Darkness Unleashed

“What happened, mon ami?”



Jagr groaned. “Damn Styx. If I live through this, I’m going to make him pay.”



Somewhat reassured that the two seemed to know one another, Regan frowned at the stranger.



“Who the hell are you?”



“A masterpiece of misery,” Jagr muttered, echoing her earlier words.



Shockingly, the creature blew a raspberry toward the vampire who could squash him without a thought.



“I am the demon who is about to save you and your Gothic friend’s ass,” he announced grandly. “Just lay there and bleed, Jagr, while I work my mojo.”



Regan watched Jagr’s eyes snap open with genuine horror, his hand reaching out to weakly grab at the creature. The tiny beast was too quick, and with a flick of his tail, he was hurrying to scramble onto the window ledge, his tiny arms outstretched.



“No.” Jagr moaned, and then without warning, his arm snaked around her waist and she found herself yanked down beside him. “Stay down.”



“What?” Regan glared at the vampire. “Dammit, Jagr, you’re hurt…” Her lecture was once again interrupted as a brilliant flash of light filled the room, swiftly followed by a deafening boom. “Christ,” she breathed, wondering if the Air Force had arrived and decided Hannibal needed bombing. “What the hell was that?”



She heard the patter of footsteps, and the gray creature returned to stand beside them.



“That was salvation, ma petite,” he assured her, leaning over Jagr. “How bad is it, vampire?”



Jagr reached up to grab the beast’s arm. “Did you kill them?”



“They’re most certainly toasty, if not dead. They will not be troubling us for a while.”



A hint of relief touched Jagr’s tight features. “Did you see them?”



The creature gave a flap of his wings. “No, but I smelled them. Yuck.”



“Tell me.”



“Cur.”



Jagr frowned. “Cur, not Were?”



“Has your brain dribbled away with your blood, mon ami? I am a gargoyle with exquisite skills. I know the difference between a Were and a cur.”



“Why the hell would a cur be shooting at us?” Jagr muttered.



“The better question is: who wouldn’t want to shoot you?”



Regan barely noted the sharp exchange, regarding the stranger with a disbelieving frown.



“You’re really a…gargoyle?”



The gargoyle performed a small bow, his wings fluttering to create a dazzling rainbow of red and blue and gold.



“Levet, at your service, my beauty. I was sent by your sister to escort you to Chicago.”



Regan struggled to a sitting position. “Jesus, was there anyone in Chicago she didn’t send?”



Levet shrugged. “She’s concerned for you.”



Before Regan could respond, Jagr hissed with impatience. “We can discuss Darcy and her evil sense of humor later. For now we must concentrate on leaving this hotel before the humans call the police.”



Levet snorted. “While I would be perfectly content to sign off on your death warrant, Jagr, there’s the teeniest tiniest chance I might need you to help keep Regan safe. You can’t be moved in your condition.”



“Blood…” Jagr rasped.



Levet held up his hands and stepped hastily back. “Sorry, fresh out.”



Jagr’s eyes fluttered shut, as if he were on the verge of losing consciousness.



“The hospital…blood bank…” he murmured weakly.



Regan gritted her teeth. Damn. Jagr was right about the humans calling for the cops. And the last thing they needed right now was another battle with guns blazing.



“Screw that, we don’t have time.” Blowing out an aggravated sigh, Regan pressed her wrist to Jagr’s mouth. As much as she hated to admit it, she owed the damned vampire. “Here.”



His lids lifted to reveal those stunning ice-blue eyes. “Regan?”



“Just do it before I decide to leave your ass here for the cops to haul off to the morgue.”



“Ew.” With a flutter of his wings, the gargoyle hurried toward the door leading to the hallway. “I’ll go keep watch and make sure your dinner isn’t interrupted.”



“Regan, you are certain?” Jagr demanded, his voice thicker, with an odd accent and strange speech pattern.



Certain? Christ, no. She didn’t have clue what was about to happen. Well, nothing beyond a great deal of pain when those huge fangs sank into her flesh.



