Darkness Unleashed (7 page)

Too bad there wasn’t a hint of cur in the air. Not a scent, not a track, not even a stray hair.

There was a rustle beside him and the scent of midnight jasmine teased at his senses.

Regan.

His jaw clenched as his body painfully reacted to her proximity.

Gods, he thought his days of torture were behind him. He’d slaughtered his enemies and retreated to the barricaded safety of his lair. His life was supposed to be one of peace and quiet contemplation.

Yeah…right.

There was nothing peaceful in the way his body burned for a Were who couldn’t decide if she wanted to rip off his clothes or stick a stake in his heart. Or in the knowledge he was risking a death sentence by ignoring Styx’s order to return Regan to Chicago so the revenge-crazed woman could kill her enemy. Or even in having his hard-earned distrust for others slowly, relentlessly undermined.

It was no wonder he was in the mood to bite something.

Or, more particularly, someone.

Smoothly rising to his feet, Jagr turned his head to study the female at his side.

As if by magic, his fury and frustration eased to a rueful resignation.

Perhaps Regan had cast a spell upon him. Or perhaps the brutal barriers he’d built around himself were simply no match for the powerful attraction that roared through him.

Whatever the case, he knew he wasn’t nearly as desperate to return to the dark solitude of his lair as he should be.

Shuffling her feet, Regan at last cleared her throat. Since leaving the cave, she’d grimly refused to utter a word. No doubt assuming her silence was some sort of punishment.

He hated to tell her that before the days of technology, he’d gone decades without a sound to disturb his studies. Besides, he’d known her silence wouldn’t last. She was not the type of woman who could keep her emotions bottled inside.

She was more a spit-in-your-face, kick-your-ass type of gal.

Just the way he liked them.

“Well?” she demanded.

Jagr hid a smile at her sharp tone. “This is where I lost the imp’s trail. What of you?”

She glanced around the empty field, her brow furrowed. “It was around here. Maybe closer to those trees.”

“Then that’s where we’ll begin our search.”

Before he could take a step, Regan had stubbornly folded her arms over her chest.

“This would go faster if we split up.”

He lifted his brows at the suggestion. “So I can waste the rest of the night chasing you down? I don’t think so. You stay at my side.”

“Christ.” Her eyes shimmered in the moonlight, not the glow of a Were on the point of shifting, but one of a pissed-off woman. Just as dangerous. “Wasn’t it enough that I was imprisoned for the past thirty years? Do I have to go from one hell to another?”

His eyes narrowed. “My only purpose is to keep you safe, Regan, not to imprison you.”

“Well, it feels remarkably the same.”

With a hiss, Jagr grabbed her arms and regarded her with a flare of anger. He would endure many things, but not being compared to a spineless coward who would harm a young female.

“Take care, little one.”

“Go to hell, big chief.”

Abruptly he dropped his hands and stepped back. Just the feel of her soft skin beneath his fingers was making his body clench with hunger.

“You want to be rid of me, then let me take you to Chicago,” he challenged with a cool control he was far from feeling. “You’ll never have to set eyes on me again.”

Her lips tightened as she absently rubbed her arms where he’d touched her.

“I’m not leaving until I’ve skinned Culligan and fed his heart to the fishes.”

“Then it would seem we’re stuck with one another.” Turning on his heel, Jagr led the way toward the line of trees.

Regan fell into step behind him, muttering vile threats that included chopping off his more precious body parts, as well as a gruesome decapitation.

Jagr ignored her threats. Despite her unique ability to annoy the hell out of him, he understood her frustration. She’d just escaped from Culligan’s clutches—she didn’t want to depend on anyone. Even if his presence meant keeping her alive.

Nearing the tree line, Jagr abruptly halted, his senses flaring with life.

“Wait.”

Regan flowed to his side, her body coiled to attack. “What is it?”

“I smell blood.” He pointed toward the trees. “In there.”

“Human?”

“Imp.”

She sucked in a deep breath. “Is he still in there?”

“Impossible to say.”

“Let’s go.”

Jagr bit back his instinctive protest. Regan had earned the right to battle Culligan. So long as he was near to prevent disaster.

