Darkness Unleashed (20 page)

A thread of irritation managed to bubble through his raging lust.

“Hell, yes, I can blame you. I was magic-bombed…by a cur.” He pounded a fist against his chest. “Me. Do you know the indignity I will suffer if that little embarrassment gets back to my family?”

“Oh, pooh. Who will tell them?”

“Well, let me think…” He pointed a claw in her direction. “You. You will tell them. What better revenge than to make me a source of mockery among my brethren?”

She studied him with a vacant gaze. “But I would think you were already…” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “Oops.”

Levet quivered with outrage. “I am already what?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, it was something.” He turned his hand over, allowing a small ball of flame to dance in his palm. “Maybe I should just change you into a toad and be done with it. At least I won’t have to worry about you flapping your lips.”

Rather than trembling in terror, the aggravating pest leaned down to stroke her fingers lightly on the tip of his wings.

“Now, let’s not be hasty, my tiny gargoyle.”

Ohhhhh. It was good. So good.

“I am not tiny,” he denied, his voice strained. “I am majestically petite.”

Her fingers dipped and fondled and caressed.

“I like petite.”

He groaned against his will. “Stop that.”

“Your lips say no, but your wings say yes.”

Levet glanced over his shoulder, realizing the treacherous things were glowing like a neon light in front of a cheap bar.

“Stupid wings.”

“And what about these delectable horns?” Her hands skimmed up to toy with the stunted nubs. “What do they have to say?”

“Bella…” She stroked a particularly tender spot, and his knees nearly gave way. Now this was a sprite who knew the secrets of pleasing a gargoyle. “Oh.
Sacrebleu.
Where did you learn to do that?”

“Here and there.” She leaned down to lick the tip of one horn. “Do you want to discover what else I’ve learned?”

Eyes rolling back in his head, Levet conceded defeat. No, he leaped headfirst into defeat.

If this was a trap, then screw it.

“Yes. Gods, yes.”

The great philosophers, poets, and playwrights devoted entire lives to revealing the ironies of life.

Jagr had made a study of their works.

He’d intellectually understood their struggles to make sense of a sometimes senseless existence. But there’d always been a part of himself removed from their experiences.

For centuries he had remained distant from society, watching from the shadows and rarely interacting. Shrouded in peace and solitude, he often considered the portrayals of intimate relationships as nothing more than melodramatic drivel.

How could love, or even affection, offer such uncertainty, such confusion, such downright torture?

Now he understood with painful clarity.

Since Regan’s arrival in his world, nothing was the same.

It was like existing in the midst of a whirlwind, he grimly acknowledged, pacing Tane’s bedroom with jerky steps. One moment he was drowning in sensual pleasure, the next he was struggling against the bleak tide of resignation as Regan panicked at the thought of being his mate.

And the next…

The next he was consumed with pure fury as Regan revealed her adventures in stupidity while he’d been locked in Gaynor’s prison.

“You went searching for Sadie without Tane?” he gritted, his voice dripping with ice as he sought to contain his ravaging emotions.

Standing near the door to the bathroom, Regan jerked a brush through her glorious curls, her jaw set in stubborn lines even though she had to know she was in the wrong.

“He was a little too sun-combustible to join me.”

Jagr fiercely refused to remember just how wondrous it had felt to run his fingers though that golden mane.

“Dammit, when you said you found Culligan, I didn’t realize you’d been out roaming the countryside alone.”

The green eyes shimmered with warning. “Because a pureblooded Were can’t take care of herself without a vampire playing bodyguard?”

“Because if something happened to you, it would send me over the edge,” he ground out the brutal truth. “And nothing would bring me back.”

He heard her catch her breath, the brush dropping from her fingers as her defensive expression softened.

“Look, all I intended to do was see if I could track the curs. I had no plans to confront them without Tane and Styx.”

Jagr stilled, struck by the sudden realization that Regan had managed to do what he’d tried and failed to do.

“How did you track them?”

Her lips twitched at the hint of irritation he couldn’t hide.

“Gaynor mentioned Sadie’s obsession with his peanut butter fudge. Once I had the scent, I searched until I ran across it again.”

