“What I need is a shower and clean clothes.”
“Very well. Give me a moment.”
Jagr headed toward the back of the cave, cursing as he caught the scent of Regan’s unease. Dammit, Styx had been a fool to send him after the Were. He was a volatile warrior who was feared by his own brothers, not a nanny. What the hell did he know about wounded, overly proud, vengeance-obsessed women? Jack shit, that’s what.
So why wasn’t he hauling Regan back to Chicago and washing his hands of the ridiculous situation?
Bending downward, he unzipped the leather satchel he had brought with him from Chicago.
He heard Regan impatiently shuffle her feet behind him. “What are you doing?”
Jagr pulled out two finely crafted silver daggers and tucked them into his boots. There were few things that could best an ancient vampire, but he hadn’t lived so long by being stupid. If there were curs around, there were most certainly Weres. He would need the silver if they were attacked by an entire pack.
Straightening, he headed for the narrow entrance. “I’m ready.”
Regan ground her teeth as the vampire disappeared through the entrance of the cave. Did he think she would scurry behind him like a well trained dog?
Heel, Regan. Sit, Regan. Roll over, Regan.
Arrogant bloodsucker.
Wasn’t it enough that he’d pinned her to the floor and kissed her until she’d melted into an embarrassing puddle of willing flesh? And then topped it off by going into his Mr. Freeze act, one that would terrify any rational creature?
She hadn’t asked for his interference. And she most certainly hadn’t asked for his damned toe-curling, stomach-churning kisses.
Why wouldn’t he just go back to Chicago and leave her alone?
Stomping across the cave, Regan slipped through the entrance and charged after Jagr’s retreating form. As much as she wanted to plant a fat wooden stake in his heart, she was smart enough to realize that she wasn’t strong enough to tangle with a vampire. Especially not when that vampire also happened to be a hulking freak of nature like Jagr. Christ, did the vampire tap the veins of steroid junkies?
No, if she were going to escape her current pain in the ass, it would only be with patience and a constant eye on opportunity.
It shouldn’t be tough. She had thirty years of practice.
Muttering curses beneath her breath, Regan lengthened her strides, catching up with Jagr as he reached the bottom of the high bluff.
“What about Levet?” she demanded.
“We’d never be so lucky as to lose him. He will find our trail soon enough.”
“Our trail? Where are we going?”
Jagr turned his head, his eyes capturing and reflecting the stars that sprinkled the velvet black sky overhead. Regan’s heart gave an odd twist. She’d never seen anything quite so beautiful.
“You said you wanted a shower and clothes.”
Her brows shot upward. He’d actually listened to her? And remembered the words that came out of her mouth?
Unnerved by the realization, Regan turned her attention to the street that lay just beyond the empty parking lot. There were the usual stores expected in a tourist town. Arts and crafts, souvenirs, antiques, a quaint coffee shop and bakery. All charmingly rustic, with large windows to display their wares.
Jagr led her past them without a word, thankfully missing her wistful gaze that lingered on a pretty necklace. She’d never possessed anything in her life but a few cheap clothes that Culligan tossed through the bars of her cage. Despite being a wolf by nature, she was still a woman at heart, and she couldn’t deny an instinctive urge to browse and gather and…well, frankly just buy a bunch of junk that she could call her own.
Lost in her thoughts, Regan was caught off guard when Jagr came to an abrupt halt before a red brick building. Barreling into his massive form, she hastily stepped back and glared into his impassive face.
“Holy crap, warn a girl, why don’t you?”
A golden brow flicked upward. “Will this do?”
“Do for what?”
“Clothing.”
“Oh.” She licked her suddenly dry lips as she glanced toward the elegant clothes displayed in the large window. “I…I don’t think it’s open.”
Stepping forward, Jagr pressed his hand against the door. For a moment nothing happened, then with a low squeak, the door swung inward.
“It is now.”
“What about the alarms?”
“They’ve been disarmed.”
“Security cameras?” He regarded her with that flat stare. At last she threw her hands up in defeat. “Fine, but if you get shot again, I’m not offering a vein,” she muttered, marching forward.
She had barely reached the door when Jagr wrapped an arm about her waist to haul her against his hard chest, whispering directly into her ear.
“You didn’t seem to mind while I was feeding.”
Regan wasn’t sure what infuriated her more. Being manhandled by the brute, or the delicious heat that licked through her body at being manhandled.
“One more word about that…feeding, and you’re going to get a lot more up close and personal with those daggers you’re carrying,” she hissed.
His lips brushed over the curve of ear, making her pulse leap and proving his complete lack of fear at her threat. She shuddered as his fangs lightly scraped down the curve of her neck, swallowing a moan as a thousand pinpricks of excitement tingled through her.
“You can get up close and personal with anything you want, little one,” he murmured, his lips teasing at her skin.
“Damn you.”
Wrenching free of his grasp, Regan stormed into the dark interior of the store, heading toward the back racks that held the expensive designer jeans and T-shirts.
What was wrong with her? Jagr was nothing more than an oversized, over-smug, obnoxiously gorgeous pain in her ass. So why did she keep letting him get under her skin?
Because she was an idiot.
Gritting her teeth, Regan forced herself to ignore his large form leaning against the doorjamb watching her every move with that too perceptive gaze. By God, this was her first, and perhaps only, opportunity to actually enjoy what most women took for granted. She’d be damned if the guardian from hell was going to ruin the moment.
Flicking the hangers around the circular stand, Regan occasionally paused to pull out whatever happened to catch her eye. Any of them would do, of course. The jeans were all faded and looked like they had been put through a meat slicer, while the shirts were cropped to show more than they covered.