freaking time. Sadie was soooo dead.
Closing her fingers around the hilt, she was already envisioning sliding the silver blade deep into the bitch’s heart when a low growl filled the air.
Damn.
Regan swiftly rolled to the side, barely avoiding the snapping jaws of the shifted cur.
Obviously Sadie had decided that if she couldn’t take Regan alive, then she’d take her dead.
Or maybe she just couldn’t control that cur instinct of hers.
In either case, Regan abruptly knew she was in serious danger.
Rolling onto her back, Regan caught her first sight of the transformed Sadie. She was a beautiful wolf. Of course. Large and lean, her pelt was a rich mahogany, with a touch of silver on her muzzle. In the darkness her eyes glowed with a crimson light, sending a tingle over Regan’s skin as if her own wolf was struggling to respond.
Something that might almost have been envy briefly flared through Regan before she was thrusting aside the inane sensation and concentrating on more important matters.
Like staying alive.
Growling deep in her throat, Sadie prepared to leap, and realizing that it would be fatal to be pinned to the ground, Regan lashed out with the dagger.
She was too far away to do more than cut a shallow gash through the cur’s chest, but the burn of silver was enough to make Sadie leap backward instinctively.
Swift to take advantage, Regan was on her feet, her gaze never wavering from the cur who was moving to the side in an effort to catch Regan from behind.
She stepped in perfect time with the cur, the dagger held at her side. In her current form, Sadie held a distinct advantage, not only in size, but sheer, raw strength.
Thankfully, any common sense tended to disappear when a cur was in full-rage mode.
Sadie continued to circle, snapping her impressive fangs and occasionally feigning an attack. Regan ignored the taunts, knowing the woman was hoping to lure her into overreacting, exposing an opening.
Behind her the fire continued to spread through the tea shop, the smoke and heat spilling through the garden, but wiping away the sweat that gathered on her brow, Regan remained grimly prepared to strike. Sadie wouldn’t last long. She was a cur, not a Were. Her emotions would be her downfall.
There was another feint, but as Regan refused to flinch, Sadie laid back her ears and howled in frustration.
Regan shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, her fingers tightening on the grip of the dagger. Any second now. Any…second…
The howl lowered to a growl as Sadie abruptly charged forward, her jaws parted as she leaped directly at Regan’s throat. Prepared for the attack, Regan bent backwards, avoiding the snapping teeth even as she plunged her dagger deep into the cur’s chest.
The blade slid in with sickening ease, but the force of Sadie’s heavy body sent Regan reeling from the impact. Landing flat on her back, she ignored the teeth that sank into her shoulder and kept the dagger stuck deep into the cur’s flesh. Already the stench of burning flesh was tainting the air. It wouldn’t be long before the silver weakened Sadie.
She was right.
Only a few minutes passed before there was a shimmer around the wolf form, and Sadie was shifting back to human. A few minutes that seemed like an eternity as the bitch managed to gnaw her way to Regan’s shoulder bone.
As the wolf melted to a human shape, Regan forced herself to ignore her pain and rolled over so she was perched on top of her nemesis. Still clutching the dagger that she’d deliberately stuck in an inch above the woman’s heart, she struggled to catch her breath.
“Tell me where to find my sister,” she rasped.
The pale features twisted with hate. “Go screw yourself, freak.”
Regan didn’t hesitate as she yanked the dagger free and plunged it back in. This time directly into the heart.
The woman would rather die than betray Caine, and Regan wasn’t about to waste any more time.
“This is for Jagr,” she muttered as the dagger hit the cur’s heart.
She didn’t wait to watch Sadie die.
The silver would eventually do its thing, even if the cur managed to pull out the dagger, and Regan was far more interested in reaching Jagr.
Dripping blood from a half dozen wounds, Regan reached the back terrace when she heard an eerie laugh behind her.
Against her will, her feet halted and her head turned to see Sadie, crawling the short distance to her shredded clothing, pulling a pistol from the tattered pile of leather.
Stupidly, all Regan could think about was how the hell the woman had managed to hide a gun. The freaking outfit had been stretched so tight that not even a prayer could have come between leather and skin.
Then it no longer mattered where Sadie had stashed the gun.
Smiling with cruel intent, the cur pulled the trigger. Over and over.
“And this is for me.”
Regan was quick, but there was no dodging the bullets that drilled into her torso, shattering ribs and puncturing her lungs.
The force of the projectiles dropped Regan to her knees, her breathing labored, the pain ripping through her with relentless force.
“Shit,” she whispered as her life began to drain from her body.
The bullets had been coated in silver.
Chapter 20
Jagr felt like hell.
It might have been because he’d just survived an explosion, had a tea shop fall on his head, and was forced to dig a tunnel to avoid becoming charcoaled.
