“Then it would seem we’re stuck with one another.” Turning on his heel, Jagr led the way toward the line of trees.
Regan fell into step behind him, muttering vile threats that included chopping off his more precious body parts, as well as a gruesome decapitation.
Jagr ignored her threats. Despite her unique ability to annoy the hell out of him, he understood her frustration. She’d just escaped from Culligan’s clutches—she didn’t want to depend on anyone. Even if his presence meant keeping her alive.
Nearing the tree line, Jagr abruptly halted, his senses flaring with life.
“Wait.”
Regan flowed to his side, her body coiled to attack. “What is it?”
“I smell blood.” He pointed toward the trees. “In there.”
“Human?”
“Imp.”
She sucked in a deep breath. “Is he still in there?”
“Impossible to say.”
“Let’s go.”
Jagr bit back his instinctive protest. Regan had earned the right to battle Culligan. So long as he was near to prevent disaster.
“This way.”
Without speaking, they entered the thick woods, their steps barely stirring a leaf as they moved in silence. In the distance, Jagr could hear the rustle of nocturnal animals and babble of a shallow creek, but there was no sense of human or demon in the darkness.
Following the intoxicating scent of blood, Jagr angled to the west. There was nothing but trees for several feet, then without warning they ended, revealing a wide path that had been carved through the very heart of the woods.
It was clearly a road for the local farmer to transfer his equipment from one field to another, but Jagr’s only interest was in the long RV that was distinctly out of place.
“Shit.”
Coming to a halt, Jagr was sharply aware of the savage emotions that assaulted the woman at his side.
“Regan?”
She shook her head, her arms wrapped protectively around her waist. “I can’t. I…I just can’t.”
Before he realized he was moving, Jagr had gathered Regan in his arms. Strange. He’d never before felt the urge to comfort another, not even those of his clan, but in this moment there was nothing more vital.
Smoothing a hand down the knotted muscles of her back, he lowered his head to whisper in her ear.
“Stay here and keep guard. Can you do that, little one?”
There was a tense pause, then she gave a jerky nod. “Yes.”
“Good.”
Ignoring the irrational reluctance to leave her alone, Jagr loosened his grip and stepped back. This possessive sense of protection toward Regan was not only dangerous, it was distracting.
A warrior needed to be cold and logical, a master of his emotions.
This fermenting fear for Regan’s safety could make him sloppy.
And sloppy meant death.
Ignoring his unwelcome instincts, Jagr stepped onto the rough path and approached the RV. Nearing the door, he withdrew a dagger from his boot. His senses might tell him the vehicle was empty, but he knew better than to walk in blindly. The curs had already proven they could hide their presence behind a spell. He wasn’t taking chances.
Circling the long motor home, he cautiously peered through the windows. Empty. Unless the curs also managed to become invisible.
At last, Jagr approached the door, wrapping himself in shadows as he threw it open and flowed silently inside. He crouched low, prepared for attack. When one didn’t occur, he straightened and allowed his gaze to slide over the built-in kitchen and living room that were crammed into the small space.
It all looked…
Human.
Not at all the lavish lifestyle preferred by imps.
Of course, Regan had claimed that Culligan was weak. If he couldn’t produce hexes or portals, then he would have to depend on other means to acquire his wealth.
Such as abusing a vulnerable young Were in his sick sideshow.
With a low growl, Jagr moved toward the back of the RV, already knowing what he would discover when he yanked open the door to the bedroom.
Knowing, however, and seeing were two very different things.
The small room was surrounded by pure silver bars. The walls, the ceiling, the windows, and even the inside of the door. Even worse, there were silver shackles and chains tossed on a narrow cot that was the only piece of furniture, beyond a tiny TV and shelf of worn books.
This is where Regan had lived for the past thirty years. Where she’d been raised by a brutal master, and abused on a regular basis.
Had she been forced to wear the shackles whenever she was in this room?
The corrosive burn would have been near unbearable, and would have weakened her to the point where she could barely function.
Cold, lethal fury seared through him.
Someone would pay for this.
In blood.
Lost in his dark thoughts, it was the scent of jasmine that had him abruptly turning and heading back to the front of the vehicle.
“Regan. Do not,” he rasped, his voice thickening with his native accent as he watched her climb through the door.
Sick fear swirled about her, filling the narrow space, but her beautiful face was hard with determination.
“I have to see.”
“If there’s anything to discover, I will find it. There’s no need for you…”
“There’s every need, Jagr,” she interrupted, her voice low and ragged.
“Why?”
“To prove that I can.”
Stepping forward, Jagr cupped her chilled face in his hand. “You have nothing to prove, Regan. Not to anyone.”
“This is for me. I won’t be haunted by my memories of Culligan, or the hell he put me through.” She sucked in a shaky breath. “I won’t give him that power.”
A bleak, piercing memory of slipping through a deep cavern to slaughter his enemies without mercy flashed through his mind before he managed to scrub it away.
This was about Regan.
And the festering pain that ran like poison through her blood.
“He lost all power over you when you survived,” Jagr husked, willing her to believe the truth of his words. “Your strength and courage overcame everything he could do to you. You’ve conquered your demon.” His lips twisted, the ever present heat shimmering in his eyes. “Not the last demon you’ll conquer, I’d bet.”
As he intended, Regan was swiftly distracted, a blush staining her cheeks as she took a jerky step away from his lingering touch.
“You said you smelled blood.”
“Yes.” He moved to the very front of the RV, forced to bend over as he studied the driver’s seat. “I don’t know why Culligan came to Hannibal, but his welcoming committee was in a foul mood.”