“And you’re doing a real bang-up job,” Tane mocked. Then astonishingly, the vampire muttered a curse and gave a wave of his hand. “Shit. Get your dogs and try to keep up.”
Hess was smart enough not to press his luck, and spinning on his heel, he ran from the cabin to collect the other curs. Alone with Tane, Jagr leaned against the edge of the fireplace.
“There’s no need for you to do this, Tane. Styx gave the duty of finding Salvatore to me.”
Tane sheathed his dagger and pulled a leather cord from the pocket of his khaki shorts to tie back his long raven hair.
“Which only confirms my belief that a vampire loses all higher brain functions when he becomes mated,” he drawled.
True enough. Regan had stolen any hope of coherent reasoning days ago. Of course, agreeing with Tane didn’t mean Jagr was going to stand around and be mocked by a vampire half his age.
“I’m not sure if you’re insulting Styx’s judgment, or my skills.”
Tane shrugged. “Both.”
“I always heard that Charons had a death wish.”
“Return to Chicago, Jagr. Until the woman takes you as a mate, you’re going to be worthless.”
Jagr’s hard, humorless laugh echoed through the barren cabin.
“Thanks.”
“You know I’m right.”
Of course Jagr knew. He wasn’t stupid, despite his lack of higher brain functions. Regan was a constant, endless distraction. A distraction could mean the difference between life and death when confronting an enemy.
But what the hell was he to do?
Lock himself in his lair and mold into a hermit?
He shoved away from the door and paced toward the center of the room.
“You may be right, but since the woman has no intention of taking me as a mate, I might as well…” Cutting off his words, Jagr turned to glare at the young vampire who had tossed back his head to laugh with obvious enjoyment. “You find something amusing?”
Tane met Jagr’s burning gaze without flinching. “I’m trying to decide if you’re blind or just a fool.”
Jagr stepped forward, his jaw clenched. “You really do have a death wish.”
“Shit, Jagr, that woman nearly sets the air on fire when she’s in the same room with you. I’m afraid I might get singed if I get too close.”
Jagr grunted at the painful blast of memories. Regan in his arms. Her nails digging into his back. Her soft moans brushing over his skin.
Tiny slices of paradise that would have to last him for the rest of eternity.
“I don’t doubt her desire, but we both know that it takes more than lust to form the mating bond,” he said, his voice thick.
“Thank the gods,” Tane muttered, referring to his own insatiable desire, before his expression become somber and he reached out to lay a hand on Jagr’s shoulder. “Look, old man, there are few demons who have more experience with desire in all its delightful forms than I do, and I know when a female is simply in heat. I’ve never had a woman look at me the way Regan looks at you. She might not admit it yet, but she’s yours.” He gave Jagr a smack on the back. “Go back to Chicago and claim her.”
Jagr took a sharp step backward, shaking his head against the agonizing need that clamored to heed Tane’s words.
God dammit.
Was the vampire trying to send him over the edge?
He’d done everything in his power to earn Regan’s heart. And deep in his gut, he was certain she did love him.
But after years of being held captive, she wasn’t capable of bonding herself to anyone.
Let alone to an overly possessive, overly arrogant vampire who was consumed with his need for her.
And in many ways, he couldn’t blame her. He remembered his own bleak days after escaping Kesi. The last thing he could have endured was a mate who depended on him for her every happiness.
“I can’t force her to become my mate.”
Tane flashed a wicked smile. “No, but you can remind her what she’s missing.”
They were thankfully interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps, and turning his head, Jagr watched the gang of curs troop into the cabin, all fully dressed and loaded with enough firepower to take out the Pentagon.
“We’re ready.” Hess stated the obvious.
Tane muttered his opinion of working with stinking dogs, but with a wry grimace, he moved toward the doorway and stairs that led into the waiting tunnel.
“Then let’s do this.”
Chapter 22
Left alone in the cabin, Jagr briefly considered his options.
He could always join Tane on the trail of Salvatore.
The ease that Caine had revealed in kidnapping a pureblood of Salvatore’s strength proved the cur (or whoever the hell was behind this latest disaster) was a dangerous adversary. And who the hell knew what damage the unknown demon could cause?
Unfortunately, he knew that Tane was right.
In this moment, he wasn’t capable of concentrating on the hunt.
Not with his emotions unstable and his thoughts consumed with Regan.
Humiliating, but true.
His only other option was to return to Tane’s lair.
It was far too late to attempt the journey to Chicago before dawn. And if he was being perfectly honest, he wasn’t prepared to make his appearance at Styx’s and give his latest report.
Not when Regan was bound to be there.
His need was still too raw. If he caught scent of her, there was nothing that would keep him from tossing her over his shoulder and hauling her to his lair, whether she liked it or not.
Something he was trying to avoid.
Besides, he was weary to the bone.
He needed to rest and feed.
His decision made, Jagr followed the trail back to Tane’s remote lair, careful to choose a room far from the one he shared with Regan. The aching emptiness was bad enough without being surrounded by the vivid reminders of their time together.
Forcing himself to feed, Jagr endured the worried questions of Tane’s servants, and then managed a few hours’ rest.
He was pacing the floor by the time the sun at last set again, and the moment he judged it safe, he was speeding out of the lair and heading to Chicago.
The journey was thankfully tedious, and heading directly to Styx’s sprawling mansion north of the city, he was taken to the Anasso’s private office.
Now he sat on a low leather sofa and watched as Styx paced from one end of the book-lined room to the other.
“Damn. These curs are starting to wear on my temper,” the towering Aztec muttered as Jagr finished his report, appearing distinctly out of place among the polished mahogany furniture and delicate Persian carpet. A six-foot-five leather-clad bull in a china shop. “Someone needs to nail their hides to a wall.”