Darkness Unleashed (5 page)

She had barely reached the door when Jagr wrapped an arm about her waist to haul her against his hard chest, whispering directly into her ear.

“You didn’t seem to mind while I was feeding.”

Regan wasn’t sure what infuriated her more. Being manhandled by the brute, or the delicious heat that licked through her body at being manhandled.

“One more word about that…feeding, and you’re going to get a lot more up close and personal with those daggers you’re carrying,” she hissed.

His lips brushed over the curve of ear, making her pulse leap and proving his complete lack of fear at her threat. She shuddered as his fangs lightly scraped down the curve of her neck, swallowing a moan as a thousand pinpricks of excitement tingled through her.

“You can get up close and personal with anything you want, little one,” he murmured, his lips teasing at her skin.

“Damn you.”

Wrenching free of his grasp, Regan stormed into the dark interior of the store, heading toward the back racks that held the expensive designer jeans and T-shirts.

What was wrong with her? Jagr was nothing more than an oversized, over-smug, obnoxiously gorgeous pain in her ass. So why did she keep letting him get under her skin?

Because she was an idiot.

Gritting her teeth, Regan forced herself to ignore his large form leaning against the doorjamb watching her every move with that too perceptive gaze. By God, this was her first, and perhaps only, opportunity to actually enjoy what most women took for granted. She’d be damned if the guardian from hell was going to ruin the moment.

Flicking the hangers around the circular stand, Regan occasionally paused to pull out whatever happened to catch her eye. Any of them would do, of course. The jeans were all faded and looked like they had been put through a meat slicer, while the shirts were cropped to show more than they covered.

Ah, the wacky world of fashion.

Still, she couldn’t stop herself from fingering the various materials and imagining how each would feel against her skin.

Studying a tiny pink sweater with a metallic star stitched on the front, Regan stiffened as she felt the cool brush of Jagr’s power as he stepped behind her.

“Do they not have your size?” he demanded.

Regan deliberately replaced the pink sweater and selected a tiny white T-shirt.

“Of course they have my size.”

“Then the clothing isn’t appropriate?”

“It’s fine.”

“Why do you keep searching?”

Heaving a sigh, she turned to glare over her shoulder. “Give me a break, will you? I’ve never been shopping before. I want to…savor it.”

He stilled at her confession. “Never?”

She shoved the shirt back onto the rack. “In case you missed the news flash, Jagr, Culligan and I weren’t exactly BFF. I was kept locked in a cage for the past thirty years.”

“You must have been let out on occasion.”

“Only when the bastard needed me to convince an audience he was a genuine faith healer.”

Before she could react, Jagr turned her to face him, his features oddly tight.

“How did you convince them?”

Regan shifted beneath the intensity of his icy gaze. Dammit, she felt freakish enough without Jagr eyeballing her as if she’d grown a second head.

“Whenever we reached a town, he would set up a big tent in a field and start handing out flyers.” She ground her teeth until they ached, refusing to acknowledge the brutal pain that twisted her gut at the mere thought of Culligan. She’d made a promise to herself a long time ago: she would never, ever give the damned imp the satisfaction of making her cry. Not one tear. Not ever. Regaining command of her emotions, she met Jagr’s fierce gaze. “Before the show started, he would slice me open with his knife, or break a leg, and I would stumble into the tent he’d set up. Once I had the audience’s attention, he would rush over to put his hands over me and start praying.”

“And you would heal,” he hissed softly.

“Right before their very eyes. The humans thought they were watching a miracle. They couldn’t get their wallets out fast enough.” Her lips twisted with disgust. “Chumps.”

“Humans believe what they see.”

“They’re still chumps.”

His hands lifted, lightly cupping her face and forcing her to meet his gaze. Regan’s heart stuttered to a halt. Christ, she’d thought his frigid composure was unnerving, but now his eyes had lost their ice and smoldered with a savage, near feral fury. It was a forcible reminder that while this vampire had been sent to rescue her, he was still a dangerous predator.

“Jagr?”

“I’ll skin him alive and feed his heart to the vultures,” he rasped. “Or perhaps I’ll chain him in the sewers near my lair for the rats to devour—slowly.”

