Darkness Unleashed (3 page)

“You’re not stupid enough to believe that you’re the only one who has ever suffered,” he said, overriding her words, his voice edged with ice. “It’s done. Move on.”

Her jaw clenched. Damn the cold bastard. It was bad enough he had gotten her all hot and bothered while he remained Mr. Freeze, but now he was dismissing her years of torture as if she were nothing but a sulky child.

“I would love to move on, but it’s a little difficult with freaking Hulk Hogan squashing me. Get off.”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you know of vampires?”

“That you’re evil, soulless bastards who care about nothing but yourself.”

“We’re also stronger, faster, and far more lethal than Weres.”

“And your point?”

“I’m going to release you, but know that if you annoy me, I won’t hesitate to tie you to the bed and shove a gag in your mouth.”

She didn’t doubt the threat. Not even for a minute. Of course, in her life, being tied and gagged didn’t rate high on the fright-o-meter.

“Charming.”

“Do you understand?”

“I understand that someday I’m going to shove a stake up your ass.”

A golden brow flicked upward. “That would not kill me.”

“No, but it’ll be funny as hell.”

Something that could have almost been a smile touched his mouth before swiftly disappearing.

“Not nearly as amusing as seeing you try.”

“Jackass.”

He regarded her for a long, silent moment, almost as if he was searching past her defensive aggression to the terrified woman beneath.

It was unnerving as hell.

“Will you behave yourself?” he at last demanded.

She blew out a sigh, knowing she would never get the aggravating man off her until she agreed. And she really needed him off.

Her mind might be contemplating the best means of kicking some vampire ass, but her body was still enjoying the sensations of his hard parts pressing against her soft parts.

“Fine, just get off,” she muttered.

With one smooth, fluid motion, the vampire was on his feet, looming over her. She had a brief moment to appreciate the faded jeans that molded to his powerful legs, and the motorcycle boots that covered his Shaq-sized feet, before he reached down to grasp her hand and jerk her upright.

With a gasp at the electric charge that jolted up her arm, Regan wrenched her hand from his grasp and backed away. She didn’t give a damn if it made her look weak. She needed space.

And maybe a wooden stake.

“How did you find me?” she demanded.

He folded his arms over his chest, appearing even more dangerously beautiful now that he was upright.

“It wasn’t difficult.” His low, mesmerizing voice filled the room. “Once I reached St. Louis, I simply followed the trail of the imp, knowing you wouldn’t be far behind.”

“And how would you know that?”

The ice-blue gaze regarded her steadily. “As I said, you aren’t the only one familiar with suffering. And I know when a demon, no matter how tiny, is released from captivity, the only thought on their mind is revenge. You want the imp dead.”

Her chin tilted. What the hell would this vampire know of suffering? He lived smack-dab on top of the food chain.

“If you’re so smart, then you know I have no intention of allowing Culligan to escape. You can go back to Chicago and tell my sister thanks, but no thanks.”

“There is nothing that would please me more than to return to my lair and leave you to your business. Unfortunately, that’s not an option.”

“Oh, it’s an option. Just turn around and walk out the door.”

“I was commanded to bring you to Chicago, and that means I’m not allowed to leave here without you. Not unless I’m willing to face the wrath of my king. Which—” His gaze seared a path down her tightly clenched body, lingering a terrifying moment on the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat, before returning to her wide eyes. “I’m not.”

Great. Her Knight in Shining Armor had not only showed up thirty years too late, but he was only there under threat of some horrible retribution.

It was enough to make a woman feel all warm and fuzzy.

Not.

“Then we have a serious problem, Hulk freaking Hogan, because I’m not going.”

“Jagr.”

“What?

“My name is Jagr.”

“Of course it is,” she muttered. The name was just as hard, dangerous, and beautiful as the rest of him.

“I could force you to come with me.”

“Over my dead body.”

That hit-and-run smile touched his mouth. “Don’t tempt me.”

Regan stomped her foot, at the end of her patience. “Dammit, would you just go away?”

“No.”

“Fine.” She marched across the tiny room that had been decorated in the seventies, all hideous swirling blues and greens, with cheap furniture and fading prints of flowers on the walls. Reaching the door to the connecting bathroom, she wrenched it open.

“What are you doing?”

She turned her head to stab the intruder with a frustrated glare. “You’ve managed to turn a perfectly rotten day into a masterpiece of misery, so either you truss me up and haul me to Chicago, or I’m taking a hot shower.”

Jagr stood perfectly still as Regan stepped into the bathroom and slammed the door.

For the first time in centuries, he found himself…conflicted.