“This way.”

Without speaking, they entered the thick woods, their steps barely stirring a leaf as they moved in silence. In the distance, Jagr could hear the rustle of nocturnal animals and babble of a shallow creek, but there was no sense of human or demon in the darkness.

Following the intoxicating scent of blood, Jagr angled to the west. There was nothing but trees for several feet, then without warning they ended, revealing a wide path that had been carved through the very heart of the woods.

It was clearly a road for the local farmer to transfer his equipment from one field to another, but Jagr’s only interest was in the long RV that was distinctly out of place.

“Shit.”

Coming to a halt, Jagr was sharply aware of the savage emotions that assaulted the woman at his side.

“Regan?”

She shook her head, her arms wrapped protectively around her waist. “I can’t. I…I just can’t.”

Before he realized he was moving, Jagr had gathered Regan in his arms. Strange. He’d never before felt the urge to comfort another, not even those of his clan, but in this moment there was nothing more vital.

Smoothing a hand down the knotted muscles of her back, he lowered his head to whisper in her ear.

“Stay here and keep guard. Can you do that, little one?”

There was a tense pause, then she gave a jerky nod. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Ignoring the irrational reluctance to leave her alone, Jagr loosened his grip and stepped back. This possessive sense of protection toward Regan was not only dangerous, it was distracting.

A warrior needed to be cold and logical, a master of his emotions.

This fermenting fear for Regan’s safety could make him sloppy.

And sloppy meant death.

Ignoring his unwelcome instincts, Jagr stepped onto the rough path and approached the RV. Nearing the door, he withdrew a dagger from his boot. His senses might tell him the vehicle was empty, but he knew better than to walk in blindly. The curs had already proven they could hide their presence behind a spell. He wasn’t taking chances.

Circling the long motor home, he cautiously peered through the windows. Empty. Unless the curs also managed to become invisible.

At last, Jagr approached the door, wrapping himself in shadows as he threw it open and flowed silently inside. He crouched low, prepared for attack. When one didn’t occur, he straightened and allowed his gaze to slide over the built-in kitchen and living room that were crammed into the small space.

It all looked…

Human.

Not at all the lavish lifestyle preferred by imps.

Of course, Regan had claimed that Culligan was weak. If he couldn’t produce hexes or portals, then he would have to depend on other means to acquire his wealth.

Such as abusing a vulnerable young Were in his sick sideshow.

With a low growl, Jagr moved toward the back of the RV, already knowing what he would discover when he yanked open the door to the bedroom.

Knowing, however, and seeing were two very different things.

The small room was surrounded by pure silver bars. The walls, the ceiling, the windows, and even the inside of the door. Even worse, there were silver shackles and chains tossed on a narrow cot that was the only piece of furniture, beyond a tiny TV and shelf of worn books.

This is where Regan had lived for the past thirty years. Where she’d been raised by a brutal master, and abused on a regular basis.

Had she been forced to wear the shackles whenever she was in this room?

The corrosive burn would have been near unbearable, and would have weakened her to the point where she could barely function.

Cold, lethal fury seared through him.

Someone would pay for this.

In blood.

Lost in his dark thoughts, it was the scent of jasmine that had him abruptly turning and heading back to the front of the vehicle.

“Regan. Do not,” he rasped, his voice thickening with his native accent as he watched her climb through the door.

Sick fear swirled about her, filling the narrow space, but her beautiful face was hard with determination.

“I have to see.”

“If there’s anything to discover, I will find it. There’s no need for you…”

“There’s every need, Jagr,” she interrupted, her voice low and ragged.

“Why?”

“To prove that I can.”

Stepping forward, Jagr cupped her chilled face in his hand. “You have nothing to prove, Regan. Not to anyone.”

“This is for me. I won’t be haunted by my memories of Culligan, or the hell he put me through.” She sucked in a shaky breath. “I won’t give him that power.”

A bleak, piercing memory of slipping through a deep cavern to slaughter his enemies without mercy flashed through his mind before he managed to scrub it away.

This was about Regan.

