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.