The grim logic—that was the only means of keeping his lethal fury in check—warned him to toss the Were over his shoulder and return her to Chicago. It was not only what he’d been commanded to do, but the sooner he was done with this stupid mission, the sooner he could return to his peaceful existence.

But another part, a part he hadn’t experienced in years and was not at all pleased to discover he still possessed, was reluctant to take such an irrevocable step.

It was nothing more than common sense, he was swift to excuse his odd hesitation. What was the point of hauling her to Chicago when she was bound to flee at the first opportunity?

The gods knew he wasn’t lucky enough for Styx to pick someone else to hunt her down.

Perfectly reasonable. Unfortunately, Jagr was too intelligent to entirely dismiss his chaotic reaction to the beautiful woman.

He was a vampire who preferred his life, his battles, and his sex uncomplicated.

Regan was anything but uncomplicated.

She was a tangled mess of fury, aggression, vulnerability, wry humor, and frustrated sensuality.

A sensuality that wakened a hunger that now roared through him with brutal force.

He wanted her. And he sure as hell wasn’t turning her over to Styx until he’d had a taste.

Or two.

Counting to a hundred, Jagr was prepared when Regan cracked open the door and peered back into the room. He hadn’t believed for a moment she intended to strip naked and take a shower while a lethal predator stood just a few feet away. She was furious, not stupid.

Yanking open the door, she glared at him with impotent anger.

“Christ, are you still here?”

He regarded her in silence. He’d discovered over the centuries that it rarely took more to rattle an opponent. For a crazed moment she tried to match him stare for stare, then with a muttered curse, she marched forward to stand directly before him.

“What the hell is it going to take to get rid of you? Money? Blood? Sex?”

His gaze drifted down to her small, perfectly rounded breasts. “Which are you offering?”

She took a hasty step back. “None of the above.”

“A pity.” He lifted his gaze. “Then it would seem that I am staying. Tell me of the imp.”

“What?”

“I said, tell-me-of-the-imp.”

Her eyes narrowed at his slow, deliberate words.

“Why?”

“You obviously won’t leave until he’s dead, so I intend to put an end to this farce so I can return to the peace of my lair.”

“No.” She planted her hands on her hips. “No one kills Culligan except me.”

He arched a brow. “You expect him to stroll into your hotel room so you can beat him to death with a pillow?”

“I intend to rip out his throat with my bare hands.”

“What are you waiting for?”

Her lips thinned. “I lost the scent of the damned bastard at the edge of Hannibal.” There was a beat, then without warning, she stepped forward to grasp his arm. “Wait. You said you tracked Culligan to find me. Where is he?”

Jagr’s expression never altered, but his entire body tensed as a scalding heat rushed through him at her urgent touch.

Regan wasn’t the first woman he’d desired. Far from it. But never had his need been so ruthless, so raw, so primitive.

“So now you want my help?” he demanded, his voice as cool and controlled as ever. It was the ability to keep his emotions hidden that had allowed him to survive centuries of torture.

“If it leads me to Culligan.” Her fingers tightened, revealing she possessed all the strength of a pureblood. “Do you know where he is hiding, or not?”

“No.”

“But…”

“Like you, I lost his trail at the edge of town. That’s where I picked up your scent.”

“Damn.” She dropped her hand and stepped back. Jagr swallowed his low growl of disappointment. “How could his trail just disappear?”

“Most imps can create portals to move through long distances.”

“Not Culligan.” Her lips twisted with a grim satisfaction. “He’s a weak, pathetic bully who can barely cast a hex.”

Jagr shrugged. “Then he could be dead, although it’s far more likely he had assistance in covering his presence.”

He watched the frustration ripple over Regan’s delicate features. They weren’t an exact replica of Darcy’s. Her eyes were a darker emerald, her brows more gold than blond, and her expression was hardened by years of abuse. But overall, she shared Darcy’s fragile, heartrending beauty.

The sort of fragility that made even a scarred recluse want to toss her over his shoulder and take her somewhere he could keep her safe.

Unaware of his shocking thoughts, Regan furrowed her brow. “How would he cover his presence? A witch?”

“A witch would have the power. But, of course, so would any number of demons.”

“Great.” The green eyes flashed with irritation. “You’re a butt-load of help. So glad you showed up.”

“It was because the imp’s trail ended that I asked you to tell me of him. I need to know more before I can decide how best to lure him from the shadows.” He lifted his brows as she regarded him with a stubborn expression. “Regan?”

“I don’t want your help.”

