With a sharp motion, she’d knocked her companion to the ground. Someone was going to pay for this latest disaster.
“You worthless piece of crap. How dare you let the Were escape.” She punctuated her words with kicks, readily ignoring the fact that she was equally responsible for allowing the two to disappear. Shit rolled downhill. It was never her fault if there was someone else to blame. “I told you not to take your eyes off this cave.”
“I didn’t, I swear.” The cur grunted as her foot connected with his cheek. “The vampire must have used his shadows to hide behind.”
Sadie clenched her fists. She didn’t like being reminded that there were demons out there who possessed skills far beyond a mere cur.
“I don’t need your lame excuses. It was only luck that we stumbled across the Were’s trail that led to this lair in the first place. How the hell are we supposed to find them now?”
The cur tried to dig deeper in the dirt, as if that would protect him from the brutal kicks.
“I thought you intended to lure her to the cabin with the imp.”
Sadie growled. For God’s sake, was the cur suicidal? He was pushing every kill-me button she possessed.
“And just what do you expect me to do with her pet vampire while I’m busy capturing her?” she gritted, her skin crawling with the need to shift. “Politely ask him not to kill me? Maybe I should invite Salvatore along as well?”
Belatedly sensing Sadie was at the edge of her control, the cur wisely resorted to shameless pleading.
“Forgive me, mistress, I beg of you.”
“Forgiveness is not in my nature, stupid bastard.” Preparing for another kick, Sadie was interrupted by the buzz of the phone she’d stuck in her pocket. “Saved by the bell, worm. Or should I say, the vibration?” Ignoring the useless cur cowering on the ground, Sadie pulled out the phone and lifted her brows as she read the name flashing across the screen. Snapping open the phone, she pressed it to her ear. “Gaynor, tell me you have good news.”
He didn’t.
Her already strained temper threatened to combust as she listened to his stumbling, bumbling confession of capturing Jagr by mistake.
“God, I’m surrounded by morons,” she gritted, her mind already sifting through the implications of this latest mess. “Where are you?” He offered hesitant directions, clearly not overly anxious for their impending meeting. Which proved he wasn’t entirely stupid. “You’d better hope I can use this to my advantage, imp, or I’ll eat your heart for breakfast,” she warned before cutting the connection and shoving the phone back into her pocket. Reaching down, she grasped the cringing cur by the hair and yanked him to a kneeling position. “I have a new task for you.”
He nervously licked his lips. “How may I serve?”
“Regan is separated from her vamp. I want you to take the remaining curs and find her.”
“But…”
She tossed him backward, watching as he slammed into the wall and slid to the ground.
“Don’t screw this up.”
“Yes, mistress,” he managed to croak.
Regan’s conversation with Styx was nothing if not to the point. She revealed no more than the fact that Jagr had been taken by an imp and, in turn, he promised he would be at Tane’s lair within twenty-four hours.
Short and sweet.
But Regan wasn’t gullible enough to believe that it was a simple phone call.
Or that it wouldn’t have long-term consequences.
Having accomplished all she could, Regan returned to the rooms Tane had offered them, and over the next few hours she learned every inch of them.
She clocked in a dozen miles pacing from one end to the other. She rearranged the small kitchen, she folded her new clothes, and placed them neatly back in the bags. At last she lay down on the bed, desperately hoping to catch the lingering scent of Jagr, only to discover whoever had come in to clean the lair had changed the sheets.
Not that a change of sheets could erase the memories of Jagr’s tender touch, or the icy-fire of his kisses.
There wasn’t a power in the world that could accomplish that feat.
Ignoring the clang and whistle and outright screams of alarm that sounded in the back of her mind, Regan snuggled deeper into the mattress, allowing the image of Jagr poised above her, his expression one of fierce bliss as he thrust in and out of her body, to fill her thoughts.
Once he was safe, she would return to her futile battle of pretending she could walk away from him and all his unwanted complications without a twinge of remorse.
