Prison…
Regan winched at the repulsive word.
Because it was true.
Oh, it was nothing like her time with Culligan.
She could come and go as she pleased. She could wear what she wanted, eat what she wanted, and make her own decisions.
She had her independence. A home, a job, the promise of all the money she could possibly need.
But where was the glorious freedom she’d been seeking?
She worked, she sketched, she slept.
Not precisely the full-throated, guns-blazing sort of existence she’d dreamed about all those years behind bars.
She’d exchanged one prison for another.
And why?
Because every moment of every day she missed Jagr. Hell, she even missed Darcy and the terrifying Styx.
Lifting her hands, she rubbed her aching temples.
For so many years, she fantasized about escaping Culligan and being her own master. It was the only thing that had kept her sane.
And she held on to those fantasies like a drowning woman held onto a lifeline.
Even when a genuine, unmistakable chance at happiness was dangled right before her eyes.
Holy shit.
She really was a schmuck.
“Regan? Is there something wrong?”
Regan was jerked out of her painful thoughts. With a blink she focused on Tobi, not surprised to discover her friend staring at her with a worried expression.
She’d been standing there like a mindless zombie.
“Actually, I’m great.” Impulsively she leaned forward to kiss Tobi’s cheek. “And you’re right. What my night needs is a yummy stud.”
Tobi lifted her brows. “You sound like you know where to find one.”
“Not exactly, but I know where to start the search.”
With a newfound, glorious sense of purpose, Regan squared her shoulders and headed directly toward the front entrance. In a distant part of her mind she heard Tobi call her name, but she never faltered as she stepped out the door and into the dark street.
She’d made up her mind.
And for the first time, perhaps in her entire life, it felt absolutely, completely right.
Jogging down the street without her purse, without her keys to her apartment, or even her cell phone, Regan headed directly south. She didn’t know the precise location of Jagr’s lair, but Darcy had mentioned the neighborhood, so she at least had a general idea of where she was going.
Of course, a general idea in a city the size of Chicago still meant hours wasted zigzagging through dingy, trash-lined streets, not to mention teaching the occasional mugger the dangers of messing with a pureblood on a mission.
Just when she was beginning to wonder if Jagr had moved, or even left town, she caught the faint trace of cold power.
Slowing her rapid pace, Regan angled across the eerily empty street toward the abandoned warehouse.
Jagr was near.
Even if she couldn’t sense his presence, she would know by the fact there wasn’t so much as a mouse willing to stray near the place. No doubt it had something to do with the whole Night of the Living Dead vibe.
Perfect for keeping away unwanted guests.
Like her?
The dispiriting thought had barely passed through her mind when the temperature abruptly plunged, and a low, familiar voice floated on the air.
“Lose your way, Regan?”
Spinning around, Regan could see nothing but abandoned cars and empty Dumpsters. Jagr was there, but he’d cloaked himself in those damned vampire shadows.
Why couldn’t she have some of those freaking Romulan powers?
Warning herself to be patient, Regan ignored the biting need to see him, and spoke in his general direction.
“Yeah, I think I did,” she said softly. “I was hoping that I could find someone to give me directions.”
“In this neighborhood, you’re more likely to get your throat slit. If you want to slum, you should find a less dangerous place.”
His voice was cool, distant, but Regan’s heart warmed with joy. God, just knowing he was near gave her more happiness than she’d had in a month.
“I’m not afraid.”
“You should be.” She sensed him move, slowly circling her like a predator on the hunt. “Around here, things really do go bump in the night.”
She stood perfectly still, refusing to show unease. She might be a bit slow (okay, a lot slow), but the one thing she was absolutely certain of was that Jagr would never harm her.
“Things like vampires?”
“Among other demons.”
Regan shrugged. “Then I should fit right in.”
“I thought you’d decided to live like a human.”
She frowned at his mocking words. “How do you know I’ve been living like a human?”
His soft laugh tingled down her spine and clenched her stomach with a surge of awareness.
“You can’t be naïve enough to believe that Styx hasn’t had a guard keeping constant watch on you.”
“Impossible,” she breathed, refusing to admit just how much time she’d spent at her window searching for some hint of Jagr, or hell, even Darcy. “I would have sensed if a vampire was near.”
“Not all of Styx’s servants are demons.”
“Humans?”
“Some of Chicago’s finest.”
Her surprise that the arrogant Styx would lower himself to deal with mere humans was overshadowed by a hypocritical flare of annoyance.
Okay, she might have been hurt by the thought that she’d been so easily forgotten, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be spied on.
“How dare he?” Unable to see Jagr, she glared at the nearest Dumpster. “I’m not one of his Almighty’s subjects.”
“No, but you are family, and for all we know Caine is still plotting to capture you.” His voice sounded closer, as if he were circling ever closer to her. “Darcy would neuter him if something happened to you.”
“And he’s been reporting my every moment to you?” she accused.
“He mentioned that you had a job and apartment the last time we met. Nothing more.”
She bit her lip at his dismissive tone. Christ. Had she made a terrible mistake coming here? Maybe Jagr had decided his life was a whole lot better without her driving him nuts. And who the hell could blame him?
“So…you spend a lot of time with Styx and Darcy?”
“More than I expected,” he said dryly.
“Oh.” She was struck by a sudden thought. “Are you being punished for not forcing me back to Chicago?”
“I suppose that’s a matter of opinion.” There was a short pause. “He’s requested that I become one of his Ravens.”