He narrowed his gaze, knowing he had to take a stand. This woman was so blinded by her need for revenge, she couldn’t think clearly. If she wasn’t to end up back in Culligan’s power, or dead, he would have to find some means to keep her distracted while he considered the best means of flushing the imp into the open.

“And I don’t want to be trapped playing nanny to a pint-sized Were with even less charm than myself.” His voice was sheer ice. “Unfortunately we’re stuck with one another until I hand you over to Darcy, and you can devote yourself to making her life a misery.”

She quivered with rage. “Pint-sized?”

“I believe that’s the current term used to describe a smaller than usual object.”

“Why you son of a…”

The crack of gunshots interrupted the angry tirade, the sound so unexpected that the bullets smashed though the window before Jagr was able to launch forward and force Regan to the floor. His teeth clenched in pain, his thoughts dark with fury.

He had protected the more delicate Were, but three of the bullets had lodged in his back, the fourth slicing through his arm to create a nasty gash.

Not life-threatening injuries, but they left him too weak to battle whoever was attacking them.

Shit.

If he survived this, Styx was going to kill him.

Shocked by the sudden attack, not to mention the six-foot-plus vampire that had just landed on top of her, Regan struggled to clear the fog from her mind.

What the hell?

She knew enough to realize someone had shot through the window. And that Jagr had quite likely saved her from a nasty injury.

What she didn’t know was why.

It couldn’t have been Culligan. The few times the imp had tried to use a gun, he hadn’t been able to hit the broadside of a barn. Besides, if he’d come gunning for her, he would have brought a rocket launcher. The son of a bitch knew he had one chance, and one chance only, to kill her before she ripped out his throat.

Jagr’s groan jolted her out of her inane thoughts, and Regan wriggled from beneath his heavy body. He was too weak to protest, lying face-down on the carpet to reveal the brutal injuries that were even now oozing with a frightening amount of blood.

A flare of terror raced through her.

Jagr might be an annoying ass, but he’d just taken a number of bullets for her. She didn’t want the guilt of his wounds on her conscience.

Besides, whoever was shooting at them was probably still out there. Or else headed up to the room to finish them off.

She couldn’t just run off and leave the damned vamp to be murdered while he was injured. Which meant she needed him healed, and healed fast.

Struggling to recall what little she knew of vampires, she tensed at the sound of approaching footsteps, her heart stopping as the door to the room was suddenly thrown open.

Prepared for battle, Regan was caught off guard by the strange creature who waddled into the room. The thing possessed the grotesque features of a gargoyle—thick gray skin, reptilian eyes, horns, and cloven hooves. He even had a long tail that trailed behind him. But while Regan had never actually seen a gargoyle, she’d always presumed they were more than three feet tall, and that their wings were leather, not delicate bits of gossamer that were far too pretty for a ruthless savage.

Still, you didn’t have to be a nine-foot fire-breathing demon to pull a trigger. The miniature creature might very well be the one taking potshots at them.

“Get out,” she rasped, instinctively crawling to place herself between the intruder and the wounded Jagr.

Ignoring her command, the…thing moved forward to peer down at the vampire, and then, of all things, spoke with a lilting French accent.

“What happened,
mon ami?
”

Jagr groaned. “Damn Styx. If I live through this, I’m going to make him pay.”

Somewhat reassured that the two seemed to know one another, Regan frowned at the stranger.

“Who the hell are you?”

“A masterpiece of misery,” Jagr muttered, echoing her earlier words.

Shockingly, the creature blew a raspberry toward the vampire who could squash him without a thought.

“I am the demon who is about to save you and your Gothic friend’s ass,” he announced grandly. “Just lay there and bleed, Jagr, while I work my mojo.”

Regan watched Jagr’s eyes snap open with genuine horror, his hand reaching out to weakly grab at the creature. The tiny beast was too quick, and with a flick of his tail, he was hurrying to scramble onto the window ledge, his tiny arms outstretched.

“No.” Jagr moaned, and then without warning, his arm snaked around her waist and she found herself yanked down beside him. “Stay down.”

“What?” Regan glared at the vampire. “Dammit, Jagr, you’re hurt…” Her lecture was once again interrupted as a brilliant flash of light filled the room, swiftly followed by a deafening boom. “Christ,” she breathed, wondering if the Air Force had arrived and decided Hannibal needed bombing. “What the hell was that?”

She heard the patter of footsteps, and the gray creature returned to stand beside them.

“That was salvation,
ma petite
,” he assured her, leaning over Jagr. “How bad is it, vampire?”

Jagr reached up to grab the beast’s arm. “Did you kill them?”

“They’re most certainly toasty, if not dead. They will not be troubling us for a while.”

