And even now he left them exposed, as if daring her to react to the ugly testament to his past.
So…why?
Thankfully Regan managed to recover her voice before he could consider his motives too deeply. They no doubt were something that should remain a mystery.
“You were tortured for three centuries, and you don’t remember why?” she husked, the sympathy shimmering in her beautiful eyes not nearly so repulsive as it should have been.
“When a human is turned into a vampire, they have no memory of their previous life. My sins were committed while I was still a Visigoth chief.”
“They must have been doozies.”
Jagr shuddered. It didn’t matter how many centuries passed, he would never forget the vampire who had held him captive.
Kesi had been a member of the Egyptian royalty before being turned, and she had retained all the proud beauty of her ancestors. The dark almond-shaped eyes, the smoothly burnished skin, the sleek black hair that had flowed like a curtain of satin down her slender back.
Ah, yes, she had been lovely.
And as poisonous as an asp.
She might have captured him in the name of revenge, but she had kept him out of a twisted, obsessive need to inflict pain. He hadn’t been her only victim in her private pits of hell.
“The vampire who turned me claimed that I led my clan into the local lair and slaughtered a dozen vampires, including her mate,” he explained, pleased as always by the thought that he had dealt Kesi a painful blow, even if he couldn’t remember it. “Unfortunately, I was captured during the raid.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t just kill you. Why make you a vampire?”
“Obviously you missed the Saw movies. Humans are far too fragile to survive more than the vanilla brand of torture. To be truly creative, you need a creature that can endure pain. And, of course, there’s always the bonus of making me immortal, so my punishment could last an eternity.”
“Dear God.” She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes shimmering with tears. “How did you escape?”
The memory of blood-soaked tunnels filled with vampires and demons he’d ripped apart with his bare hands was washed away by the glitter of tears trickling down her cheeks.
Bemused by the odd phenomenon, Jagr cupped her face in his hands and wiped the dampness with his thumbs.
“I killed them,” he murmured, his voice thickening with something other than ancient anger.
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
His lips twitched. “They weren’t nearly so pleased.”
A silence descended as Regan studied him with a searching gaze. Jagr didn’t flinch. He’d always feared that confessing the truth would make him feel vulnerable, exposed. Instead, he felt…cleansed.
Perhaps it was Regan’s sweet tears that washed away a portion of the bitterness that festered in his soul.
At last, she sucked in a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
“Why? It wasn’t your fault.”
“I meant I’m sorry that I didn’t believe you when you said you understood. You do.” Her lips curved in a watery smile. “More than anyone.”
“Yes.”
“And that’s why you haven’t forced me to Chicago.”
Jagr hid his flare of wry amusement. If she wanted to believe that was the only reason he hadn’t tossed her over his shoulder and hauled her to Chicago, then so be it.
“The thirst for revenge is a powerful force,” he agreed. “Nothing will keep you in Chicago while Culligan lives. I would just have to come hunting you again.”
“Hunting?” The emerald eyes darkened, then shockingly, she lifted a hand to lightly trace one of the scars that marred his skin. “Do you think I’m your prey?”
With a hiss, Jagr jerked from the searing temptation of her touch. By the fires of hell, what was she doing? Even a complete virgin should be able to sense that his legendary control wasn’t so legendary. Not when it came to this emerald-eyed Were.
“Regan,” he warned softly.
Deliberately she followed his retreat, her hand once again boldly stroking over his chest.
“What?”
He grasped her wrist, his fangs lengthening as scalding pleasure poured through him.
“Don’t toy with me.”
She didn’t try to tug her wrist from his grim grip. Instead, she simply lifted her free hand and continued to torment him with light, searching fingers.
“Why did you show me your scars?” she demanded.
Jagr shivered, his body swiftly going up in flames. “You’re playing a dangerous game, little one.”
She met his gaze squarely, ignoring his warning as she stepped close enough to wrap him in midnight jasmine.
“Did you think they would bother me?”
“Do they?”
“Only what they represent.” Leaning forward, she trailed her lips over a thick scar. “The fact that you were forced to endure such pain for so long.”
Jagr’s fingers loosened on her wrist, his thumb brushing the rapid beat of her pulse. Fine. Obviously she wanted to play. Already he could catch the scent of her arousal perfuming the air.
Who was he to be the voice of reason?
Soon enough she would discover you couldn’t dance with the devil without getting burned.
Sliding his hand up the elegant sweep of her back, he grasped the tender nape of her neck.
“Like you, little one, I survived,” he murmured. “And for the first time, in a very long time, I’m very glad that I did.”
“Me, too,” she whispered, her head bending forward to brush her lips over his chest.
Convulsively, his arms wrapped about her, tugging her tight against his hard body.
“Do you understand what you’re starting, Regan?” he rasped, his senses stirring with an intensity that was almost painful.
“Not really.” She trailed her tongue down the dip over his breastbone. “But I like it. Do you?”
His soft groan rumbled through the cavern as his hands shifted to cup her hips, compulsively pressing her to his thickening cock.
“Shit, if I liked it any more I would go up in flames,” he muttered, for the first time fully appreciating the powers that had become his when he’d been reborn a vampire.
He could hear every beat of her heart, feel the finest of tremors that shook her slender body, smell the midnight jasmine of her skin…the temptation of her rich blood.
His fangs throbbed in concert with his aching erection.