They were thankfully interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps, and turning his head, Jagr watched the gang of curs troop into the cabin, all fully dressed and loaded with enough firepower to take out the Pentagon.
“We’re ready.” Hess stated the obvious.
Tane muttered his opinion of working with stinking dogs, but with a wry grimace, he moved toward the doorway and stairs that led into the waiting tunnel.
“Then let’s do this.”
Chapter 22
Left alone in the cabin, Jagr briefly considered his options.
He could always join Tane on the trail of Salvatore.
The ease that Caine had revealed in kidnapping a pureblood of Salvatore’s strength proved the cur (or whoever the hell was behind this latest disaster) was a dangerous adversary. And who the hell knew what damage the unknown demon could cause?
Unfortunately, he knew that Tane was right.
In this moment, he wasn’t capable of concentrating on the hunt.
Not with his emotions unstable and his thoughts consumed with Regan.
Humiliating, but true.
His only other option was to return to Tane’s lair.
It was far too late to attempt the journey to Chicago before dawn. And if he was being perfectly honest, he wasn’t prepared to make his appearance at Styx’s and give his latest report.
Not when Regan was bound to be there.
His need was still too raw. If he caught scent of her, there was nothing that would keep him from tossing her over his shoulder and hauling her to his lair, whether she liked it or not.
Something he was trying to avoid.
Besides, he was weary to the bone.
He needed to rest and feed.
His decision made, Jagr followed the trail back to Tane’s remote lair, careful to choose a room far from the one he shared with Regan. The aching emptiness was bad enough without being surrounded by the vivid reminders of their time together.
Forcing himself to feed, Jagr endured the worried questions of Tane’s servants, and then managed a few hours’ rest.
He was pacing the floor by the time the sun at last set again, and the moment he judged it safe, he was speeding out of the lair and heading to Chicago.
The journey was thankfully tedious, and heading directly to Styx’s sprawling mansion north of the city, he was taken to the Anasso’s private office.
Now he sat on a low leather sofa and watched as Styx paced from one end of the book-lined room to the other.
“Damn. These curs are starting to wear on my temper,” the towering Aztec muttered as Jagr finished his report, appearing distinctly out of place among the polished mahogany furniture and delicate Persian carpet. A six-foot-five leather-clad bull in a china shop. “Someone needs to nail their hides to a wall.”
Jagr’s lips twisted as he considered Salvatore’s reaction to being kidnapped. The proud Were was no doubt ready to declare genocide on the curs.
“I would guess that you’re not alone in wanting to nail a few cur hides to the wall,” he said dryly. “Unfortunately, they constantly seem to be one step ahead of us.”
Styx made a sound of disgust, his hands clenched at his side as if wishing he had a weapon to seize.
“Could you sense how badly Salvatore was injured?”
Jagr shrugged. “Not so badly he should have been overcome by a mere cur.”
“Was there magic?”
“Tane could sense a female demon, but he couldn’t determine a species. It could have magical abilities.”
Styx halted near his massive desk, his brow furrowed with frustration.
“I don’t like this. Tane could be walking into a trap.”
“If you want, I’ll return and…”
“No, you’ve done enough, my brother,” Styx interrupted. “I’ll contact Tane, although I might as well ram my head into a wall as try to convince him to return to Hannibal. The vampire terrifies even me when he’s on the hunt.”
Jagr didn’t doubt it. There was an intensity about Tane that would frighten anyone.
“I assume that’s why you chose him as a Charon.”
“One of the reasons.”
Jagr grimaced. “I don’t think I want to know the others.”
“Wise choice.” Styx folded his arms over his chest. “There was no sign of Levet?”
Surprisingly, Jagr felt a small pang of remorse at the disappearance of the aggravating gargoyle. Not that he actually cared if the beast was dead, he hastily assured himself. He couldn’t have gone that soft in the head. It was just that he couldn’t bear the thought of Regan mourning for one of her few friends.
“We know he went into the cabin and didn’t come out,” he admitted.
Styx leaned against the desk, his expression weary. “Bloody hell, Darcy’s not going to be happy. Not only have I lost track of her sister, but that ridiculous gargoyle has disappeared. Why she’s attached herself to that annoying lump of granite defies logic, but then she’s a woman. They very rarely make sense.”
Jagr snorted. What was the latest saying…preaching to the choir…
“You won’t get an argument from me,” he muttered.
“No, I don’t suppose I would.” Styx paused, his gaze unnervingly perceptive. “Regan is here.”
Jagr clenched the arms of his chair until the wood threatened to crack beneath the pressure.
He didn’t need Styx to warn him of Regan’s presence. He’d sensed her like a punch in the gut the moment he stepped onto the rolling parkland that surrounded the mansion.
Thankfully, the large office was hexed to ensure privacy, and the familiar scent of midnight jasmine was muted enough to ease the stark yearning that plagued him.
“I know.” He turned his head to stare at the leather-bound books that filled the shelves. He couldn’t bear to see the sympathy in Styx’s eyes. “She’s…well?”
“She’s healing,” Styx said slowly. “At least physically.”
