“Yes,” Styx admitted without apology. “You better than anyone could understand the damage that was done during her years of captivity, and offer patience while she struggled to come to terms with her newfound freedom.” The ancient vampire grimaced. “Although I’ll admit I didn’t anticipate quite so much patience.”
Annoyance at having been needed not for his strength, but for his weakness, stirred Jagr’s temper, adding a sudden chill to the air.
“I beg your pardon?”
Styx blandly ignored the danger prickling in the air. “I assumed you would be eager to be done with your task, and bring Regan directly to Chicago. I didn’t consider the possibility that you would actually encourage her dangerous lust for vengeance.”
“I didn’t encourage her,” Jagr snapped.
“No?”
The air dropped another ten degrees. “She’s young, but she’s capable of making her own decisions. In fact, she insists on it.”
Styx grunted, his expression rueful. “That I believe. Any relation of Darcy is bound to have a mind of her own, and a stubborn streak a mile wide.”
“Stubborn?” Jagr glanced toward the fragile woman curled on the bed. “She’s as obstinate as an emula demon, with the temper of a hellhound.”
“Even more reason to return her to her family,” Styx pointed out.
Jagr snapped his brows together. Damned if he would be chastised as if he were a fledgling demon. He’d done what he thought best for Regan, and he wouldn’t change a thing.
“If you wanted me to treat her as my prisoner, then you should have told me,” he said coldly. “As I recall, I was warned to treat her with kid gloves.”
Perhaps sensing he’d pressed as far as he dared, Styx shrugged. “True enough, and as the famous bard once said, ‘All’s well that ends well.’ So long as there are no unexpected complications, she should be recovered enough to be moved to Chicago by this evening.”
Jagr’s scowl only deepened, his heart feeling as if it were being crushed in a ruthless vise.
So this was it?
This was how it was all to end?
Gods.
“Are you so certain she wants to be moved?” he rasped.
The golden eyes hardened with determination. “It will take two or three days before she is back to full strength. Until then she needs the protection my lair can provide. Besides, Darcy will castrate me if I don’t give her the opportunity to nurse Regan back to health.”
“And Regan might castrate you for forcing her into a family reunion she doesn’t want.”
“It would seem I’m in a no-win situation, not an unusual place for a mated vampire.” Without warning, Styx reached out to place a comforting hand on Jagr’s shoulder. “Do not fear, Jagr, we will take good care of your wounded female.”
Shaking off his companion’s hand, as well as his sympathy, Jagr hid his jagged pain behind a stoic mask.
He’d been alone for centuries.
What were a few more isolated, forlorn, miserable years?
“Have you heard from Salvatore?” He deliberately changed the subject.
“No.” Styx allowed a hint of fang to show. “The damned King of Weres has an annoying habit of forgetting that I’m the Anasso.”
“I can remind him if you’d like.”
The Anasso stilled, his expression unreadable. “You?”
“I may not possess the same hunting skills as your Ravens, but I know Salvatore’s scent. Eventually I’ll stumble over the dog.”
“I don’t doubt your skill, Jagr, but what of Regan?”
His jaw knotted as he ignored the clawing need to keep her at his side.
She was his mate, the woman meant to complete his life.
He would rather have his heart cut out than to allow her to leave without him.
But what choice did he have?
Unless Regan accepted his bond, he had no claim on her.
“You said you’re taking her to Chicago,” he said, his voice as empty as his soul.
Styx frowned. “I assumed you would go with us.”
“Regan has no need of me. Not with you to protect her.”
“She might not be willing to admit her need, but I saw the way that she clung to you when I entered.”
Jagr clenched his fists at the searing memory of Regan snuggled against him.
“Only because she was feeling alone and vulnerable,” he muttered, more to convince himself than Styx. The only thing more painful than disappointment was clinging to futile hope. “If she’d been in her right mind, she never would have turned to me.”