Regan didn’t doubt his threat. Or his ability to carry it out.

What she didn’t understand was the strange thrill that pulsed through her heart at his harsh words. As if she was…pleased by his arrogant assumption that he could interfere in her business.

Which was even more terrifying than his perilous fury.

Jerking from his touch, Regan glared at him in frustration. “I told you, Culligan is mine.”

Jagr’s anger eased as he watched Regan hastily back away from him. Oh, he still intended to slaughter the imp. Slowly, painfully, and with exquisite skill. But he couldn’t deny a hint of amusement at Regan’s skittish unease at his grim announcement.

She’d spent the past thirty years being brutally taught that she could depend on no one but herself. Trust no one. Now her prickly independence resented the mere hint that someone else might fight her battles.

Just as she resented the thought she possessed a sister and pack who cared for her.

“We’ll see,” he murmured, turning to grab two armfuls of clothes off the rack. “This should do.”

As he’d hoped, Regan was instantly distracted. He wasn’t a particularly perceptive vampire. Unlike Viper, he couldn’t sense other’s most intimate thoughts. But not even an idiot could miss her covetous expression or longing sighs as she had searched through the racks.

She wanted the clothes, she would have them.

“I can’t take all that,” she protested.

“Then I will.”

Without missing a beat, Jagr searched until he found the large bags stashed behind the counter and filled them with his bounty. He even included several bras and panties that were piled in a large bin, refusing to consider what the bits of lace of would look like against her ivory skin.

Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he pulled out a wad of cash and tossed it near the register, then headed out the door and into the dark street.

He knew better than to ask, or worse yet, demand that Regan accompany him. She needed to feel as if she were in control. He was willing to give her a sense of freedom so long as she didn’t put herself in danger.

There was a tense pause before he heard Regan’s soft curse, and soon she was hurrying to match his long strides.

“Why did you leave money?” she demanded. “You have a moral issue with stealing?”

Jagr allowed his powers to flow through the dark street, searching for any hint of danger.

“No, just a dislike for attracting unwanted attention. I left enough money to keep the owner from calling the cops and risk losing her sudden windfall.”

“Now where are we going?”

“A shower.”

Confident there was nothing more threatening than the usual humans and a few water sprites that sang their siren song from the river, Jagr turned the corner and headed toward the main highway that cut through town.

Despite his swift pace, Regan easily kept at his side, her gaze warily searching the shadows, her body tense, ready for any unexpected attack.

Jagr should have been pleased. The woman was obviously smart enough to keep up her guard, despite the seeming lack of danger.

But he wasn’t pleased.

In fact, he was downright pissy. As if some latent, primitive part of his nature was offended she would question his right and ability to keep her safe.

Alarm trickled down his spine like ice, but Jagr grimly ignored the warning. Regan had been setting off alarms since he first caught sight of her. Instead, he slowed before the cheap chain motel with the blinking vacancy sign.

Regan frowned as he headed toward the far end of the building. “What are we doing here?”

“This is the nearest shower.”

“We’re checking into a hotel?”

“Tonight I prefer to skip the paperwork. The desk clerk is no doubt busy sharpening his skills at Guitar Hero.”

“Christ, what is it with you?”

“What?”

She regarded him with a sour expression. “One minute you sound like you just crawled out of a medieval crypt and the next, you sound like you’re a full-fledged member of Gen X.”

He shrugged, hiding his smile at her fierce need to keep him at a distance. And people called him antisocial.

“I watch TV.”

“Let me guess. You’re addicted to
Dexter
.”

“Actually I prefer
Gossip Girl
.”

Her jaw dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

He moved toward the last door. “This one’s empty.” Placing his hand against the door, Jagr waited until he heard the click of the lock and pressed it open. Standing aside, he waited for Regan to march past him, her head high, her spine stiff.

Shutting the door, he held the bags toward the wary woman.

“Don’t turn on the light until you’ve closed the bathroom door. We don’t want to alarm the staff.”

She inched forward, clearly suspicious of his motives in bringing her to the hotel room.

“What are you going to be doing?”

