Darkness Unleashed (13 page)

“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 nearly 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…

Levet smacked his forehead with his clenched claw.

“
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.

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.

Not that she was about to apologize.

She hadn’t asked for his interference, dammit. And she most certainly didn’t ask to be treated like a helpless bimbo who had to be tucked away in a safe lair while Jagr played superhero.

She was the one who Culligan had tormented and tortured for three decades. She was the one who had dreamed night after night of ripping out the imp’s throat. She was the one who’d tracked the bastard to Hannibal.

This was her fight, and by God, she was going to see it to the bitter end.

And her stubborn reaction to his protective instincts had nothing at all to do with the fear that the stunning pleasure she’d felt in Jagr’s arms had given him a power over her that was as ruthless and eternal as Jagr himself.

She shivered again.

Christ. She needed a distraction.

And a freaking jacket.

“What is this place?” she demanded, gazing around the wide stretch of open land that was surrounded by a handful of large, elegant homes. “A park?”

Quickening his pace to walk beside her rather than glowering from behind, Jagr deliberately pulled back his power, easing the chill in the air.

“A golf course,” he corrected.

“Ah.” Her lips twisted. No wonder she didn’t recognize the place. Culligan had never spent much time around the country club set. “That would explain the lack of teeter-totters.”

“And the manicured greens with holes cut in them.”

She shot him a startled glance. “You golf?”

“There are few things I haven’t tried over the centuries.”

“Yeah, I can imagine,” she said dryly.

Heat flared through his eyes, burning away the lingering ice. “I’d be happy to demonstrate a few of them later.”

Regan hastily turned her head, following the peach-scented trail that led toward a line of woods at the back of the golf course. Not that she hoped for a minute the damned vampire couldn’t see the blush staining her cheeks.

“What would an imp be doing out here?” she muttered.

Half-expecting Jagr to pounce on her obvious vulnerability, Regan breathed a sigh of relief when he instead turned his attention toward the thicker shadows gathered ahead.

“My first guess would be that he’s hiding.”

“From us?”

Jagr tilted back his head as if sensing the night air. “His trail is fresh. And he’s near.”

Regan abruptly halted, realizing the scent of peach had grown considerably stronger. She pointed toward the line of trees along a barbed wire fence.

“I’ll circle to the right,” she whispered so softly only a vampire could catch the words. “I’d rather not have to chase him through the trees.”

“Regan.”

She stiffened, sensing his grim frustration.

“What?”

He muttered a low curse. “Just be careful.”

Regan lifted her brows.

No grim pronouncement that it was too dangerous?

No squawking that he was the only one capable of dealing with the hidden demon?

No growling, hissing, or chest thumping?

Not willing to press her luck, Regan slipped silently down a cement path she assumed was for the golf carts.

She didn’t believe for a moment that an ancient vampire could actually learn new tricks. At least not this ancient vampire.

So either he didn’t believe the imp posed enough of a threat to make a fuss over, or more likely, he was confident he could protect her even if she was stubborn enough to charge into danger.

The rueful thoughts had barely skimmed through her mind when there was a rustle of noise and a slender form darted across the closely mowed green, heading directly for the nearby bushes.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Regan muttered, launching forward to tackle the fleeing imp.

She had a brief impression of reddish blond hair that was cut short and styled to emphasize the narrow, handsome face and pale green eyes. His thin body was hidden beneath an elegant blue suit that made him look like a banker.

Or a gigolo.

No doubt the old ladies at the tea shop fluttered over him like a clutch of infatuated hens.

Tackling the imp from behind, Regan drove him to the ground, intending to land on his back. Of course, the best laid plans of mice and men…yadda, yadda…

The impact was enough to knock her to the side, and the imp struck out desperately, his fist hitting her square in the stomach. The breath was wrenched from her lungs and before she could move, the imp landed a blow that would have broken her jaw if she’d been human. Thankfully Regan wasn’t a human. She was a pissed-off pureblood who’d just been sucker-punched.

The imp swung his arm again, but this time Regan was prepared. Grabbing his fist, she squeezed until he was squealing like a…well, pretty much like an imp in pain. Then wrenching his arm behind his back, she rolled him face-first into the ground.