And the festering pain that ran like poison through her blood.

“He lost all power over you when you survived,” Jagr husked, willing her to believe the truth of his words. “Your strength and courage overcame everything he could do to you. You’ve conquered your demon.” His lips twisted, the ever present heat shimmering in his eyes. “Not the last demon you’ll conquer, I’d bet.”

As he intended, Regan was swiftly distracted, a blush staining her cheeks as she took a jerky step away from his lingering touch.

“You said you smelled blood.”

“Yes.” He moved to the very front of the RV, forced to bend over as he studied the driver’s seat. “I don’t know why Culligan came to Hannibal, but his welcoming committee was in a foul mood.”

“He’s dead?”

“He was alive when he left the RV, but he was hurting.”

“Damn.”

With an unexpected speed, Regan was moving deeper into the living area of the RV, punching holes into the faux wooden panels of the wall.

Jagr moved to her side, his lips curving as splinters filled the air. There was nothing more arousing than a powerful woman.

“Not that I don’t approve of wholesale destruction, but there are more satisfying means of exorcising your frustration,” he murmured.

“Culligan kept his money and private papers in a safe…ah.” Tossing him a smug smile, Regan tugged out a small metal box from the hole she’d just made in the panel. A smile that faded as she struggled to wrench the thing open. “Crap.”

“Allow me.” Without asking for permission, Jagr pulled the box from her grasp and wrenched the heavy lid off.

Not surprisingly, he was rewarded with a nasty glare. “Am I supposed to be impressed with your bulging muscles and mindless brute strength?”

“You can be impressed by anything you want, little one, although most women prefer my bulging…”

“Bleck.” She held up a hand. “Enough.”

Jagr might have been offended if he didn’t catch the unmistakable scent of her desire whenever he was near.

Glancing in the box, Jagr grimaced and shoved it toward Regan. “I think you’ve earned this.”

“Christ,” she breathed, her eyes widening at the stash of jewels and watches and neatly stacked money. “Humans. You would think thousands of years of evolution would finally give them the talent of recognizing a blatant swindle.” Regan shuddered, staring at the box as if it were contaminated. “I don’t want this. It’s tainted.”

“Then give it to a charity or throw it in the river. Just so long as Culligan or his friends can’t get their hands on it.”

Regan grimaced. “You’re right.”

“I’m right?” Jagr pressed a hand to his heart in mock astonishment. “Blessed saints, did the sky fall?”

“Smart ass…”

Regan’s eyes widened as Jagr flowed forward to press a hand to her mouth.

“Someone’s approaching,” he whispered close to her ear. She tugged his hand from her mouth, but was careful to keep her voice soft.

“Culligan?”

“I can’t tell. They must be cloaked by a spell to cover their scent.”

On the point of turning the hunter into his personal prey, Jagr stiffened. He had less than a beat to catch the scent of smoke before a bottle crashed through the window of the RV and exploded in flames. Instinctively, Jagr backed away. Fire was one enemy a vampire couldn’t battle.

“Time for you to go, Regan.” He shoved her toward the flames that were spreading with lethal speed. “Run.”

Digging in her heels she whirled to glare at him. “Are you mental?”

“The fire isn’t magical, you’ll heal from the burns,” he rasped, his body quivering with the need to rush her to safety.

“Yeah, only to be killed by the freaking King of Vamps when he discovers I bolted like a wuss and left his favorite pet to become toast.”

“Styx would never harm you, and I am not the Anasso’s favorite anything, let alone his pet. Now get the hell out of here.”

The smoke thickened, the heat already bringing beads of sweat to Regan’s face, but the woman stubbornly refused to flee.

“Forget it, chief. It’s not happening.”

“Damn.”

Muttering ancient curses and more than a few derogatory comments on the brains of Weres in general, and one in particular, Jagr wrapped his arms around his personal thorn in his side, and with one mighty surge smashed through the side of the RV.

Even buffered by Jagr’s huge body, Regan’s breath was wrenched from her lungs as they crashed through the side of the motor home and landed on the pathway with a hard jolt.