“Keeping guard.” His brief amusement faded as the jasmine scent of her wrapped around him, stoking the hunger that smoldered deep inside him. The mere thought of her naked in the shower, with only a flimsy door between them…gods. Heat blasted through him, swirling through the air and making his voice thick. “Unless you have need of me?”

Snatching the bags, Regan backed toward the open door across the room.

“I’ve got it, thanks.”

Her tone was sharp, but Jagr didn’t miss the darkening of her eyes or the rapid beat of her pulse. He pushed from the door, the flames licking through his blood.

“My assistance would save time. I could scrub your back.” His gaze swept down the delicate curves. “Or your front, if you prefer.”

“Not even in your dreams, Jagr.”

Oh, she was definitely going to be in his dreams. The only question was for how many nights.

Or centuries.

“You did say you were in a hurry to get on the trail of Culligan.”

“Ha. Do I look stupid?”

The sweet, enticing scent of her arousal perfumed the air, but Jagr didn’t miss the hint of panic that flared through her emerald eyes. She desired him, but she feared that desire as much as she feared any emotion that wasn’t hate or revenge.

Damn. He moved forward, forcing himself to halt when a tremor shook through her body. She was going to bolt. He sensed it as clearly as if she’d tattooed it across her forehead.

“You look like a woman who has been knocked around enough to assume everyone is your enemy.” His voice was deliberately cool, his hunger firmly leashed. “I will not hurt you.”

She swallowed heavily, then predictably channeled her unease into anger.

“Because precious Darcy would be mad?” she sneered.

“Because I understand.”

“Yeah, right. Just keep watch, Hulkster,” she growled, her wolf prowling beneath her skin. “And don’t you dare come anywhere near this door.”

The door in question was slammed with enough force to split one of the wooden panels. Jagr remained in the center of the room, pretending that the image of Regan stripping off her clothes and stepping beneath the pelting water wasn’t searing through his brain. Then, confident she was actually taking the opportunity to bathe, he slowly backed out of the room and made a swift sweep of the neighborhood to make sure they hadn’t been followed.

Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he slipped to the back of the building and pressed himself against the worn bricks.

Nearly half an hour passed when the window next to him was shoved open, and a number of large bags were tossed onto the pavement. His lips twitched at the realization that Regan couldn’t leave behind her new clothes, even in her desperation to escape him.

Scooping the bags beneath one arm, Jagr straightened and turned, waiting for Regan to swing her legs (attired in a new pair of jeans), through the window. With a motion so fast not even a Were could follow, he scooped her off the ledge.

“The window, Regan?” he mocked softly. “You disappoint me. I thought you would be more creative.”

Regan gave a squeak and then a shriek as he easily tossed her over his shoulder and headed swiftly back toward the cave.

“Jackass.” Her fist slammed into his back with jarring force, reminding him that she was all pureblood, despite her inability to shift. “Put me down.”

“No.”

“Dammit, you’re wasting my time with these stupid vampire games.”

Moving with a speed that would defy human eyes, Jagr rapidly neared their temporary lair. He’d been a fool to believe that giving into her demands for clean clothing and a shower would ease her distrust.

He was still one of the bad guys.

She was determined to play the Lone Ranger (sans Tonto). And now he was once again forced to hold her close enough to torment him with the scent of her freshly scrubbed skin and hot blood.

His arms tightened around her legs as she continued to struggle. “This is no game, little one. I was commanded by my Anasso to bring you to Chicago, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

“I thought my sister was the one who sent you?”

“Darcy wants you in Chicago, and Styx wants Darcy happy. It’s the way of mates.”

The blows to his back abruptly halted. “And what about your mate? I can’t imagine she’s thrilled with this little road trip of yours.”

Jagr halted before the entrance to the cave, abruptly setting the aggravating demon on her feet.

“I have no mate.”

Something flashed through her eyes. Relief? Uncertainty? Indigestion?

Whatever it was, she was swift to squash it as she shoved her fingers through her damp hair.

“No mate? What a shocker.” Her smile was taunting. “With your stunning lack of charm and habit of treating women like you’re a Neanderthal, I would have thought the demon babes would be crawling all over you.”

Jagr’s fangs throbbed, his heavy erection ached, and his mood was taking a southward dip toward foul.

“It’s not the lack of females that has prevented me from taking a mate,” he icily denied.