He kicked out, connecting painfully with her knee as she climbed to straddle his lower back. Regan cursed, jacking his arm even higher up his back as she grabbed a fistful of his hair and smacked his face into the dirt.

There was a cool brush of air, and suddenly Jagr was crouched at her side, his gaze on the imp whimpering beneath her.

“I think he’s subdued, little one.”

She turned her head to spit the blood from her mouth. Damn, the freaking idiot had made her bite her tongue. She hated that.

“You could have helped,” she muttered.

Jagr arched a golden brow. “And be accused of overstepping my place as your meaningless sidekick? Thanks, but no thanks. Besides, it looked like you had everything under control.”

“Crazy bitch,” the imp whined, his eyes rolling toward Jagr as if hoping to get a bit of sympathy from a fellow male. “Get her off me.”

Jagr’s chuckle chilled the air. “If I were you, I wouldn’t insult the pissed-off werewolf holding you in a half nelson.”

“Who are you?” the imp demanded. “What do you want?”

“You’re confused, imp. We’ll ask the questions, and you’ll answer them,” Jagr warned. “Understand?”

Regan tightened her grip on his hair. “And you’ll give us the truth if you want to keep your head attached.”

The imp hissed in pain. “What is this? The demon version of good cop, bad cop?”

“I’m afraid that Regan has a few issues with imps,” Jagr drawled.

The imp stiffened beneath her. “Regan?” he breathed.

Jagr narrowed his gaze. “You recognize the name?”

“No…” His denial was cut short as Regan banged his head on the ground. “Wait, dammit. All I know is that Culligan had a pet Were called Regan.”

“Pet?” Her temper snapped as she banged his head over and over. Christ, she hated imps.

Jagr gently touched her arm. “Careful, little one, we need him alive if he’s going to answer our questions.”

Regan forced herself to halt, sucking in a deep, calming breath as she met Jagr’s steady gaze.

“Can you sense if he’s speaking the truth?”

“Yes.”

Regan leaned forward, deliberately twisting his arm higher. “What’s your name?”

“Damn you, I…arrg…Gaynor. My name is Gaynor.”

She eased the pressure. “How do you know Culligan?”

Gaynor licked his thin lips, the scent of peach thick in the air. “We both lived in New Orleans during the Civil War. Culligan never had much magic, but the looting was easy, and the humans were ripe to be plucked of what few valuables they had left.”

Jagr growled deep in his throat. Even Regan shivered at the sound.

“That doesn’t explain how you knew about Regan.”

Despite the chill of Jagr’s power, the imp began to sweat. “We crossed paths in Chicago thirty years ago. He told me he’d fallen into a sweet deal with a baby Were that he intended to take on the road in some sort of freak show. Lucky idiot.”

Regan sucked in a startled breath.

Chicago?

Culligan had always claimed he’d found her abandoned in a ditch near Dallas.

Of course, Salvatore had tried to convince her that Culligan had lied, and that her family would never have willingly abandoned her.

Still…the suspicion had continued to rankle deep in her heart.

“Who offered him this sweet deal?” she rasped.

“A cur. I think Culligan said his name was Caine.”

“Christ.” She gave a stunned shake of her head, her stomach twisting with a sick sensation. “This is nuts. How did the curs get a hold of me? And why would they give me to Culligan?”

Easily sensing her distress, Jagr stroked her arm in a comforting motion.

“We’ll discover the truth, little one. That I promise.” Jagr turned his attention to the imp, his eyes glittering like frozen chips of sapphire in the dark. “Didn’t you think the Weres might want to know about a missing child?”

“Culligan swore the dogs were the ones who gave him the baby in the first place.”

“You couldn’t possibly be stupid enough to believe any Were would willingly hand over a pureblood child to an imp,” Jagr accused.

Gaynor tried to cringe from Jagr, obviously more afraid of the looming vampire than the angry Were perched on top of him.

Smart imp.

“He said she was damaged, that she couldn’t even shift,” he desperately tried to excuse his betrayal. “Besides, he had to make a blood oath that he wouldn’t allow her to suffer any permanent harm.”

“A blood oath?” Regan directed her question to Jagr. “What’s that?”

He grimaced. “A promise bound in blood and magic.”