A hint of relief touched Jagr’s tight features. “Did you see them?”

The creature gave a flap of his wings. “No, but I smelled them. Yuck.”

“Tell me.”

“Cur.”

Jagr frowned. “Cur, not Were?”

“Has your brain dribbled away with your blood,
mon ami?
I am a gargoyle with exquisite skills. I know the difference between a Were and a cur.”

“Why the hell would a cur be shooting at us?” Jagr muttered.

“The better question is: who wouldn’t want to shoot you?”

Regan barely noted the sharp exchange, regarding the stranger with a disbelieving frown.

“You’re really a…gargoyle?”

The gargoyle performed a small bow, his wings fluttering to create a dazzling rainbow of red and blue and gold.

“Levet, at your service, my beauty. I was sent by your sister to escort you to Chicago.”

Regan struggled to a sitting position. “Jesus, was there anyone in Chicago she didn’t send?”

Levet shrugged. “She’s concerned for you.”

Before Regan could respond, Jagr hissed with impatience. “We can discuss Darcy and her evil sense of humor later. For now we must concentrate on leaving this hotel before the humans call the police.”

Levet snorted. “While I would be perfectly content to sign off on your death warrant, Jagr, there’s the teeniest tiniest chance I might need you to help keep Regan safe. You can’t be moved in your condition.”

“Blood…” Jagr rasped.

Levet held up his hands and stepped hastily back. “Sorry, fresh out.”

Jagr’s eyes fluttered shut, as if he were on the verge of losing consciousness.

“The hospital…blood bank…” he murmured weakly.

Regan gritted her teeth. Damn. Jagr was right about the humans calling for the cops. And the last thing they needed right now was another battle with guns blazing.

“Screw that, we don’t have time.” Blowing out an aggravated sigh, Regan pressed her wrist to Jagr’s mouth. As much as she hated to admit it, she owed the damned vampire. “Here.”

His lids lifted to reveal those stunning ice-blue eyes. “Regan?”

“Just do it before I decide to leave your ass here for the cops to haul off to the morgue.”

“Ew.” With a flutter of his wings, the gargoyle hurried toward the door leading to the hallway. “I’ll go keep watch and make sure your dinner isn’t interrupted.”

“Regan, you are certain?” Jagr demanded, his voice thicker, with an odd accent and strange speech pattern.

Certain? Christ, no. She didn’t have clue what was about to happen. Well, nothing beyond a great deal of pain when those huge fangs sank into her flesh.

Thankfully, she was no coward, and if Jagr needed blood to get him up and moving, then by God, he was going to get blood.

“Do you need an engraved invitation?” she taunted, not at all surprised when his mouth widened and his fangs slid smoothly into her wrist. Jagr was not a vampire to back down from a direct challenge. Regrettably, her plan had neglected one small detail.

She was braced for pain. She was even braced for the necessity of ripping him forcibly from her flesh if he lost his head and tried to take more than she was willing to offer.

What she wasn’t prepared for was the realization that far from painful, the sensation that jolted through her was one of intense, relentless pleasure.

“Oh…” Her eyes drifted shut as she felt him suck deeply of her blood, every pull tightening the coiling bliss that was lodged in the pit of her stomach. “Shit…”

Her entire body trembled, the same excitement that had set her on fire when he’d kissed her blazing through her body. Only this time it was more powerful, more driving, more…explosive. Her free hand landed flat on the floor as her body bent forward, nearly toppling her onto Jagr’s prostrate form. She was drowning, lost in the dark, intoxicating desire.

In a distant corner of her mind, she heard Jagr’s low moan of satisfaction, or perhaps it was pleasure. At the moment, she didn’t care which it was. She was too caught in the sweet building tension that gripped her with breathtaking force.

He sucked again and again, forcing the pleasure to near pain. God almighty. She couldn’t stand any more. There had to be something…something…

And then it happened. The pleasure reached a critical mass, and exploded with enough force to wrench a low scream from her throat.

Toppling forward, her face landed squarely on Jagr’s hard chest, the rich scent of his male power mingling with the lingering convulsions that rocked her body.

Boneless and floating on a tide of sweet lethargy, Regan battled to regain command of her shaken body. Holy crap. She sucked in a deep, rasping breath. Then with an effort, she lifted her head and wrenched open her heavy lids.

Only to encounter Jagr’s ice-blue gaze.

“Damn you,” she husked, her heartbeat still thundering in her ear.

With a deliberate motion, the vampire gently licked the two pinpricks of blood staining her wrist before allowing her to jerk her arm from his grasp.