Unable to halt the biting concern, Jagr snapped his head back to stab Styx with a narrowed glare.
“Is something wrong?”
Styx tugged on the ancient medallion hung around his neck. A sure sign he was troubled.
“I may not possess Viper’s skill in reading the souls of others, but I know Regan carries a burden that darkens her heart.”
Jagr struggled not to overreact.
Bad, bad things happened when he overreacted.
“She was just released from hell. She needs time to heal.”
“Shutting herself off from those who would help her isn’t healing,” Styx growled, clearly annoyed that Regan wasn’t embracing her new family with the eagerness he’d hoped for. “I should know. I spent centuries wandering alone and miserable. It wasn’t until the previous Anasso took me as his servant that I could accept the brutality of my past, and begin to consider a future.”
Although Jagr had never heard Styx speak of his past, the Anasso was old enough to have endured the chaos and violence that was common among the vampires in ancient times. Back then, a newly made vampire rarely survived more than a few years.
Something that Styx had dedicated his life to changing.
Jagr slowly rose to his feet. He was weary and in need of the peace of his lair.
“Who’s to say that if the Anasso had approached you any earlier you would have been prepared to join him?” he demanded with a wry smile. “Perhaps our master was wise enough to wait until you could accept a place as his chosen.”
Styx arched a brow. “And Viper told me you were just another pretty face. Obviously all those years of scholarly research wasn’t a complete waste.”
Jagr’s sharp laugh echoed through the room. “I wouldn’t jump to any hasty conclusions. I can be remarkably stupid when I put my mind to it.”
Styx moved to stand directly before him. “What will you do now?”
“In the next few moments, or with the rest of my existence?”
Styx flashed his rare smi
le. “You are in a philosophical mood tonight.”
“It must be the ambiance.”
“Gods, don’t remind me.” Styx shuddered as he cast a disgusted glance around the ornate, elegant furnishings before returning his attention to Jagr. “Are you returning to your lair?”
“For now.”
“There’s no need for you to be alone, you know. Viper called earlier with an invitation for you to join him and Shay. And, of course, you are always welcome here.”
Jagr narrowed his gaze at the low, almost commanding tone. Why the hell would Styx care where he stayed? God knew he’d been left alone in his lair for years without…
Comprehension struck like a bolt of lightning, and Jagr stiffened in humiliation.
“Ah, Regan told you about my bout of madness,” he gritted. “Are you afraid I might ravage Chicago?”
Styx allowed a hint of his power to flow over Jagr, the prickle of energy a painful reminder of the Anasso’s strength.
“If I feared you were mad then you would be locked in a cell, not sipping my finest brandy in the lair I share with my mate.” As swiftly as the punishment began, it came to a halt, and Styx reached out to lay a hand on Jagr’s shoulder. “My only concern is for your happiness, my brother.”
Jagr gave a shake of his head, spinning away from the disturbing compassion etched on the vampire’s face.
Dammit. Just a few weeks ago he’d been a nearly forgotten vampire living beneath the streets of Chicago. An eccentric loner who possessed the nasty sort of reputation to keep others away.
And that was exactly how he had liked it.
Then without warning, he’d been dragged kicking and screaming back into a world filled with clan brothers, vampire politics, and a beautiful Were that had breathed life back into his frozen soul.
He wasn’t sure if he wanted to stick a stake in Styx’s heart, or fall to his knees and bless him.
Maybe both.
“I need…distance,” he at last admitted.
“From Regan?”
“Yes.”
There was a long silence, then Styx moved to take his seat behind the desk.
“You could leave Chicago if you want,” he said smoothly.
“Not without fighting every clan chief whose territory I enter. That’s why I approached Viper in the first place.”
“As one of my Ravens, you could travel the world without fear of being challenged by other vampires.”
Jagr jerked around, meeting Styx’s steady gaze with an undisguised shock.
Holy hell. He hadn’t seen that coming.
“A Raven?”
Styx leaned back in the chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin as he studied Jagr.
“It’s rare that I find a warrior of your skill and loyalty. When I do, I’m smart enough to insist upon their service.”
“Loyalty?” Jagr shook his head, wondering if the man was suffering from dementia. What else could possess the usually intelligent vampire to make such a dangerous offer? “In case you’ve forgotten, I don’t follow orders.”
“Loyalty is different from blind obedience,” Styx countered. “I often send out my Ravens on delicate tasks. I need soldiers who can think for themselves and make decisions when they can’t contact me.”
Jagr snorted. “I’m about as delicate as a war hammer.”
“Sometimes a mission takes a rapier, and sometimes it takes a war hammer.” Styx tapped his fingers on the glossy surface of the desk. “It’s my job to determine which weapon is needed.”
“And my bouts of madness?” he demanded. “They are rare, but…”
“They are no more than any other demon battles, including myself,” Styx overrode his argument.
Jagr shook his head.
A Raven.
A part of him wanted to laugh at the sheer absurdity.
He was a half-feral vampire who had devoted his first centuries to hating those who’d tortured him, and the last few centuries hating the beast he’d become.
Now, the King of Vampires was offering him a position of highest respect among the demon-world.
