“And the manicured greens with holes cut in them.”
She shot him a startled glance. “You golf?”
“There are few things I haven’t tried over the centuries.”
“Yeah, I can imagine,” she said dryly.
Heat flared through his eyes, burning away the lingering ice. “I’d be happy to demonstrate a few of them later.”
Regan hastily turned her head, following the peach-scented trail that led toward a line of woods at the back of the golf course. Not that she hoped for a minute the damned vampire couldn’t see the blush staining her cheeks.
“What would an imp be doing out here?” she muttered.
Half-expecting Jagr to pounce on her obvious vulnerability, Regan breathed a sigh of relief when he instead turned his attention toward the thicker shadows gathered ahead.
“My first guess would be that he’s hiding.”
“From us?”
Jagr tilted back his head as if sensing the night air. “His trail is fresh. And he’s near.”
Regan abruptly halted, realizing the scent of peach had grown considerably stronger. She pointed toward the line of trees along a barbed wire fence.
“I’ll circle to the right,” she whispered so softly only a vampire could catch the words. “I’d rather not have to chase him through the trees.”
“Regan.”
She stiffened, sensing his grim frustration.
“What?”
He muttered a low curse. “Just be careful.”
Regan lifted her brows.
No grim pronouncement that it was too dangerous?
No squawking that he was the only one capable of dealing with the hidden demon?
No growling, hissing, or chest thumping?
Not willing to press her luck, Regan slipped silently down a cement path she assumed was for the golf carts.
She didn’t believe for a moment that an ancient vampire could actually learn new tricks. At least not this ancient vampire.
So either he didn’t believe the imp posed enough of a threat to make a fuss over, or more likely, he was confident he could protect her even if she was stubborn enough to charge into danger.
The rueful thoughts had barely skimmed through her mind when there was a rustle of noise and a slender form darted across the closely mowed green, heading directly for the nearby bushes.
“Oh no, you don’t,” Regan muttered, launching forward to tackle the fleeing imp.
She had a brief impression of reddish blond hair that was cut short and styled to emphasize the narrow, handsome face and pale green eyes. His thin body was hidden beneath an elegant blue suit that made him look like a banker.
Or a gigolo.
No doubt the old ladies at the tea shop fluttered over him like a clutch of infatuated hens.
Tackling the imp from behind, Regan drove him to the ground, intending to land on his back. Of course, the best laid plans of mice and men…yadda, yadda…
The impact was enough to knock her to the side, and the imp struck out desperately, his fist hitting her square in the stomach. The breath was wrenched from her lungs and before she could move, the imp landed a blow that would have broken her jaw if she’d been human. Thankfully Regan wasn’t a human. She was a pissed-off pureblood who’d just been sucker-punched.
The imp swung his arm again, but this time Regan was prepared. Grabbing his fist, she squeezed until he was squealing like a…well, pretty much like an imp in pain. Then wrenching his arm behind his back, she rolled him face-first into the ground.
He kicked out, connecting painfully with her knee as she climbed to straddle his lower back. Regan cursed, jacking his arm even higher up his back as she grabbed a fistful of his hair and smacked his face into the dirt.
There was a cool brush of air, and suddenly Jagr was crouched at her side, his gaze on the imp whimpering beneath her.
“I think he’s subdued, little one.”
She turned her head to spit the blood from her mouth. Damn, the freaking idiot had made her bite her tongue. She hated that.
“You could have helped,” she muttered.
Jagr arched a golden brow. “And be accused of overstepping my place as your meaningless sidekick? Thanks, but no thanks. Besides, it looked like you had everything under control.”
“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.”