Before she’d managed to suck in the much needed air, Jagr had jerked her to her feet and turned to face the two attackers that appeared frozen in horror by their abrupt appearance.

There was a slender human woman with a mop of blond curls and innocuous blue eyes, as well as a tall, leanly handsome man that Regan instantly recognized as a cur, with dark hair and a goatee that somehow seemed perfect for his wicked features.

Regan had barely regained her balance when a cold blast of power filled the air, and Jagr had launched himself into battle.

The female screamed in terror, but rather than fleeing as any intelligent creature should have done, she threw out her hands, as if trying to shoo away the massive predator. Regan might have found it funny if there wasn’t a brilliant flash of light that smacked Jagr in the center of his chest, sending him flying backwards.

Witch.

Regan rushed toward the vampire, who was sprawled on the hard ground, the front of his sweater charred and still smoking. Damn the witch to hell. No one was allowed to harm Jagr.

No one but her.

She was less than a half step away from the injured vampire when the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

Allowing instinct to guide her, Regan crouched low as she whirled around, her leg striking out to trip the attacking cur.

Her dip allowed her to avoid a painful blow to her jaw as the attacker’s fist swung over the top of her head, but he managed to leap over her kicking leg, his eyes glowing with the eerie light of a wolf. Spinning to face her, the cur held up his hands in a gesture of peace.

“Easy, luv,” he soothed, his voice hinting at Irish origins. “I have no wish to hurt you.”

Regan gritted her teeth, too furious to be properly terrified.

“Yeah, right.” Her sharp laugh echoed through the trees. “I suppose you also have a bridge you’re trying to unload?”

His lips curved in a well rehearsed smile. “I swear on my sweet mother’s grave that I’ve been ordered to bring you alive.”

“Bring me where?”

He held out a slender hand. “Come with me, and I’ll show you.”

Did she have stupid tattooed on her forehead?

Regan attempted to inch around the cur, plagued by a desperate need to reach Jagr.

“What do you want with me?”

“Nothing more than to keep you safe.”

“Safe? You tried to shoot me in that hotel room, not to mention nearly roasting me alive just a minute ago.”

“We were trying to kill the vampire in that hotel room, not you. We thought he was attacking you.” His gaze slowly roamed down her body, his arrogant expression revealing he believed women enjoyed being checked over like used cars. Schmuck. “Weres and vampires don’t usually mix.”

“And tonight?” she demanded.

“I had no idea anyone was in the RV. I was sent to get rid of it, not to harm you.”

Regan stiffened. She’d assumed that they had been followed by the cur to this remote spot. But if he was telling the truth, then he’d known about the RV.

And Culligan.

“Who sent you?” she hissed. “Culligan?”

The man snorted. “Don’t be daft. As if I would take orders from a filthy imp.”

“But you know where he is?”

He confidently stepped closer, his voice low and seductive. “Not only do I know, but I have him all tied up like a birthday present, just waiting for you to come and punish him.”

Regan’s thoughts churned. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of her actually going with the cur. Her every instinct shrieked in warning. Besides, she wouldn’t leave Jagr. (Why she felt the need to protect an ancient vampire who was currently holding her hostage, not to mention driving her nuts, was something she wasn’t about to consider.)

But if she could keep him talking, then he might give some clue as to where he was hiding Culligan…and why the hell he wanted to get his hands on her.

“How do you know Culligan?” she asked.

The cur shrugged. “Never met him before he arrived in Hannibal.”

“Christ, is there a demon who comes through town who you don’t try to kill?”

“We didn’t try to kill the imp.” The man stepped closer, as if hoping his potent heat would befuddle her mind. “It was a simple snatch and grab.”

She continued inching toward Jagr. Her heart twisted. Why wouldn’t he wake up? He would poof if he was dead, wouldn’t he?

“Hardly simple,” she accused. “Culligan didn’t go willingly.”

His lips curled into a snarl. “There might have been some blood involved.”

“Why take him at all?”

“Beyond the pleasure of listening to him squeal?” The cur chuckled. “We discovered that he’d held a fellow wolf captive. That can’t go unpunished.”

He was lying. Regan had never been so certain of anything in her life.