“Peanut butter fudge?”

“It worked.”

He muttered an ancient curse. “And that’s where you found Culligan?”

“He was chained in the shed.” She shrugged, but it didn’t disguise the lingering revulsion. “When I questioned him, I learned that Gaynor’s portal was weak, and that you were probably being held close to where you disappeared. I decided to take his amulet and see if I could find you.”

Jagr bit back his harsh words. As furious as he might be, he’d rather cut out his tongue than cause Regan unnecessary distress.

“And Duncan?” he instead demanded.

“We stumbled over each other when I left the cabin.”

The thought of the cur not only attacking Regan, but actually holding her captive was enough to make his fangs lengthen and the room fill with a frigid burst of power.

Not bloodlust, just good old-fashioned fury any male would feel at his mate being harmed.

“He could have killed you.”

With an impatient click of her tongue, Regan moved to stand directly before him.

“One more word about me putting myself in danger and we’re done with this conversation, chief.”

Chief. Absurdly, the pet name helped to calm his temper. It reminded him that for all her protests, Regan wasn’t as emotionally detached as she wanted to be.

“Fine,” he grudgingly conceded. What was the point in arguing? Regan would do what she wanted. Always.

And in some twisted way, it was what he admired most about her.

Irony, indeed.

“Besides, it all worked out for the best,” she pointed out. “Now we can at least hope my sister can be rescued.”

Well, that was true enough. Jagr scrubbed his hands over his face, feeling weary despite his recent feeding of the cur.

A small part of him wished he’d managed to pack his bag and return to the sanctity of his lair. Every moment spent in Regan’s company was bound to deepen the sense of loss when she disappeared from his world.

But even as the cowardly thought flared through his mind, he was dismissing it.

So long as this beautiful Were had need of him, he would stand at her side.

Pitiful, but true.

With a restless shake of his head, Jagr headed toward the door to the outer rooms.

“We must share this information with Styx.”

“Jagr.”

Halting, he glanced over his shoulder. “What?”

She licked her lips, strangely uncertain. As if she struggled with some inner demon.

At last she gave a jerky shake of her head.

“Never mind.”

Jagr bit back his curse of impatience. He might not be the most perceptive vampire, but he did learn from his mistakes. And trying to press Regan would only make her dig in her heels deeper.

A knowledge that did nothing to ease his temper as he stormed from the rooms and went in search of his Anasso.

Following the unmistakable scent of power, Jagr moved through the surveillance rooms to a large library, complete with plasma TV. Not surprisingly, Styx was engrossed in a rare book on the history of the Huguenots rather than watching Cinemax. The ancient vampire had never possessed Jagr’s interest in the ever changing society, and it was only because he was determined to please his new mate that he wasn’t still living in a damp cavern without one modern convenience.

As Jagr stepped through the door, Styx was on his feet, his lifted brow revealing he was well aware of his companion’s tangled emotions, although he was smart enough not to comment.

Instead he listened in silence as Jagr revealed Duncan’s attempted negotiations with the Weres, and the cur’s promise he could reveal the location of Regan’s missing sister.

As he finished, Styx pulled a cell phone from his pocket and swiftly dialed Salvatore’s number.

Absently, Jagr listened to the short, tense argument, his body flaring with awareness as he felt Regan entering the room behind him.

He deliberately kept his gaze on Styx’s imposing form as she halted beside him, not that it mattered. She had only to be near for him to drown in her jasmine-scented presence.

With an audible snap, Styx closed his phone and stuffed it into the pocket of his leather pants. Perhaps not surprisingly, Regan took a step closer to Jagr.

Styx was overwhelming under the best of circumstances. With the scowl marring his stark features, and his massive body tense with annoyance, any creature not brain-dead would be wary.

Either unaware, or simply ignoring the prickles in the air, Styx lifted a hand to smooth over the raven hair he’d pulled into a braid that hung nearly to his knees.

Darcy was never going to drag the proud vampire fully into the twenty-first century.

“The meeting with Duncan is set for dawn,” Styx revealed, his voice hard. “He refused to offer the location.”

“Refused?” Jagr shook his head. “Arrogant dog.”