It might have been.
But it wasn’t.
For all his lingering wounds, his current suffering was entirely due to the woman lying on the bed in Tane’s lair.
Perched on the edge of the mattress, Jagr gently stroked his fingers through Regan’s golden hair, his gaze compulsively running over her too-slender form that he’d stripped down to the tiny bra and panties so he could keep a constant surveillance on her numerous injuries.
The gashes from the whip had healed before they had returned to the lair (not soon enough to ease Jagr’s fury at the thought of Regan being flayed by the damned cur), but the bullet wounds remained angry red lesions that made his gut twist with pain.
Silver-plated bullets.
If Sadie hadn’t already been dead, Jagr would have torn her apart limb by limb.
Without warning, Regan stirred beneath his fingers, and abruptly realizing his frigid power was blasting through the room, he hurriedly smothered his fury and leaned down to brush his lips over her temple in silent apology.
“Jagr.”
He pulled back just far enough to watch her lids flutter upward, revealing her pain-dazed eyes.
“I’m here, little one.”
“The explosion…” Her voice was a low, tortured rasp. “I thought…”
He tenderly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You thought you were rid of me? No such luck, I fear.”
An echo of remembered horror darkened her eyes.
“Gods, don’t even joke. How did you get out of the house?”
“Vampires possess the ability to call the earth.”
“Call the earth?”
His lips twisted. The words made the skill sound pompously grand. In truth, it was a talent that allowed vampires to soften and shift the ground to cover themselves during the day, or more often, to hide the remains of their latest meal.
“We dug a tunnel,” he said dryly.
“Oh.” Her brows drew together as her gaze lowered to the burns that still marred his neck. He needed to feed and rest before he could fully heal, but his concern for Regan overrode any thought of his own injuries. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing that won’t be healed in a few hours.”
“You need to feed.”
“Soon.”
She frowned at his vague reply, but wise enough to recognize the bleak set of his features, she resisted any urge to lecture him.
“What about Styx?” she instead demanded.
“He’s recovering.”
There was a long silence as Regan drifted in and out of consciousness, then with an obvious effort, she forced her eyes open.
“How did you survive?”
He smiled wryly at the shocking desire to share how he endured the crushing weight of the building as it fell on his head, and how he used his powers to hold off the worst of the flames while Styx carved a path through the hard packed earth.
Like he was a boasting playa in a singles bar.
Pathetic.
“The initial blast knocked out the floor and we dropped into the basement before the actual explosion swept through the house,” he murmured, keeping his tone light. “We were able to avoid most of the flames.”
Her eyes narrowed, easily able to sense there was more to the story than he revealed, but before she could grill him, her eyes widened abruptly, and she struggled to sit up.
“Sadie,” she rasped.
He pressed her back onto the pillow with a gentle but relentless hand.
“You don’t have to worry about the cur. She’s gone.”
“Gone.” Her distress only deepened. “She’s going to warn Caine. You have to stop her.”
He cupped her cheek, his thumb rubbing the satin skin of her cheek in a soothing motion.
“You made certain that Sadie won’t be talking with anyone but the grim reaper.”
“She’s dead?”
“Yes.”
There was a beat, then the green eyes flashed with unmistakable satisfaction.
“Good.”
Unable to resist, Jagr bent down to lightly brush his lips over her brow. He loved that fire that burned deep inside her.
The fire of a survivor.
“I agree, but I would have preferred you would have killed her before letting her shoot you full of silver bullets,” he murmured.
“Me, too. They hurt like a bitch.” She shifted to glance down at her chest, frowning as she caught sight of the lingering wounds. “Are they out?”
The air chilled as he fought back the memories of cutting the bullets from her broken body. The image would be seared into his mind for all eternity.
“I removed them before we brought you back to Tane’s.”
“How long have we been here?”
“A few hours.”
She frowned. “I should be healed, shouldn’t I?”
“The silver did a lot of damage.”
Shifting, he stretched out on the mattress, pulling her into his arms so he could hold her close. He paused, waiting to see if she would pull away. When she instead snuggled closer, he swallowed a moan.
This is what fate had intended.
This female completed him in a way he’d never dreamed possible.
“Have they found my sister?” she demanded, her voice thick as she tried to hold back the healing darkness.
“I haven’t spoken with Salvatore or Levet. I doubt if they’ve had time to search yet.” His hand cupped the back of her head as he settled it more firmly against his chest. “Your work is done, little one. You must rest.”
She gathered enough strength to poke him in the side. “You should know better than to give me orders, chief.”
“If you don’t like me giving you orders, then get well enough to get out of this bed and stop me.”
“Bully.”
He dropped a kiss on top her head. “Sleep.”
“Jagr?” she murmured as her eyes drifted shut.
“Yes?”
“Will you stay?”
