“Crazy bitch,” the imp whined, his eyes rolling toward Jagr as if hoping to get a bit of sympathy from a fellow male. “Get her off me.”
Jagr’s chuckle chilled the air. “If I were you, I wouldn’t insult the pissed-off werewolf holding you in a half nelson.”
“Who are you?” the imp demanded. “What do you want?”
“You’re confused, imp. We’ll ask the questions, and you’ll answer them,” Jagr warned. “Understand?”
Regan tightened her grip on his hair. “And you’ll give us the truth if you want to keep your head attached.”
The imp hissed in pain. “What is this? The demon version of good cop, bad cop?”
“I’m afraid that Regan has a few issues with imps,” Jagr drawled.
The imp stiffened beneath her. “Regan?” he breathed.
Jagr narrowed his gaze. “You recognize the name?”
“No…” His denial was cut short as Regan banged his head on the ground. “Wait, dammit. All I know is that Culligan had a pet Were called Regan.”
“Pet?” Her temper snapped as she banged his head over and over. Christ, she hated imps.
Jagr gently touched her arm. “Careful, little one, we need him alive if he’s going to answer our questions.”
Regan forced herself to halt, sucking in a deep, calming breath as she met Jagr’s steady gaze.
“Can you sense if he’s speaking the truth?”
“Yes.”
Regan leaned forward, deliberately twisting his arm higher. “What’s your name?”
“Damn you, I…arrg…Gaynor. My name is Gaynor.”
She eased the pressure. “How do you know Culligan?”
Gaynor licked his thin lips, the scent of peach thick in the air. “We both lived in New Orleans during the Civil War. Culligan never had much magic, but the looting was easy, and the humans were ripe to be plucked of what few valuables they had left.”
Jagr growled deep in his throat. Even Regan shivered at the sound.
“That doesn’t explain how you knew about Regan.”
Despite the chill of Jagr’s power, the imp began to sweat. “We crossed paths in Chicago thirty years ago. He told me he’d fallen into a sweet deal with a baby Were that he intended to take on the road in some sort of freak show. Lucky idiot.”
Regan sucked in a startled breath.
Chicago?
Culligan had always claimed he’d found her abandoned in a ditch near Dallas.
Of course, Salvatore had tried to convince her that Culligan had lied, and that her family would never have willingly abandoned her.
Still…the suspicion had continued to rankle deep in her heart.
“Who offered him this sweet deal?” she rasped.
“A cur. I think Culligan said his name was Caine.”
“Christ.” She gave a stunned shake of her head, her stomach twisting with a sick sensation. “This is nuts. How did the curs get a hold of me? And why would they give me to Culligan?”
Easily sensing her distress, Jagr stroked her arm in a comforting motion.
“We’ll discover the truth, little one. That I promise.” Jagr turned his attention to the imp, his eyes glittering like frozen chips of sapphire in the dark. “Didn’t you think the Weres might want to know about a missing child?”
“Culligan swore the dogs were the ones who gave him the baby in the first place.”
“You couldn’t possibly be stupid enough to believe any Were would willingly hand over a pureblood child to an imp,” Jagr accused.
Gaynor tried to cringe from Jagr, obviously more afraid of the looming vampire than the angry Were perched on top of him.
Smart imp.
“He said she was damaged, that she couldn’t even shift,” he desperately tried to excuse his betrayal. “Besides, he had to make a blood oath that he wouldn’t allow her to suffer any permanent harm.”
“A blood oath?” Regan directed her question to Jagr. “What’s that?”
He grimaced. “A promise bound in blood and magic.”
“If Culligan had failed to protect you from serious damage, he would have dropped dead in a New York minute,” Gaynor swiftly added, as if hoping for brownie points.
Regan ground her teeth, recalling how obsessive Culligan had been to keep the occasional demon visitors from wandering too near the back of the RV. At the time she’d thought he was protecting his cash cow. Now it was obvious he was simply terrified for his own life. “So that’s why he was so careful to keep his disgusting friends away from my cage. Pig.”