“You’ve never had the bite of a vampire?”

Still too weak to stand, Regan contented herself with scooting backward on her knees, rubbing her already healed wrist on her jeans, as if she could rub away the memories of her raw pleasure.

Fat chance.

She knew beyond all doubt that the sensations would be seared into her brain for all eternity.

“No,” she muttered. “Culligan refused to share torturing me with anyone else.”

He remained stretched on the floor, his fiercely beautiful features unreadable.

“Do you want an apology?”

“Are you sorry?”

“Not in the least. Your blood is far more potent than that of a human, and better yet”—his gaze swept down her tense body—“I now know the sweet cries you make when…”

“Shut up before I make sure you need another transfusion.”

The distant sounds of sirens shattered through the thick tension in the air. In the blink of an eye, Jagr was on his feet, reaching down to jerk her upward in one smooth motion.

“The police. We must get out of here.” Stunned by the vampire’s remarkable recovery, Regan found herself being hauled toward the broken window. “Can you jump from here?” Jagr demanded.

She flashed him a glare at his ridiculous question, then careful to avoid the jagged shards of glass still stuck in the frame, she climbed through the window and leaped to the sidewalk below.

Slinking into the nearby shadows of the alley, Regan tested the air for any nearby dangers.

There was the usual stench of trash that filled the nearby Dumpsters, the scent of humans stirring to prepare for their early morning shifts, and the unmistakable tang of burnt flesh and blood.

A part of her knew she should cross the street and discover if any of the curs had survived the attack. She needed to know why they attacked. And if they had any connection to Culligan.

Another part, however, realized that she was too weakened by her hours of searching for the imp, not to mention her recent blood donation, to face her enemies alone. Especially not when they carried guns.

Even a cur could shoot her dead if his bullets were silver.

Cursing her current sense of impotence, Regan gave a small jerk when Jagr simply appeared beside her. One minute he wasn’t there, and then he was. No sound, no stir of the air, not even a trace of his scent.

It was unnerving.

And maddening.

And…a whole host of other things that made her temper snap and snarl.

“What took you so long?” she hissed.

He tossed a heavy leather bag over his shoulder, indifferent to her foul mood.

“We have to go.”

Without waiting for her agreement, Jagr grasped her arm and steered her back to the street and headed east. The wolf in Regan growled in protest at being manhandled, but she ignored her instinct to bite.

Not only was she smart enough to know she would need the aggravating vampire to fight off any attackers until she regained her strength, but there was a dark (frighteningly seductive) fear that he would bite back.

They had barely managed to reach the end of the block when there was the sound of flapping wings, and the tiny gargoyle landed directly in front of them. Regan halted, surprised to realize she was pleased to see the strange little beast. He was…endearing in his own way.

“Hey, did you think to trench me?” he demanded, his wings obviously ruffled.

“Trench me?” Regan demanded in confusion.

“I believe he means ‘ditch me,’” Jagr translated, stabbing Levet with a cold stare. “You deceive yourself, gargoyle, if you think that you can play with me as you do with Styx or Viper. I don’t fear any punishment the Anasso could inflict if I decided to put an end to you.”

Far from wilting beneath the frigid warning, Levet puffed out his chest, managing to appear almost dignified as he met Jagr’s terrifying gaze.

“You need my help, whether you like it or not, vampire. Perhaps you will recall I was the one who frightened off those attacking curs.” He cleared his throat as Jagr regarded him with that unnerving silence. “I can lead you to a cave. I can protect Regan. I have magic…”

“Enough.” Jagr’s clipped voice brought the litany of talents to an abrupt end. “I’m going to regret this.”

“Regret what?” Regan demanded warily.

Jagr never allowed his gaze to stray from Levet. “Wait here with Regan. I’ll be back.”

The gargoyle saluted. “Yes, sir, Mr. Terminator, sir.”

“Levet,” Jagr breathed.

“Oui?”

“Taunt me again and I’ll rip off those wings and shove them down your throat.”

“You have hostility issues, you know that, vampire?”

“Just keep her safe.” And with that, Jagr turned and melted into the shadows.

Regan leaned against the brick front of a local antique shop, too weary to be angered at Jagr’s mysterious disappearance, or even at being passed off like a used car. Once she had the opportunity to gather her strength, she would rid herself of her intrusive guardians. Until then…

Well, she’d endured worse.

Worse in an epic way.

Her heavy lids drifted downward as she relaxed against the wall, trusting her keen sense of smell to warn of any approaching danger. Five minutes passed, and then another five. At last Levet, who clearly possessed the attention span of a gnat, could stand the silence no longer.