Styx grimaced. “He has proclaimed it Were business and I have no authority to interfere, although Darcy may have a different opinion when I tell her.”

“Good God, you actually listen to your mate’s opinion?” Regan demanded, her tone overly sweet.

Jagr frowned, but Styx seemed to find the jab amusing. “Believe me, it was a hard-earned talent,” he admitted with a low chuckle.

Jagr’s frown deepened as he glared at his king. Traitor.

“Do you intend to return to Chicago?”

Styx briefly closed his eyes, testing the air. “It is too late to make the journey tonight,” he concluded, opening his eyes. “And I would prefer to clean up any loose ends before leaving.”

Jagr gave a dip of his head. “Speaking of loose ends, I have an imp to track down.”

“The dawn is only two hours away,” Styx warned.

Jagr patted one of the numerous daggers strapped to his body. “This won’t take long.”

“I will join you.” Styx took a step forward. “Once the imp is dead, we can search the cabin that Regan found. It could be the remaining curs have returned there.”

“Which means you’ll need me if you want to find the place,” Regan said, a smug smile curving her lips.

“There’s no need. We can follow your trail,” Jagr said, unable to halt the futile words even as Regan was sticking a finger in his face.

“Don’t even start. I’m coming.”

The two stood there, glaring at one another, until Styx moved forward to slap Jagr on the back.

“I would suggest you let it go, old friend,” Styx warned, leaving the room.

Jagr didn’t concede defeat as much as give into the inevitable. Regan was a force of nature he didn’t know how to control.

In silence, he followed Styx out of the lair and to the waiting Porsche parked in the circle drive. He even managed to hold his tongue as Regan climbed into the back, and he took his position in the passenger seat.

He’d barely shut the door when Styx revved the powerful engine and hurtled them through the empty streets, his lips twisted in what Jagr strongly suspected was a smile of amusement.

What the hell happened to vampire solidarity?

Bastard.

At least the car was able to make the trip at a pace just short of light speed, and directing Styx through the back roads, he at last held up his hand.

“Stop here.” He pointed toward the frilly house on the corner. “The tea shop is just ahead.”

The Porsche came to a halt, and they climbed out to stand in the shadows of a dogwood tree.

A dogwood that was currently decorated with a familiar, albeit considerably worse for the wear, truck.

Styx studied the ruined vehicle with a lift of his brows. “Tane’s?”

“It was.” Jagr glanced toward Regan, who was looking decidedly guilty. “Your handiwork?”

“Hey, I’d never driven before.” She gave an awkward lift of her shoulder. “Besides, it was already a piece of junk.”

“I would suggest you keep your keys close at hand, my lord,” he said, dryly.

“Ha. Very funny.” With a toss of her head, Regan moved down the street, her back rigid.

Styx smiled. “Although I hate to question Regan’s skill in demolition, I have to admit she is a mere amateur in destroying cars compared to Levet. That gargoyle possesses an exquisite ability to mangle even the finest vehicle. Just ask Viper.”

“Considering Viper’s unnatural obsession with his cars, I would rather not provoke any unpleasant memories.”

“Wise choice,” Styx drawled.

“I occasionally have moments of self-preservation.” His gaze was instinctively drawn to Regan as she paced impatiently just across the street from the tea shop. “Although not nearly so many as I might hope for.”

Styx laid a surprisingly gentle hand on his shoulder. “I would tell you that it gets easier, but I try to make it a policy not to lie any more than necessary.”

Jagr winced as a sharp pang pierced his heart. “Our time together draws to an end.”

“Only the Oracles can read the future. Cezar is proof of that.”

Jagr’s lips twisted. Cezar’s mate had turned out to be one of the rare Oracles, a fate that Jagr wouldn’t wish on anyone.

Bad enough to have a bad-tempered Were with a commitment phobia.

“I don’t need an Oracle to tell me that Regan is determined to remain a true lone wolf.”

Obviously weary of waiting, Regan planted her hands on her hips and glared at the two vampires.

“Are we doing this, or what?”

Styx slanted Jagr an amused glance. “Bossy little thing, isn’t she?”

“You have no idea.”