“And you haven’t seen or heard from him in thirty years?” Jagr charged.
“No, I swear.”
“Then how did you know he was in St. Louis?”
Gaynor licked his lips. “The word was already buzzing in the chat rooms that an imp had been busted by the King of Weres for holding a pureblood captive, and that he was hiding in St. Louis. I suspected it might be Culligan, so I sent a hellhound to track him down with a message to meet me.”
“Imps have chat rooms?” Regan mocked, envisioning a bunch of imps huddled over their keyboards.
“Hey, we’re more tech-savvy than most demons.”
Regan’s lips twisted. Clearly the imp hadn’t been into Tane’s version of the Death Star.
“So the chat rooms were buzzing about an imp being in trouble, and you decided to contact Culligan out of the goodness of your heart?” she demanded. “Give me a break.”
“I thought if it was Culligan, he might be willing to pay for my help.” He shuddered beneath her. “Do you think I like peddling tea and cake to fat old ladies?”
“He’s lying,” Jagr breathed softly.
Regan smacked the imp on the back of the head, hard. “Well, I believe he hates peddling cakes to old ladies, so he must be lying about his reason for contacting Culligan.”
“Ow…I’m not a Whack-a-Mole,” he protested.
“No, you’re a breath away from being dinner,” Regan informed him, not above using the imp’s instinctive fear of vampires. “Did I forget to mention Jagr didn’t have time to eat before we came looking for you?”
Jagr readily fell into his role as enforcer, his fangs suddenly shimmering in the moonlight.
“And I’m not hungry for cake.”
“She’ll kill me if I tell you.”
“Then you’re screwed, Gaynor, because we’ll kill you if you don’t,” Regan assured him.
There was a pause, then straining his neck, Gaynor attempted to turn his head to speak directly to Regan.
“Maybe we can make a deal? The information has to be worth something to you.”
“You want a deal? Fine.” She grabbed his face to turn it directly toward Jagr. “You tell me everything you know about Culligan, and I won’t feed you to the hungry vampire.”
He swallowed heavily. “Fair enough.”
“Why did you send a message to Culligan?” Jagr pressed.
“Can I at least sit up?” he whined. “You’re giving me a cramp.”
She shoved his arm high enough that it threatened to snap out of its socket.
“I’ll let you up, but I’ll give you more than a cramp if you try anything stupid.”
Releasing his arm, Regan slipped off his back to kneel next to Jagr. Gaynor muttered a curse and scrambled to sit upright, straightening his silk tie even as he studied the grass stains on his jacket.
“Son of a bitch. Do you know how much this suit cost?”
“Do you know how much I don’t care?” Regan snapped. “Start talking.”
Giving up on his tie, the imp threw his hands in the air. “Fine. I did hear about Culligan in the chat rooms like I said, but I didn’t send the message because I thought he could pay me. The worthless slug never did have the talent or intelligence to earn more than a few bucks. Even when he was handed a windfall like you.”
Jagr’s powers whipped painfully around the imp, making the short strands of his hair stand upright.
“So, why?”
Gaynor shivered. “A week ago a cur came into the tea shop and asked for me to invite Culligan to Hannibal.”
Jagr beat her to the obvious question. “Who was this cur?”
“She called herself Sadie.” His lips curled. “Damn, she was hot. Tall and dark with the kind of body that makes a man think about whips and chains. Very tasty.”
Regan frowned. She’d assumed the cur would be Duncan or perhaps the mysterious Caine. Who the hell was this Sadie?
“Had you ever seen her before?”
“No, and she wasn’t a woman a man would forget. Not ever.” A leer touched the imp’s too-pretty features. “Maybe her rack was a bit small, but…” His disgusting words were cut short as Regan threw a rock at him with enough force to snap his head back. He glared at her as he raised a hand to the bleeding lump on his forehead. “Shit.”
“My suggestion would be to stop digging your own grave, imp,” Jagr said dryly.