“If Culligan had failed to protect you from serious damage, he would have dropped dead in a New York minute,” Gaynor swiftly added, as if hoping for brownie points.

Regan ground her teeth, recalling how obsessive Culligan had been to keep the occasional demon visitors from wandering too near the back of the RV. At the time she’d thought he was protecting his cash cow. Now it was obvious he was simply terrified for his own life. “So that’s why he was so careful to keep his disgusting friends away from my cage. Pig.”

“And you haven’t seen or heard from him in thirty years?” Jagr charged.

“No, I swear.”

“Then how did you know he was in St. Louis?”

Gaynor licked his lips. “The word was already buzzing in the chat rooms that an imp had been busted by the King of Weres for holding a pureblood captive, and that he was hiding in St. Louis. I suspected it might be Culligan, so I sent a hellhound to track him down with a message to meet me.”

“Imps have chat rooms?” Regan mocked, envisioning a bunch of imps huddled over their keyboards.

“Hey, we’re more tech-savvy than most demons.”

Regan’s lips twisted. Clearly the imp hadn’t been into Tane’s version of the
Death Star
.

“So the chat rooms were buzzing about an imp being in trouble, and you decided to contact Culligan out of the goodness of your heart?” she demanded. “Give me a break.”

“I thought if it was Culligan, he might be willing to pay for my help.” He shuddered beneath her. “Do you think I like peddling tea and cake to fat old ladies?”

“He’s lying,” Jagr breathed softly.

Regan smacked the imp on the back of the head, hard. “Well, I believe he hates peddling cakes to old ladies, so he must be lying about his reason for contacting Culligan.”

“Ow…I’m not a Whack-a-Mole,” he protested.

“No, you’re a breath away from being dinner,” Regan informed him, not above using the imp’s instinctive fear of vampires. “Did I forget to mention Jagr didn’t have time to eat before we came looking for you?”

Jagr readily fell into his role as enforcer, his fangs suddenly shimmering in the moonlight.

“And I’m not hungry for cake.”

“She’ll kill me if I tell you.”

“Then you’re screwed, Gaynor, because we’ll kill you if you don’t,” Regan assured him.

There was a pause, then straining his neck, Gaynor attempted to turn his head to speak directly to Regan.

“Maybe we can make a deal? The information has to be worth something to you.”

“You want a deal? Fine.” She grabbed his face to turn it directly toward Jagr. “You tell me everything you know about Culligan, and I won’t feed you to the hungry vampire.”

He swallowed heavily. “Fair enough.”

“Why did you send a message to Culligan?” Jagr pressed.

“Can I at least sit up?” he whined. “You’re giving me a cramp.”

She shoved his arm high enough that it threatened to snap out of its socket.

“I’ll let you up, but I’ll give you more than a cramp if you try anything stupid.”

Releasing his arm, Regan slipped off his back to kneel next to Jagr. Gaynor muttered a curse and scrambled to sit upright, straightening his silk tie even as he studied the grass stains on his jacket.

“Son of a bitch. Do you know how much this suit cost?”

“Do you know how much I don’t care?” Regan snapped. “Start talking.”

Giving up on his tie, the imp threw his hands in the air. “Fine. I did hear about Culligan in the chat rooms like I said, but I didn’t send the message because I thought he could pay me. The worthless slug never did have the talent or intelligence to earn more than a few bucks. Even when he was handed a windfall like you.”

Jagr’s powers whipped painfully around the imp, making the short strands of his hair stand upright.

“So, why?”

Gaynor shivered. “A week ago a cur came into the tea shop and asked for me to invite Culligan to Hannibal.”

Jagr beat her to the obvious question. “Who was this cur?”

“She called herself Sadie.” His lips curled. “Damn, she was hot. Tall and dark with the kind of body that makes a man think about whips and chains. Very tasty.”

Regan frowned. She’d assumed the cur would be Duncan or perhaps the mysterious Caine. Who the hell was this Sadie?

“Had you ever seen her before?”

“No, and she wasn’t a woman a man would forget. Not ever.” A leer touched the imp’s too-pretty features. “Maybe her rack was a bit small, but…” His disgusting words were cut short as Regan threw a rock at him with enough force to snap his head back. He glared at her as he raised a hand to the bleeding lump on his forehead. “Shit.”