“Then what is it?”

“My lack of interest in those females.”

“As if. Men like you…”

Jagr was bending down his head and sealing her lips with a brief, searing kiss before he could halt the impulse. Perhaps because for the first time in centuries, his brutal self-control was being undermined by a tiny wisp of a Were with the tongue of a drunken harpy and the manners of rabid badger.

Abruptly lifting his head, he met her stunned gaze.

“Why the hell do you keep doing that?” she muttered, her cheeks flushed with a heat she couldn’t hide.

Jagr growled deep in his throat. “If I knew, I would no doubt be falling on the nearest stake.”

The emerald eyes flashed. “That can be arranged.”

“There you are.” Stomping from the cave, Levet regarded them with a jaundiced frown, his wings twitching in aggravation. “I thought you’d abandoned me. Again.”

Jagr swallowed a snarl, resisting the urge to toss the gargoyle into the river below. His body might howl at the interruption, but the pea-sized part of his brain that was still functioning realized that he was allowing himself to be perilously distracted by his strange fascination with Regan.

Gods, he was going to get them both killed.

“Levet, I need your help,” he commanded in frigid tones, allowing his warrior instincts to drown his seething frustration.

“Of course you do.” Levet smirked. “You run off and do whatever vampires do, and I will be happy to keep Regan safe.”

As if Jagr would allow Regan out of his sight for a second. Stupid demon.

“I need you to track down the local cur pack.”

“Oh, I see.” Levet narrowed his gaze. “I’m to do the grunt work while you get to stay with the beautiful woman. Typical.”

“I suspect that the curs have a demon or witch who is helping to keep them hidden.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

“You’re the only one capable of sensing magic.”

Levet sputtered, wanting to argue but unable to deny the truth. At last he threw up his hands in defeat.

“
Sacrebleu
. Fine, I will do it.”

“When you find the pack, do not approach them,” Jagr warned. “I don’t want them spooked before I discover why they were shooting at us, and what connection they have to the imp.”

“Fine, but I expect payment for trailing after a bunch of stinking curs.”

Jagr grasped one of the stunted horns and hauled Levet up to glare into his wide eyes.

“Your payment is that you get to keep your wings. Understood?”

“Hey, let go.”

Jagr dropped the demon back to the ground. “Don’t return until you’ve found the curs.”

“Goth bully.” With a flick of his tail, Levet turned to waddle away.

Jagr grimaced. No doubt both Darcy and Shay would rake him over the coals when he returned to Chicago. They possessed a bizarre fondness for the gargoyle. But for the moment, all he cared about was finding the curs and ending their threat to Regan.

At his side, Regan raked a glance over his large body. “Why does he keep calling you a Goth? I’d say you’re more…ghetto chic.”

Ghetto chic?

“I was once a Visigoth chief.”

“Christ.” Her eyes widened in shock. “Exactly when did you get changed into a vampire?”

With a flinch, Jagr turned to enter the cave, the bags of clothing banging against his legs. The night of his turning was something he never discussed.

Not with anyone.

With a snort of disgust at his retreat, Regan followed on his heels.

“Hello, Mr. Freeze. What the hell are you doing now?”

“I need to speak with Salvatore.”

The elegant bedroom in the St. Louis mansion was a decadent feast for the senses. Gold-veined marble walls reflected the glow of the priceless chandelier, the lacquer furniture was designed for accommodating the most adventurous sexual fantasies, and even the high ceiling was painted with naughty satyrs seducing Rubenesque angels.

Lying in the middle of the Olympic-sized bed drenched in gold satin and black velvet, Salvatore Giuliani was jerked from his fleeting pleasure by the persistent buzz of his private cell phone.

His hand reached for the phone even as the woman straddling his naked body prepared to impale herself on his stiff erection.

“Don’t answer it,” the beautiful cur with long crimson hair and pale green eyes moaned, her lips trailing over his chest. “Please, lover.”

“Get off, Jenna,” he growled, his golden brown eyes glowing as the wolf inside him stirred with anger.

“Call them back later.”

“Get the hell off.”

With a sweep of his arm, Salvatore knocked the cur aside, rising from the bed in one smooth motion.