“Fantastic. Where the hell were you when I actually needed your help?” she mocked, still circling the dangerous cur.

Suddenly, she was close enough to sense Jagr’s power, though it was faint. Sheer relief crashed through her.

He was still alive.

She didn’t know why, but it felt as if a truck had abruptly been lifted from her chest.

Unaware of Regan’s distraction, the man smoothed a hand over the rippling muscles of his chest, his smile edged with a wicked smile.

“I’m here now. Ready and prepared to help with whatever you might need.”

Ick, ick, ick.

Regan didn’t feel any of the tingling excitement that she felt when Jagr regarded her with that heated awareness. All she felt was…revulsion.

Struggling to hide her less than flattering response, Regan was distracted as the witch grabbed the cur’s arm.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, her eyes wide with panic. “The vamp won’t be down forever. We have to go.”

Regan growled, itching to knock the woman to the ground and beat the crap out of her. The witch squeaked, but before Regan could get her hands on her, the cur was shoving the terrified woman behind his back.

“Not without my pretty little wolf.” He held out a slender hand. “Come with me, Regan. That’s the only way you’ll ever get your hands on Culligan.”

“Tell me where he is and I’ll join you later,” she countered.

“No deal. You either let me take you to him now, or you’ll never find him.”

She clenched her hands. “How do I…”

There was a rustle as Jagr stirred on the hard ground, clearly shaking off whatever spell had hit him.

“Shit.” Without warning, the cur reached out to grasp her arm, his charming expression hardening to one of ugly anger. “You just ran out of time, bitch. You’re coming with me.”

“Not in this lifetime,” Regan hissed, yanking her arm free and taking a swing at the arrogant cur.

The man ducked, his fist hitting her in the center of the stomach before she could react. Regan grunted as the air was knocked from her lungs, but rather than battling against the painful momentum, she allowed it to take her to the ground, falling next to Jagr’s legs.

She’d barely hit the dirt when the cur was on top of her, one fist catching her on the side of the head, the other grabbing her hair as he tried to yank her back on her feet.

Blinking back the wave of dizziness, Regan grimly reached out for Jagr’s leg. She’d been battered enough times not to be distracted by a bit of pain. Not even when her hair was being pulled out by the roots.

Hissing in fury, the cur wrapped his hand around Regan’s throat, squeezing her windpipe as he tried to force her to her feet. Regan gritted her teeth, aiming a kick at his knee as she ran her hand down Jagr’s leg to his boot.

The attacker howled in pain as her heel connected with his kneecap with a sickening crack, but his fingers only tightened on her throat.

Regan struggled to breathe, her fingers at last closing around the dagger Jagr had tucked into his boot. Jerking it from the hidden sheath, she slashed at the arm holding her captive.

The silver blade slid easily through flesh and muscle, scraping against the bone as the cur abruptly leaped backward, loosening his crushing grip on her throat.

Holding his arm, the man glared at her with a murderous fury before a shimmer of energy swirled about his muscular body, and he shifted. An echo of power tingled through Regan’s blood as she watched the handsome face elongate, his clothes shredding as his body twisted and altered, at last becoming the shape of a huge wolflike creature with dark fur and gleaming red eyes.

Regan flowed to her feet, prepared for the imminent attack.

An attack that never came.

Even as Regan planted her feet and held the dagger at the ready, there was a low growl from beside her and Jagr was suddenly looming like an avenging angel behind her shoulder.

The cur snarled, snapping his teeth, but he wasn’t so far gone as to believe he could battle a massive, infuriated vampire. Even one who’d been so recently wounded.

For just a moment they were frozen in a strange tableau, the violence trembling in the air, prepared to explode at the first movement.

Regan ridiculously found herself holding her breath, her gaze glued on the cur who remained poised to pounce. A mistake in the end. While the cur flashed his considerable fangs and rumbled deep in his throat, it was the witch who took matters into her own hands.

Literally.

Raising her arms, she muttered a low chant. Jagr cursed, and with a sharp motion knocked Regan to the side. A split second too late as the bright light flared, and a savage pain exploded inside Regan’s head.

