“Jackass.”
He regarded her for a long, silent moment, almost as if he was searching past her defensive aggression to the terrified woman beneath.
It was unnerving as hell.
“Will you behave yourself?” he at last demanded.
She blew out a sigh, knowing she would never get the aggravating man off her until she agreed. And she really needed him off.
Her mind might be contemplating the best means of kicking some vampire ass, but her body was still enjoying the sensations of his hard parts pressing against her soft parts.
“Fine, just get off,” she muttered.
With one smooth, fluid motion, the vampire was on his feet, looming over her. She had a brief moment to appreciate the faded jeans that molded to his powerful legs, and the motorcycle boots that covered his Shaq-sized feet, before he reached down to grasp her hand and jerk her upright.
With a gasp at the electric charge that jolted up her arm, Regan wrenched her hand from his grasp and backed away. She didn’t give a damn if it made her look weak. She needed space.
And maybe a wooden stake.
“How did you find me?” she demanded.
He folded his arms over his chest, appearing even more dangerously beautiful now that he was upright.
“It wasn’t difficult.” His low, mesmerizing voice filled the room. “Once I reached St. Louis, I simply followed the trail of the imp, knowing you wouldn’t be far behind.”
“And how would you know that?”
The ice-blue gaze regarded her steadily. “As I said, you aren’t the only one familiar with suffering. And I know when a demon, no matter how tiny, is released from captivity, the only thought on their mind is revenge. You want the imp dead.”
Her chin tilted. What the hell would this vampire know of suffering? He lived smack-dab on top of the food chain.
“If you’re so smart, then you know I have no intention of allowing Culligan to escape. You can go back to Chicago and tell my sister thanks, but no thanks.”
“There is nothing that would please me more than to return to my lair and leave you to your business. Unfortunately, that’s not an option.”
“Oh, it’s an option. Just turn around and walk out the door.”
“I was commanded to bring you to Chicago, and that means I’m not allowed to leave here without you. Not unless I’m willing to face the wrath of my king. Which—” His gaze seared a path down her tightly clenched body, lingering a terrifying moment on the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat, before returning to her wide eyes. “I’m not.”
Great. Her Knight in Shining Armor had not only showed up thirty years too late, but he was only there under threat of some horrible retribution.
It was enough to make a woman feel all warm and fuzzy.
Not.
“Then we have a serious problem, Hulk freaking Hogan, because I’m not going.”
“Jagr.”
“What?
“My name is Jagr.”
“Of course it is,” she muttered. The name was just as hard, dangerous, and beautiful as the rest of him.
“I could force you to come with me.”
“Over my dead body.”
That hit-and-run smile touched his mouth. “Don’t tempt me.”
Regan stomped her foot, at the end of her patience. “Dammit, would you just go away?”
“No.”
“Fine.” She marched across the tiny room that had been decorated in the seventies, all hideous swirling blues and greens, with cheap furniture and fading prints of flowers on the walls. Reaching the door to the connecting bathroom, she wrenched it open.
“What are you doing?”
She turned her head to stab the intruder with a frustrated glare. “You’ve managed to turn a perfectly rotten day into a masterpiece of misery, so either you truss me up and haul me to Chicago, or I’m taking a hot shower.”
Jagr stood perfectly still as Regan stepped into the bathroom and slammed the door.
For the first time in centuries, he found himself…conflicted.
The grim logic—that was the only means of keeping his lethal fury in check—warned him to toss the Were over his shoulder and return her to Chicago. It was not only what he’d been commanded to do, but the sooner he was done with this stupid mission, the sooner he could return to his peaceful existence.
But another part, a part he hadn’t experienced in years and was not at all pleased to discover he still possessed, was reluctant to take such an irrevocable step.
It was nothing more than common sense, he was swift to excuse his odd hesitation. What was the point of hauling her to Chicago when she was bound to flee at the first opportunity?
The gods knew he wasn’t lucky enough for Styx to pick someone else to hunt her down.
Perfectly reasonable. Unfortunately, Jagr was too intelligent to entirely dismiss his chaotic reaction to the beautiful woman.
He was a vampire who preferred his life, his battles, and his sex uncomplicated.
Regan was anything but uncomplicated.
She was a tangled mess of fury, aggression, vulnerability, wry humor, and frustrated sensuality.
A sensuality that wakened a hunger that now roared through him with brutal force.
He wanted her. And he sure as hell wasn’t turning her over to Styx until he’d had a taste.
Or two.
Counting to a hundred, Jagr was prepared when Regan cracked open the door and peered back into the room. He hadn’t believed for a moment she intended to strip naked and take a shower while a lethal predator stood just a few feet away. She was furious, not stupid.
Yanking open the door, she glared at him with impotent anger.
“Christ, are you still here?”
He regarded her in silence. He’d discovered over the centuries that it rarely took more to rattle an opponent. For a crazed moment she tried to match him stare for stare, then with a muttered curse, she marched forward to stand directly before him.
“What the hell is it going to take to get rid of you? Money? Blood? Sex?”
His gaze drifted down to her small, perfectly rounded br**sts. “Which are you offering?”
She took a hasty step back. “None of the above.”
“A pity.” He lifted his gaze. “Then it would seem that I am staying. Tell me of the imp.”
“What?”
“I said, tell-me-of-the-imp.”
Her eyes narrowed at his slow, deliberate words.
“Why?”
“You obviously won’t leave until he’s dead, so I intend to put an end to this farce so I can return to the peace of my lair.”