Styx’s sharp laugh echoed through the room. “Bloody hell, I thought I was ignorant when it came to females.”
“Do you have a point?”
“A woman doesn’t cling to a man like that just because she’s lonely.”
Jagr took a stiff step back, swallowing the urge to howl in despair. Damn Styx. If he was trying to rub salt in Jagr’s wounds then he was doing a bang-up job.
“I will not discuss this with you, my lord.”
“Fine.” With a weary motion, Styx rubbed the muscles of his neck, reminding Jagr that the older vampire had endured his own share of wounds. “I would appreciate discovering if Salvatore has learned anything from the cur he is meeting. I have only one request.” His lips twisted. “No, two requests.”
Jagr was wary. Styx’s last request had led him to being mated to a woman who didn’t want him. He really didn’t want any more.
“What are they?”
“The first is that you feed and rest before starting your hunt.”
“And the last?”
“That you take Tane with you.”
His lips thinned, but he readily dipped his head in agreement. The Anasso was merely being cautious.
“As you command.” He took two agonizing steps toward the door before need overcame common sense, and he halted to turn back for one last glance at the woman who would forever be engraved on his heart. “Styx.”
“Yes, my brother?”
“Take care of her.”
Styx pressed his fist over his heart in a solemn pledge. “You have my word.”
Levet was ten feet tall.
Okay, he wasn’t literally ten feet tall. Not even mind-blowing sex could make him grow seven feet in two hours. But by God it went a long way in making him feel that big.
Lying beneath a tangle of bushes, he struggled to wipe the satisfied smile off his lips.
It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman who knew just how to stroke a gargoyle’s horns. Oh, and the things Bella had done to his wings. It made his tail curl just to remember them.
Such a naughty water sprite.
A pity she had disappeared so abruptly. He might have been ridden hard and put up wet, but there was a chance he would recover before the sun crested. And when a demon had to wait centuries between sex, he couldn’t afford to waste a single opportunity.
Debating the odds of finding Bella before dawn, Levet was floating on a delicious cloud of sated pleasure.
Or at least he was floating until the bushes were ruthlessly ripped aside and Salvatore’s angry face was looming over him.
“Levet?”
With a squawk, Levet scrambled to his feet, not at all pleased to have been caught fantasizing like a horny teenager.
“Sacrebleu, did your mother never teach you not to sneak up on a gargoyle? I could have turned you into a steaming pile of dog poop.”
The Were’s lean features were hard with displeasure. Not unusual. The King was always displeased with something or other. Just like a stupid vampire. Only with fur.
“What are you doing skulking in the bushes?”
Levet didn’t hesitate. There was a time for truth and a time for lies.
This was one of those lying times.
“I am keeping watch like you commanded, to make certain this is not a trap.”
“Keeping watch?”
“Oui.”
W
ithout warning, Salvatore grasped him by the horn and plucked him off the ground, twirling him around as if he were a peculiar rock to be investigated, instead of a dignified demon.
Damned dog.
“Then why are you covered in mud?” the King demanded.
“Do you not have anything better to do than barbeque me?”
“Barbeque?” Salvatore’s brows snapped together. “Cristo, it’s grill, not barbeque.”
“Barbeque…grill…what is the difference?” Levet huffed. “Now put me down.”
“You still haven’t explained the mud.” Salvatore leaned his head down to suck in a deep breath. “Or the fact that you reek of water sprite.”
Levet folded his arms over his chest. “Hey, a gargoyle has to have some fun.”
“Meaning that you allowed yourself to be distracted,” Salvatore growled.
“There might have been the tiniest bit of distraction, but nothing could get by me, that I assure you.”
“We shall see.”
With a flip of his hand, Salvatore rudely dropped Levet back to the ground and turned to make his way easily up the steep bank. Stumbling behind with all the grace of a drunken sailor, Levet shifted through his mind for some spell that would shrink a Were’s balls to marbles.