Jagr carried his slender burden through the silent streets and up the bluff to the hidden cave. Consumed with worry, he made no effort to control his icy power that flowed through the darkness and sent a feeling of cold dread through the hapless citizens of Hannibal.

What did he care? Let the humans stir uneasily in their beds, and the lesser demons flee the area in terror. His only concern was finding the gargoyle, and reviving Regan.

Easily sensing the tiny demon, Jagr slipped through the opening of the cave, already braced for Levet’s shriek of horror as he settled Regan’s unconscious form in the center of the hard floor.

“Regan.” Wings flapping and tail twitching, Levet hurried to Regan’s side. “What did you do to her, you undead reptile?”

Moving to the back of the cave, Jagr retrieved his long leather duster to carefully drape over Regan’s too-still form. Then, kneeling on the dirt floor, he grasped one of her slender hands.

“She was hit by a spell.” He stabbed his companion with a fierce glare. “Remove it.”

“How…” Levet swallowed his question as he was nearly tumbled backward by a blast of Jagr’s icy power. Instead, he closed his eyes and touched a gnarled finger to Regan’s forehead. “Human witch. A defensive spell.”

“I didn’t ask for
CSI
bullshit,” Jagr snarled. “Get rid of the spell.”

“Sacrebleu.”
Levet snapped open his eyes. “I have to know what magic was used to reverse it.”

“Fine, it was a human witch. Now get on with it.” Jagr pointed a warning finger in the gargoyle’s ugly face. “And Levet.”

“
Oui?
”

“Keep in mind that if you make a mistake, it’ll be your last.”

Levet narrowed his gaze, the fierce pride of his ancestors suddenly shimmering in the gray depths.

“I would stick a dagger in my own heart before I would harm Darcy’s sister,” he swore. “Now shut up, and let me take care of her.”

Jagr clenched his jaw against the fury that battered through him with brutal force.

The night had been a disaster.

Being trapped in the burning RV. Allowing himself to be knocked unconscious by a witch, a
human
witch, so Regan was forced to battle their attackers on her own. And being too slow to protect her against the spell that now held her in its grip.

A major screw-up from start to finish.

And it was Regan who was suffering for his failure.

Keeping his gaze trained on Regan’s pale face, he paid scant attention as Levet muttered beneath his breath and occasionally waved his hands, but he recognized the moment the spell was broken.

It was in the easing of her body, and the soft sigh that fluttered through her parted lips. Levet rocked back on his heels, his wings drooping with weariness.

“I have removed the spell, but she will need a considerable amount of sleep to heal from the damage.”

“But she’ll heal? Completely?”

“Oui.”

The tightness constricting his unbeating heart lessened, but it didn’t disappear. Regan would heal, but those who wanted to hurt her remained alive.

For now.

Pressing her fingers to his lips, Jagr gently settled her hand on her chest that rose and fell with assuring regularity. Then ignoring the pain that lingered from the witch’s blast, Jagr surged to his feet.

A voice of reason whispered in the back of his mind that he should be returning to the charred RV. Not only was there the hope that the wounds Regan had managed to inflict on the cur would overcome the witch’s ability to mask his scent, but he needed to make sure that his own trail back to the cave was properly covered.

Reason, however, didn’t mean squat while his protective instincts were in full roar. There was no way he was leaving Regan while she was unconscious and completely vulnerable.

No way in hell.

“Levet.” With a narrowed gaze, he motioned toward the wary gargoyle. “I have a little task for you.”

“Crap.”

Regan wasn’t certain how long she waged her battle with the clinging darkness. The thick shroud was nothing if not tenacious. But then again, so was she. (Some, especially a gorgeous Visigoth chief, might even claim she was stubborn as hell.)

Refusing to admit defeat, she shredded through the unconsciousness that held her captive, her senses slowly tingling back to life, though her lids remained too heavy to lift.

She was lying on a hard dirt floor. The cave, no doubt. She could smell cool, damp air and only a trace of gargoyle, as if Levet were no longer near. And overall, the cool, exotic scent of power that could only belong to Jagr.