Thankfully, she was no coward, and if Jagr needed blood to get him up and moving, then by God, he was going to get blood.



“Do you need an engraved invitation?” she taunted, not at all surprised when his mouth widened and his fangs slid smoothly into her wrist. Jagr was not a vampire to back down from a direct challenge. Regrettably, her plan had neglected one small detail.



She was braced for pain. She was even braced for the necessity of ripping him forcibly from her flesh if he lost his head and tried to take more than she was willing to offer.



What she wasn’t prepared for was the realization that far from painful, the sensation that jolted through her was one of intense, relentless pleasure.



“Oh…” Her eyes drifted shut as she felt him suck deeply of her blood, every pull tightening the coiling bliss that was lodged in the pit of her stomach. “Shit…”



Her entire body trembled, the same excitement that had set her on fire when he’d kissed her blazing through her body. Only this time it was more powerful, more driving, more…explosive. Her free hand landed flat on the floor as her body bent forward, nearly toppling her onto Jagr’s prostrate form. She was drowning, lost in the dark, intoxicating desire.



In a distant corner of her mind, she heard Jagr’s low moan of satisfaction, or perhaps it was pleasure. At the moment, she didn’t care which it was. She was too caught in the sweet building tension that gripped her with breathtaking force.



He sucked again and again, forcing the pleasure to near pain. God almighty. She couldn’t stand any more. There had to be something…something…



And then it happened. The pleasure reached a critical mass, and exploded with enough force to wrench a low scream from her throat.



Toppling forward, her face landed squarely on Jagr’s hard chest, the rich scent of his male power mingling with the lingering convulsions that rocked her body.



Boneless and floating on a tide of sweet lethargy, Regan battled to regain command of her shaken body. Holy crap. She sucked in a deep, rasping breath. Then with an effort, she lifted her head and wrenched open her heavy lids.



Only to encounter Jagr’s ice-blue gaze.



“Damn you,” she husked, her heartbeat still thundering in her ear.



With a deliberate motion, the vampire gently licked the two pinpricks of blood staining her wrist before allowing her to jerk her arm from his grasp.



“You’ve never had the bite of a vampire?”



Still too weak to stand, Regan contented herself with scooting backward on her knees, rubbing her already healed wrist on her jeans, as if she could rub away the memories of her raw pleasure.



Fat chance.



She knew beyond all doubt that the sensations would be seared into her brain for all eternity.



“No,” she muttered. “Culligan refused to share torturing me with anyone else.”



He remained stretched on the floor, his fiercely beautiful features unreadable.



“Do you want an apology?”



“Are you sorry?”



“Not in the least. Your blood is far more potent than that of a human, and better yet”—his gaze swept down her tense body—“I now know the sweet cries you make when…”



“Shut up before I make sure you need another transfusion.”



The distant sounds of sirens shattered through the thick tension in the air. In the blink of an eye, Jagr was on his feet, reaching down to jerk her upward in one smooth motion.



“The police. We must get out of here.” Stunned by the vampire’s remarkable recovery, Regan found herself being hauled toward the broken window. “Can you jump from here?” Jagr demanded.



She flashed him a glare at his ridiculous question, then careful to avoid the jagged shards of glass still stuck in the frame, she climbed through the window and leaped to the sidewalk below.



Slinking into the nearby shadows of the alley, Regan tested the air for any nearby dangers.



There was the usual stench of trash that filled the nearby Dumpsters, the scent of humans stirring to prepare for their early morning shifts, and the unmistakable tang of burnt flesh and blood.



A part of her knew she should cross the street and discover if any of the curs had survived the attack. She needed to know why they attacked. And if they had any connection to Culligan.



Another part, however, realized that she was too weakened by her hours of searching for the imp, not to mention her recent blood donation, to face her enemies alone. Especially not when they carried guns.



Even a cur could shoot her dead if his bullets were silver.



Cursing her current sense of impotence, Regan gave a small jerk when Jagr simply appeared beside her. One minute he wasn’t there, and then he was. No sound, no stir of the air, not even a trace of his scent.

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