In the distance, he could smell the scent of Salvatore’s curs spread throughout the surrounding woods, and something else. Something that smelled like…blood.
“Cristo,” Salvatore muttered, bolting toward the small cabin with a speed that Levet couldn’t hope to match.
“What?” Huffing and puffing, Levet at last reached the open door. “What is it?”
Kneeling beside a lifeless cur that was fully shifted into wolf form, Salvatore turned his head to stab Levet with a glowing gaze.
“Nothing can get by you?” he growled. “How do you explain this?”
“Mon Dieu,” Levet breathed, stepping onto the bare wooden floor, although he stayed far away from the corpse.
Salvatore touched the cur’s head in a soft benediction. “Duncan, I presume?”
“Oui.” Levet’s stomach twisted. He hadn’t liked the treacherous cur, but he would never have wished this on him. “He was fine just an hour ago.”
“How long?”
“Well, perhaps it was closer to two or three hours ago.”
“Worthless demon,” Salvatore growled, returning his attention to the dead dog.
Levet flapped his wings. He wasn’t taking the fall for this disaster. Even if he was responsible.
“Do I look like one of your sniveling curs?” he demanded. “No, I do not. I am here only as a favor to Regan, and if you think I am going to stand here and be insulted by a lice-infested, mangy dog, then you have another thing…”
“Shut up, and come here,” Salvatore interrupted.
“Arrogant bastard.”
“Levet.”
Throwing up his hands, Levet waddled across the floor. “I am coming. Do not get your thong in a bunch.”
Slashing him an impatient frown, Salvatore pointed at the lifeless cur.
“How did he die?”
Levet’s tail twitched, warily wondering if the King had taken a recent blow to the head.
“Well, this is only a guess, but it might have something to do with that huge silver dagger sticking in his heart.”
Salvatore hissed as he yanked the dagger free and tossed it across the barren room.
“If he’d been killed by silver, he would have shifted back to human form. He was already dead when someone stuck the dagger in his heart.”
Levet frowned. “Why would someone stick a dagger into a dead cur?”
“I’m more interested in how he died.”
Holding out his hands, Levet circled the main room of the cabin, pausing at the stone fireplace, as well as the wooden table and chairs that were the only furniture.
“There’s no hex marks or magic, at least not a spell directed at him.” Sensing a faint tingle in the air, Levet hopped onto one of the chairs and grabbed the half-empty glass of wine that was left in the center of the table. “Can a cur be poisoned?”
Flowing to his feet, Salvatore studied the bottle of wine with a frown.
“Where did that come from?” he demanded.
“It was sitting on the table, along with the two glasses, when we arrived.” Levet shuddered as the air thickened with Salvatore’s power. “What is it?”
With glowing eyes, Salvatore pointed toward the hidden door that was swinging open near the fireplace.
“A trap.”
A low, mocking laugh floated through the night. “And here I thought the King of Weres was all fangs and no brains.”
Chapter 21
Drifting in some weird stage between sleep and vague awareness, Regan shifted on the wide bed and reached her hand out.
“Jagr?”
Her voice was no more than a ragged whisper, but there was a movement to the side, and the edge of the mattress dipped down as someone settled next to her.
“Not Jagr, I’m afraid. Just a sister who has longed to meet you.”
Cracking her eyes open a bare slit, Regan stilled as she caught sight of the tiny heart-shaped face that was all too familiar.
Christ.
The woman looked just like her. Same blond hair, although Darcy’s was cut short and spiked. The same green eyes. The same slender body. Even the same stubborn line of their jaw.
Twins without a doubt, but Regan suspected that the two of them would never be mistaken for one another.
It would take only a glance at Darcy’s serene expression and sweet smile to recognize the difference.
There was nothing serene or sweet about Regan.
Careful not to jar her aching head, Regan scooted up the pile of pillows and glanced around the gold and ivory room that seemed to go on forever.
Holy crap.
