Jagr grimaced. He didn’t have a memory of his time as a human, but the rumors of his brutal rampages were legendary. There hadn’t been many tears shed when he’d mysteriously disappeared.
“Humans are not without their own share of monsters.”
“Maybe not, but the countryside always seems so peaceful. Especially at night.”
“Obviously you haven’t read In Cold Blood.”
She rolled her eyes. “Spoken like a true city vamp.”
“I haven’t always lived in cities, you know,” he drawled. “I’ve spent centuries hidden in lairs so remote I had to travel hours to feed.”
“Centuries of solitude?” She sucked in a deep breath. “It sounds like heaven.”
“At times.” He slowed the truck as he turned to study the smooth perfection of her profile. “There are also times when it’s lonely and tedious and frightening.”
She turned to catch his intense gaze. “Frightening?”
“Without a connection to the world, it becomes far too easy to question the purpose in continuing to exist.”
Even in the darkness he had no trouble seeing the shock, and something that might have been horror, that rippled over her face.
“Did you…?”
“If I hadn’t discovered a passion for my research, I would not have struggled against the lure of ending it all,” he readily confessed. “It’s a temptation that all immortals must battle.”
Without warning, she shivered, wrapping her arms around her waist as if warding off a sudden chill.
“You’d better not do anything so stupid while I’m around, chief,” she muttered. “I intend to be the only tragedy to befall you.”
A stab of satisfaction rushed through him at her unmistakable distress. She didn’t like the thought he had very nearly put an end to his empty existence.
“Don’t worry, little one, you won’t get rid of me that easily.”
She deliberately turned her head to stare out the window, pretending an interest in clumps of houses and car lots and gas stations that replaced the fields as they skirted the edge of town. Jagr allowed her to wrestle with her emotions in silence, forcing himself to concentrate on where he’d seen the sign for the tea shop.
Crawling through the sleeping residential streets, he nearly missed the refurbished three-storied house that was set behind two towering oaks.
“This is it,” he said, abruptly pulling the truck to a halt on the opposite side of the street. It was nearly two in the morning and, in the finer neighborhoods of Hannibal, the citizens were safely tucked in their beds.
Leaning forward, Regan studied the pretty white structure with pink trim, and all those curly doodads that Victorians were addicted to.
“No.” She shook her head. “This can’t be right.”
He deliberately glanced at the gold letters painted in the bay window. “It claims to be the Clemons Tea Shop. Do you think there’s more than one?”
“It’s way too upscale for any of Culligan’s friends,” she muttered. “He hangs around with bottom-feeders like himself.”
“Fine. We can return to the lair, and…”
He hid his smile as she hastily shoved open her door and jumped out of the truck.
“We might as well have a look while we’re here.”
He caught up with her as she vaulted over the white picket fence, his senses assuring him that there was nothing in the house but a prowling cat. Of course, his senses were worthless when it came to the curs and their damned witch, he reminded himself, tugging the handgun from his waistband as they rounded the house and entered the tiny rose garden at the back.
Reaching the edge of the patio dotted with tables, they both came to a sharp halt.
“Do you smell that?” Regan demanded, her eyes glittering at the distinct scent of peach that had nothing to do with the tarts or scones served from the nearby kitchen.
Jagr nodded. It wasn’t the distinct plum scent of Culligan, but definitely fey.
“Imp. And male.” His fingers tightened on the handle of the gun. “Do you recognize the scent?”
“No.” She sucked in a deep breath, using her Were senses to test the air. “I don’t think Culligan was ever in contact with the imp while he held me captive.”
“So why would this mysterious imp contact him with an invitation to meet in Hannibal?”
Her gaze widened. “A trap?”
It had been Jagr’s first thought as well. “An imp would sell his own mother if he could get a profit.”
Her lips curled in anticipation. “I think I’d like to meet this imp.”
Jagr scowled, rebelling at the mere thought of Regan hunting an imp that might possess all sorts of nasty skills.
“I’ll track him.” He was careful to keep his words closer to a request than a demand. “You return to Tane’s lair, and I’ll…”
“Don’t even start with me.” Her hands landed on her hips, her expression at its most stubborn.
“Regan, we know nothing about this imp or how closely he’s associated with the curs.”
“Look, I’ve let you hang around because you’re occasionally useful, but I don’t take orders from you.” Her eyes narrowed. “Got it?”
He muttered a low curse. “So you’re willing to put yourself in danger to prove you can?”
“I’m willing to do what’s necessary to track Culligan. In case you’ve forgotten, that’s why I’m here.” Turning, she marched toward the back hedge, her back stiff as she followed the trail of the imp. “It’s the only reason I’m here.”
Jagr held himself still, waging war with his predatory nature that was stirred to a fever pitch by Regan’s brash challenge.
If he’d already claimed her, then these skirmishes would be nothing more than the delicious games played between mates. But, without the bond…
Damn.
He’d assumed Kesi was the expert on torture.
She was an amateur compared to Regan.
Levet kicked a stray rock as he wandered along the edge of the Mississippi River.
He’d caught the plum scent of an imp two hours ago, and had eagerly been on the hunt since. Mon Dieu. He’d been so certain that this was his opportunity to show that frozen Visigoth chief who was the better demon.
His mood of elation, however, was swiftly spiraling down to weary annoyance as the trail led him on a seeming goose chase through the mud and muck that Missouri produced in astonishing abundance.
Not for the first time, he considered washing his hands of this whole vampire-helping-business and retiring to a nice quiet church in Florida.
Or maybe Arizona.
The humidity did nothing for his skin.
After all, it wasn’t like the cold-blooded bastards actually appreciated his spectacular skills. Sacrebleu, they barely acknowledged he was a full-blooded gargoyle, let alone treated him with the respect or dignity that was his due.
So why was he tromping through the nasty weeds, following an even nastier imp, when once again the damnable vampire was busy sweeping the beautiful damsel in distress off her feet?
Because he was an imbecile, that was why.
An imbecile with sore feet, an empty stomach, and a sinking certainty that he was doing nothing more than walking in circles.
He needed a pizza. An extra large, meat-lovers, double cheese, thick crust…
“Psst.”
Startled by the unexpected sound, Levet jerked his head to discover a woman swimming in the powerful waters of the river, her pure white skin, slanted blue eyes, and pale green hair revealing she was something other than human.
Water sprite.
And one that he’d encountered before.
Cursing the hideous luck than had crossed his path with Bella, the-pain-in-the-ass sprite, Levet attempted to ignore the flighty fey.
“Hey. Hey, you.” Swimming closer to the shore, she waved an arm, as if he were too stupid to notice a water sprite bobbing a stone’s throw from him. “Over here. Psst.”
“Stop pssting me,” he growled, continuing his path along the edge of the river.
“I know you.”
“Non, you do not,” he denied.
“I do. You’re Levet, the stunted gargoyle.”
He halted at the insult, spinning to point a gnarled claw at the stupid pest. “I am not stunted. I am vertically challenged.”
She batted her long lashes, her beauty near breathtaking in the silver moonlight. Of course, it was that beauty that had been leading sailors to their doom since the beginning of time.
Levet had learned his lesson when the sprite had crawled through his portal when he’d been attempting to save Viper and Shay from the previous Anasso who’d gone completely nuts.
“I made you big before, when you fought that icky vampire,” she whispered, reminding him of the pleasure he’d felt in commanding the stature that most of his brethren took for granted. Mon Dieu. It had been such a lovely thing. “Do you want me to make you big again?”
“I didn’t summon you. Go away.”
