Jagr’s lips twisted as he considered Salvatore’s reaction to being kidnapped. The proud Were was no doubt ready to declare genocide on the curs.
“I would guess that you’re not alone in wanting to nail a few cur hides to the wall,” he said dryly. “Unfortunately, they constantly seem to be one step ahead of us.”
Styx made a sound of disgust, his hands clenched at his side as if wishing he had a weapon to seize.
“Could you sense how badly Salvatore was injured?”
Jagr shrugged. “Not so badly he should have been overcome by a mere cur.”
“Was there magic?”
“Tane could sense a female demon, but he couldn’t determine a species. It could have magical abilities.”
Styx halted near his massive desk, his brow furrowed with frustration.
“I don’t like this. Tane could be walking into a trap.”
“If you want, I’ll return and…”
“No, you’ve done enough, my brother,” Styx interrupted. “I’ll contact Tane, although I might as well ram my head into a wall as try to convince him to return to Hannibal. The vampire terrifies even me when he’s on the hunt.”
Jagr didn’t doubt it. There was an intensity about Tane that would frighten anyone.
“I assume that’s why you chose him as a Charon.”
“One of the reasons.”
Jagr grimaced. “I don’t think I want to know the others.”
“Wise choice.” Styx folded his arms over his chest. “There was no sign of Levet?”
Surprisingly, Jagr felt a small pang of remorse at the disappearance of the aggravating gargoyle. Not that he actually cared if the beast was dead, he hastily assured himself. He couldn’t have gone that soft in the head. It was just that he couldn’t bear the thought of Regan mourning for one of her few friends.
“We know he went into the cabin and didn’t come out,” he admitted.
Styx leaned against the desk, his expression weary. “Bloody hell, Darcy’s not going to be happy. Not only have I lost track of her sister, but that ridiculous gargoyle has disappeared. Why she’s attached herself to that annoying lump of granite defies logic, but then she’s a woman. They very rarely make sense.”
Jagr snorted. What was the latest saying…preaching to the choir…
“You won’t get an argument from me,” he muttered.
“No, I don’t suppose I would.” Styx paused, his gaze unnervingly perceptive. “Regan is here.”
Jagr clenched the arms of his chair until the wood threatened to crack beneath the pressure.
He didn’t need Styx to warn him of Regan’s presence. He’d sensed her like a punch in the gut the moment he stepped onto the rolling parkland that surrounded the mansion.
Thankfully, the large office was hexed to ensure privacy, and the familiar scent of midnight jasmine was muted enough to ease the stark yearning that plagued him.
“I know.” He turned his head to stare at the leather-bound books that filled the shelves. He couldn’t bear to see the sympathy in Styx’s eyes. “She’s…well?”
“She’s healing,” Styx said slowly. “At least physically.”
Unable to halt the biting concern, Jagr snapped his head back to stab Styx with a narrowed glare.
“Is something wrong?”
Styx tugged on the ancient medallion hung around his neck. A sure sign he was troubled.
“I may not possess Viper’s skill in reading the souls of others, but I know Regan carries a burden that darkens her heart.”
Jagr struggled not to overreact.
Bad, bad things happened when he overreacted.
“She was just released from hell. She needs time to heal.”
“Shutting herself off from those who would help her isn’t healing,” Styx growled, clearly annoyed that Regan wasn’t embracing her new family with the eagerness he’d hoped for. “I should know. I spent centuries wandering alone and miserable. It wasn’t until the previous Anasso took me as his servant that I could accept the brutality of my past, and begin to consider a future.”
Although Jagr had never heard Styx speak of his past, the Anasso was old enough to have endured the chaos and violence that was common among the vampires in ancient times. Back then, a newly made vampire rarely survived more than a few years.
Something that Styx had dedicated his life to changing.
Jagr slowly rose to his feet. He was weary and in need of the peace of his lair.
“Who’s to say that if the Anasso had approached you any earlier you would have been prepared to join him?” he demanded with a wry smile. “Perhaps our master was wise enough to wait until you could accept a place as his chosen.”
Styx arched a brow. “And Viper told me you were just another pretty face. Obviously all those years of scholarly research wasn’t a complete waste.”
Jagr’s sharp laugh echoed through the room. “I wouldn’t jump to any hasty conclusions. I can be remarkably stupid when I put my mind to it.”
Styx moved to stand directly before him. “What will you do now?”
“In the next few moments, or with the rest of my existence?”
Styx flashed his rare smile. “You are in a philosophical mood tonight.”
“It must be the ambiance.”
“Gods, don’t remind me.” Styx shuddered as he cast a disgusted glance around the ornate, elegant furnishings before returning his attention to Jagr. “Are you returning to your lair?”
“For now.”
“There’s no need for you to be alone, you know. Viper called earlier with an invitation for you to join him and Shay. And, of course, you are always welcome here.”
Jagr narrowed his gaze at the low, almost commanding tone. Why the hell would Styx care where he stayed? God knew he’d been left alone in his lair for years without…
Comprehension struck like a bolt of lightning, and Jagr stiffened in humiliation.
“Ah, Regan told you about my bout of madness,” he gritted. “Are you afraid I might ravage Chicago?”
Styx allowed a hint of his power to flow over Jagr, the prickle of energy a painful reminder of the Anasso’s strength.
“If I feared you were mad then you would be locked in a cell, not sipping my finest brandy in the lair I share with my mate.” As swiftly as the punishment began, it came to a halt, and Styx reached out to lay a hand on Jagr’s shoulder. “My only concern is for your happiness, my brother.”