Everything was big.
Big and shiny.
Polished marble walls. Gilded furnishings. Cut crystal chandeliers. Hell, there was enough glitz and glitter to please Elton John.
Obviously Darcy liked her bling.
Regan…well, not so much.
Maybe it was her years of living in a trashy RV, but she felt unnerved lying beneath the cupids that danced across the vaulted ceiling. Talk about Versailles overkill.
“Where am I?”
Seeming almost as out of place among the elegance as Regan felt, Darcy tucked her feet beneath her as she settled more comfortably on the mattress. Certainly she didn’t dress like a queen. Not with those faded jeans and oversized T-shirt.
“Styx brought you to Chicago so you could heal in safety.”
“This is your home?”
“Yes.” Darcy chewed her bottom lip, studying Regan’s tight expression. “Please don’t be angry with Styx. He only did what he thought best.”
Yeah, big surprise there. Regan had known she was going to be hauled to Chicago the moment she called Styx and requested his help.
Everything had a price.
That didn’t mean she had to like it.
“And he didn’t consider asking my opinion?” she demanded dryly.
“You’ve spent the past few days in the company of a vampire.” Darcy wrinkled her nose. “When do they ever ask for another’s opinion?”
Well, hell, how could she argue with that logic? She rolled her eyes.
“I suppose there’s always a chance hell will freeze over.”
“A very remote chance.”
Regan tilted her chin. “He should have at least waited until I was conscious.”
Reaching out, Darcy grasped Regan’s hand in a warm grasp. “The blame is mine, Regan. Styx knew how desperate I was to have you here, and he doesn’t mind trampling over anyone in his quest to please me. I swear, a mated vampire should have to wear a blinking warning sign for the safety of others.”
Mated vampire.
The image of a huge, blond, ruthlessly beautiful Visigoth chief scorched through her mind.
Regan flinched. She’d tried so hard to ignore the looming thoughts of Jagr.
So stupid.
He was a two hundred and fifty pound gorilla squatting smack-dab in the middle of her brain. She wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything until she knew he was all right.
“I suppose Jagr is here as well?” She tossed out the words as if she couldn’t care less.
“Jagr?” Darcy frowned at the unexpected question. “Actually, I think he stayed in Hannibal to try and discover if Salvatore has any clues to finding our sister.”
“Oh.” Her gut twisted with disappointment. He wasn’t even in Chicago. She hadn’t seen that coming.
As if sensing Regan’s distress, Darcy tugged a rolling table closer to the bed, and whipped aside the linen cloth that was covering it.
“I brought a tray. I thought you might be hungry after your healing.”
“I’m starving,” Regan admitted, knowing she needed to eat to regain her strength. Turning her head toward the tray, she grunted in disbelief. “Good God.”
Darcy laughed. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted.”
Regan studied the mounds of eggs, ham, pancakes, fresh fruit, toast, fried potatoes, sausage links, and warm biscuits.
“So you brought everything?”
“I want you to feel at home, Regan.”
Meeting the warm, welcoming gaze, Regan squirmed in discomfort. Dammit. Her sister was the sort of charming, captivating, completely adorable woman you couldn’t help but love. But Regan didn’t want to love her sister. Or feel the growing connection.
“I…”
“Eat,” Darcy firmly interrupted. “You’ll feel better.”
Guilt and something that might’ve been misery swirled through her heart, reminding Regan of why she avoided emotional complications. She was bound to disappoint Darcy.
And Jagr.
Blinking back ridiculous tears, Regan took a plate and filled it with a large helping of the eggs and ham and sausage. She would need protein to finish healing the last of her wounds that remained an angry red beneath the satin nightgown.
Freaking silver.
She still felt as weak as a newborn babe.
Strangely vulnerable, Regan wolfed down her food, her eyes darting about the monstrosity of a bedroom rather than meeting Darcy’s worried gaze.
Darkness Unleashed Page 28
