Darkness Unleashed Page 9

  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 agai
nst 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.

  He was near. Keeping watch over her.

  Warmth flowed through her, banishing the lingering pain and bringing an odd sense of peace.

  Peace?

  From an arrogant vampire who thought he could put a leash on her?

  Christ, she was mental.

  Wrenching her eyes open, Regan glanced around the torch-lit chamber, assuring herself that she was safely tucked in the cave and not in the hands of the curs. Or worse, back in that damned silver cage.

  Always assuming that the hideous thing survived the fire.

  Confident she was in no immediate danger, Regan pushed herself to her feet, relieved when she didn’t fall flat on her face. Or even stumble—much.

  Running her fingers through her hair, she glanced around the deepening shadows. The cool wash of power that charged the air assured her that Jagr was near, but his considerable bulk was nowhere to be seen.

  So either he’d used his vampire tricks to wrap himself in darkness, or he was in one of the attached caverns.

  She briefly hesitated.

  Pride told her that there was nothing keeping her in the cave. She could walk out the front entrance and continue her search for Culligan. Or if she were truly smart, she could hop on the nearest bus and simply disappear.

  No imps, no Weres, no annoyingly gorgeous vampires…

  Pride, however, wasn’t in control of her feet. Instead of leading her out of the cave, they headed toward the openings at the back.

  Ducking her head to avoid the low archway, she slipped into the cramped space that offered a natural cistern. As she straightened, she was prepared to find Jagr. His power was tangible this close. What she hadn’t expected was to find him stark naked as he rose from the shallow water, tossing his wet hair over his massive shoulders.

  The world stopped.

  Or at least the little corner where Regan was sta
nding.

  Christ. She’d already accepted he was a magnificent specimen. The glorious mane of golden hair. The proud, masculine beauty of features. The relentless intelligence in the ice-blue eyes.

  But stripped of his clothing, he was…holy moly.

  Raw power molded into thick muscles and sinew were the only words that came to mind. Enough to halt the heart of any woman.

  Briefly lost in the sheer perfection of his body, it took a moment before Regan’s avid gaze focused enough to realize that the smooth beauty of his ivory skin had been cruelly marred by a series of crisscrossing scars that ran from his chest to his groin.

  Shocked as much by the pain that savaged her heart as by the sight of his gruesome injuries, Regan slowly lifted her eyes, clashing with the ice-blue gaze.

  As always, his expression was impossible to read, but Regan wasn’t stupid. Jagr would have sensed the moment she awakened. Which meant he could easily have covered himself before she stumbled across him.

  Vampires weren’t modest, but they abhorred any deformity. The scars would be a source of humiliation for such a demon.

  So why had he revealed them to her?

  And why now?

  Struggling to clear her tangled thoughts, Regan forced a breath past her tight throat, her gaze shifting to the rippling water.

  “Aren’t you supposed to hang some sort of sign if you intend to shower in a coed cave?”

  There was a rustle, and covertly glancing out the corner of her eye, Regan watched Jagr tug on a pair of faded jeans, pulling up the zipper but leaving the button undone.

  Yow.

  Her mouth went dry. And it had nothing to do with his scars.

  Did all men have such large…man parts?

  And were they supposed to make a woman pant like a hound in heat?

  “How do you feel?” he demanded, prowling until he stood directly before her.

  “Headache, dry mouth, hair from hell.” With effort, she lifted her head to meet his guarded gaze. “How long was I out?”

  “You lost a day.”

  Frustration simmered deep in her gut. At this rate she would be signed up for AARP by the time she managed to track down Culligan.

  “Crap. I remember crashing out of the RV and being attacked by that cur…then everything’s a blank.”