His heart clenched. This time with Regan was a moment out of time. He intended to savor every second.
“For as long as you need me, little one.”
With a soft sigh, she slung her arm over his body and gave into the inevitable.
Tugging her even closer, Jagr allowed the midnight jasmine to soothe away his lingering pain and heal his wounds. Although he still needed to feed to regain his strength, he realized that the gentle magic in Regan’s touch was swiftly healing the last of his injuries.
Yet more proof she was his intended mate.
Drinking in the bittersweet pleasure of simply holding her close, Jagr didn’t stir as he felt the encroaching presence of Styx.
His respect for the ancient vampire had gone up a great deal over the past few hours.
Not only had Styx remained unruffled as the house had fallen on their heads, but he hadn’t hesitated to trust Jagr to hold back the wall of flames as he calmly blasted a hole in the thick cement and forged a path through the heavy dirt.
It was that trust that had altered something deep inside Jagr.
He hadn’t wanted to be a part of a clan. He didn’t need brothers, or a leader, who cared whether he lived or died.
He just wanted to be alone.
Now he was forced to accept that he’d felt…pride at Styx’s faith in his ability.
Not that he was ready to leap into vampire society. Nor had he forgotten that it was Styx who sent him to Hannibal in the first place.
The cunning old Aztec had a great deal to answer for.
Entering the bedroom, Styx leaned against the doorjamb and studied the two lying on the bed. In the candlelight, his face looked like polished bronze, and his massive form was covered in black leather and sharp weapons.
Jagr impulsively shielded Regan with his larger body. Not that he feared Styx would cause her harm. What little brains he had left understood the Anasso had pledged his life to protect his sister-mate. Still, his instincts refused to be denied.
Thankfully, Styx seemed accustomed to deranged vampires, and with a faint smile, he nodded his head toward the half-hidden woman.
“She’s healing?” he demanded, softly.
“Slowly.”
The harsh expression promised dire retribution on the curs who had dared to hurt Regan.
“So much silver was bound to make her recovery more difficult.” His attention shifted to Jagr. “You could speed the process.”
Jagr tensed. The urge to share his blood with his mate was a vicious force. The means to heal her flowed through his veins, but because of the barriers she’d placed between them, he was unable to share his gift.
“No.”
Styx arched a brow at his sharp refusal. “She’s refused your blood?”
“She’s refused me as her mate.” His icy tone didn’t hide the savage pain. “I won’t force any deeper connection.”
Styx grimaced, realizing that Jagr couldn’t share his blood without completing his half of the mating process.
“Of course.”
Tucking the blanket around Regan’s slender body, Jagr slid from the bed, careful not to disturb his sleeping beauty.
As much as he disliked giving up the rare opportunity to hold Regan without protest, Jagr had a few questions he intended to get answered.
Crossing the room, he stood directly before his king, his arms folded across his chest.
“Why did you send me to Hannibal, my lord?”
&
nbsp; Styx met his accusing gaze with a bland smile. “Obviously to rescue my sister-mate. Which reminds me that I have yet to thank you for your services. You have only to name your price…”
“You have a half dozen Ravens who are the finest vampire warriors ever born,” Jagr interrupted, in no mood for games. “Why did you send me?”
“Like me, the Ravens have spent the past centuries hidden from society while protecting the previous Anasso. They are still struggling to learn the skills necessary to pass among the humans, including the latest technology.” His smile widened with genuine amusement. “You should watch them try to use the remote control. You, on the other hand, have made a study of this era.”
Jagr stiffened. He’d never shared his fascination with the MTV generation, and he sure as hell hadn’t announced his occasional forays into the human population.
“How did you know?”
“Viper keeps a close eye on his clan.” Styx shrugged. “Very little escapes his notice.”
Keeping a close eye sounded way too much like spying for Jagr’s peace of mind.
“I didn’t realize that becoming a part of a clan included losing any right to privacy.”
“Viper can be a bit overzealous in his attempts to protect his brothers.”
Jagr snorted. “Meddling mother hen.”
“At least you know he cares.”
“He could care without sticking his nose in my business.”
Styx flashed his rare smile, revealing fangs that could rip through steel.
“Perhaps, but it would not be nearly so much fun.”
Jagr narrowed his eyes at the deliberate goading, then with effort, he gave a shake of his head.
“No, I will not be distracted,” he warned. “Tell me the truth of why I was sent to Hannibal.”
Styx silently toyed with the medallion that hung about his neck, debating just how much he was willing to share.
“It was in part because of your comfort in moving among humans, as well as your skills as a warrior,” he said, at last.
“And the other part?”
“I knew that you were the one person who would be able to sympathize with what Regan had endured.”
Jagr flinched. “Because I’ve been tortured?”
Darkness Unleashed Page 27