For now she simply needed to hang on to the ruthless certainty he would be rescued.
Time passed until Regan could feel the heavy sensation of the approaching dawn. Although she didn’t fear the sun like the vampires, she possessed the blood of Were. She was by nature called to the night.
She shoved herself off the bed, a horrible dread lodged in the pit of her stomach.
Christ, if Jagr didn’t return soon, he would be trapped until sunset.
Always assuming he wasn’t being held somewhere that the sun could…
No.
Enough of this waiting. She might not possess the skills of an ancient vampire, but at least she could function during the day.
Storming into the hideous living room, Regan skirted past the whirlpool and was a mere step from the door when it flung open to reveal Tane’s massive form.
“Well?” she demanded, knowing the answer before he even shook his head.
“I could find nothing.”
“Damn.”
The golden features tightened. “As soon as the sun sets, I will return to the hunt.”
“I called Styx,” she absently muttered, her thoughts centered on Jagr and the overriding need to be doing…something. Anything. “He’ll be here tonight with the cavalry.”
Unexpectedly, Tane reached out to touch her cheek, his touch almost gentle.
“Jagr will be found, Regan.”
Frustration flooded through her at the flat certainty in his voice. “Yeah, but before he’s been staked or beheaded or tossed into the sun?”
The vampire shrugged. “The curs want you. They’ll keep him alive if they think they can use him to lure you into a trap.”
She clung to that hope, but it didn’t ease the desperate need to find and rescue Jagr.
“Even if that’s true, he’ll be kept locked up. Maybe even tortured.” She held the dark gaze, willing him to understand. “Tane, he can’t go through that again. It might break him.”
Only the lengthening of his terrifying fangs revealed that Tane not only understood, but was infuriated by the thought of his brother being harmed.
“Even if he could be found, there’s no way to rescue him now. The sun’s already rising.” His tone indicated his opinion of the sun. It wasn’t good. His fingers brushed down her cheek, before he dropped his hand and stepped back. “I know you’re concerned, but our hands are tied until darkness falls.”
She made a restless motion, her inner wolf at the end of its patience. “I can’t just wait.”
The dark, faintly slanted eyes narrowed. “You do know that Jagr will decapitate me if anything happens to you?”
“Do you intend to keep me from leaving?”
His lips twisted, no doubt sensing the impending battle. “No, pretty wolf, I suspect that Jagr isn’t the only one who’s had enough of prisons.” His voice hardened with warning. “Just don’t get yourself killed. My health depends on it.”
“I’ll do my best,” she dryly promised.
Stepping back into the hall, Tane paused to send her a speaking glance.
“If you decide to drive, wolf, take one of the Hummers. It at least has a chance of surviving.”
Regan ignored the slur to her driving ability. She had, after all, trashed his truck. Instead, she turned to make her way back to the bedroom.
Moving directly to a distant corner, she knelt before Jagr’s heavy satchel.
Just for a moment, she hesitated.
After thirty years of being denied even the pretense of privacy, she possessed an intense dislike for the thought of invading anyone else’s. Especially Jagr’s, who had shared her endless humiliations.
Still, she wasn’t so foolish as to go in search of him without some sort of weapon. Unlike other purebloods, she couldn’t depend on shifting to fight her battles. She needed something sharp. And big.
Sucking in a deep breath, she forced herself to open the satchel, her fingers stilling as they encountered smooth leather instead of the cold, hard steel she’d been expecting. With a rueful smile she pulled out the heavy book that was written in a language she didn’t recognize.
She wistfully trailed her fingers over the aged leather of the cover. She’d encountered various demons and warriors and even powerful leaders during her travels with Culligan, but none had offered such a fascinating mixture of contrasts.
Icily aloof and yet so terribly vulnerable. Strong and yet tender. Raw, ruthless power with the soul of a scholar.
With a shake of her head, Regan set the book on the floor and returned her attention to the satchel. This time, she had no trouble finding one of the numerous daggers that were stacked in the bottom.