Talk about irony.
But another part of him, the part he’d kept closed off until Regan had smashed into his life, was strangely tempted by the offer.
He’d always depended on his studies to give him a sense of purpose. The gaining of knowledge was not only fascinating, but it was as lethal a weapon as his sword or daggers.
Besides, there was a quiet peace to be found in his vast library. And of course, the bonus of knowing his books weren’t going to try to kill him.
Now, however, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was time he put an end to his self-imposed exile.
Without undue vanity, he knew he was one of the most powerful vampires to walk the earth. And his vast studies gave him insights into both the human and demon-world that few others could claim.
Skills that would serve the Anasso well.
More importantly, becoming a Raven might offer an opportunity to devote his mind to something other than mourning the absence of his mate.
As if sensing his conflicting emotions, Styx rose from his seat and rounded the desk to stand directly in front of Jagr.
“Don’t answer now. Take your time to consider the offer,” he commanded. “It will always be there.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Jagr offered a dip of his head. “I should go.”
“Of course, you must be anxious to return to your lair.” Waiting until Jagr had reached the door, Styx cleared his throat. “Be warned that Viper will be intruding into your privacy, along with Dante and Cezar.”
Jagr glanced over his shoulder with a frown. “Why?”
Styx shrugged. “Because they’re meddlesome mother hens.”
“Great.”
Knowing the Anasso would do nothing to save him from the impending interference of his brothers, Jagr stepped out of the office, instantly hit with the potent scent of jasmine.
On cue, his fangs lengthened and his muscles clenched in desperate, clawing need.
Shit.
He had to get out of there.
Regan knew the minute that Jagr entered the house.
Amazing considering that she’d been verging on sleep miles away (or at least it seemed like miles), in a bedroom at the far wing of the mansion.
Or maybe not so amazing, she wryly acknowledged as she yanked on a pair of faded jeans and a yellow T-shirt.
After all, it wasn’t the sound of his voice or his erotic scent that had jerked her from her light slumber. No, it had been the cool wash of power that had filled the entire mansion that had her hastily dressing and hurrying through the silent hallways.
It had to be Jagr.
Regan rushed down the long flight of stairs, only to discover that Jagr had disappeared into Styx’s private office. With a muttered curse, she plopped down on the last step, prepared to wait the entire night if necessary.
Why she was prepared wait was a question that should have troubled her.
Thankfully, she was developing a fine talent for self-deception, and telling herself that she was simply anxious to know if he discovered anything about her missing sister, she gnawed on her thumbnail and pretended her heart wasn’t lodged somewhere in her throat.
Her abused nail was nearly gone by the time the door to the office at last opened and Jagr stepped from the room. Hidden by the carved oak banister, Regan felt as if the wind had been kicked from her.
Christ, did he have to be so damned beautiful?
Struggling to breathe, Regan allowed her gaze to drink in the pale, starkly carved features and golden hair that was pulled into a long braid.
Beautiful, but so terrifyingly dangerous.
In more ways than one.
Lost in the painful tangle of emotions, it took a moment for Regan to realize that Jagr was headed directly toward the back entrance.
Why, the annoying jerk.
He had to know she was just behind him.
Hell,
he could probably close his eyes and hit her with a dart a hundred miles away.
Which meant that he was deliberately ignoring her.
And why wouldn’t he, a tiny voice whispered in the back of her mind.
He was a proud, magnificent vampire who had offered her his heart. She, on the other hand, was a totally screwed-up Were who was running scared.
She wouldn’t blame him if he never wanted to see her again.
Of course, that didn’t stop her from charging after his retreating form.
Screwed up, indeed.
“Jagr, wait.”
He halted at her soft call, his shoulders stiff, as if he were battling the urge to keep walking.
Then, with obvious reluctance, he slowly turned to face her.
“Regan.” His expression was as coldly aloof as his voice. “How are you feeling?”
She sucked in an agonized breath. God, she would rather he hit her than treat her as if she were a vague stranger.
“I’m fine,” she managed to husk. “Did you just return from Hannibal?”
“Yes.”
Sharp. To the point.
Emotionless.
Regan licked her dry lips, her gut twisting with sick regret.
“Did you discover anything about my sister?”
“No, I’m sorry.” The pale eyes darkened with frustration. “Salvatore disappeared, along with Levet.”
“Damn.” Regan stiffened in shock, momentarily forgetting her own troubles. “Did Duncan betray them?”
“I doubt it. Duncan was dead when we found the cabin where they were supposed to meet.”
Regan pressed a hand to her heart. It was bad enough that the cur was dead, and the powerful Salvatore missing, but poor Levet…
Christ, she should never have insisted that he accompany Duncan to that damn meeting.
She couldn’t seem to do anything without messing it up lately.
The Mess-Up Queen.
She should have a tiara and sash.
“It has to be Caine,” she muttered.
“That’s our assumption.”
“That bastard needs to have his ass kicked.”
Jagr shrugged, his hard muscles rippling beneath the tight black T-shirt.
Oy. He was edible.
Her mouth went dry.
Darkness Unleashed Page 30
