Lost in her thoughts, Regan was caught off guard when Jagr came to an abrupt halt before a red brick building. Barreling into his massive form, she hastily stepped back and glared into his impassive face.
“Holy crap, warn a girl, why don’t you?”
A golden brow flicked upward. “Will this do?”
“Do for what?”
“Clothing.”
“Oh.” She licked her suddenly dry lips as she glanced toward the elegant clothes displayed in the large window. “I…I don’t think it’s open.”
Stepping forward, Jagr pressed his hand against the door. For a moment nothing happened, then with a low squeak, the door swung inward.
“It is now.”
“What about the alarms?”
“They’ve been disarmed.”
“Security cameras?” He regarded her with that flat stare. At last she threw her hands up in defeat. “Fine, but if you get shot again, I’m not offering a vein,” she muttered, marching forward.
She had barely reached the door when Jagr wrapped an arm about her waist to haul her against his hard chest, whispering directly into her ear.
“You didn’t seem to mind while I was feeding.”
Regan wasn’t sure what infuriated her more. Being manhandled by the brute, or the delicious heat that licked through her body at being manhandled.
“One more word about that…feeding, and you’re going to get a lot more up close and personal with those daggers you’re carrying,” she hissed.
His lips brushed over the curve of ear, making her pulse leap and proving his complete lack of fear at her threat. She shuddered as his fangs lightly scraped down the curve of her neck, swallowing a moan as a thousand pinpricks of excitement tingled through her.
“You can get up close and personal with anything you want, little one,” he murmured, his lips teasing at her skin.
“Damn you.”
Wrenching free of his grasp, Regan stormed into the dark interior of the store, heading toward the back racks that held the expensive designer jeans and T-shirts.
What was wrong with her? Jagr was nothing more than an oversized, over-smug, obnoxiously gorgeous pain in her ass. So why did she keep letting him get under her skin?
Because she was an idiot.
Gritting her teeth, Regan forced herself to ignore his large form leaning against the doorjamb watching her every move with that too perceptive gaze. By God, this was her first, and perhaps only, opportunity to actually enjoy what most women took for granted. She’d be damned if the guardian from hell was going to ruin the moment.
Flicking the hangers around the circular stand, Regan occasionally paused to pull out whatever happened to catch her eye. Any of them would do, of course. The jeans were all faded and looked like they had been put through a meat slicer, while the shirts were cropped to show more than they covered.
Ah, the wacky world of fashion.
Still, she couldn’t stop herself from fingering the various materials and imagining how each would feel against her skin.
Studying a tiny pink sweater with a metallic star stitched on the front, Regan stiffened as she felt the cool brush of Jagr’s power as he stepped behind her.
“Do they not have your size?” he demanded.
Regan deliberately replaced the pink sweater and selected a tiny white T-shirt.
“Of course they have my size.”
“Then the clothing isn’t appropriate?”
“It’s fine.”
“Why do you keep searching?”
Heaving a sigh, she turned to glare over her shoulder. “Give me a break, will you? I’ve never been shopping before. I want to…savor it.”
He stilled at her confession. “Never?”
She shoved the shirt back onto the rack. “In case you missed the news flash, Jagr, Culligan and I weren’t exactly BFF. I was kept locked in a cage for the past thirty years.”
“You must have been let out on occasion.”
“Only when the bastard needed me to convince an audience he was a genuine faith healer.”Before she could react, Jagr turned her to face him, his features oddly tight.
“How did you convince them?”
Regan shifted beneath the intensity of his icy gaze. Dammit, she felt freakish enough without Jagr eyeballing her as if she’d grown a second head.
“Whenever we reached a town, he would set up a big tent in a field and start handing out flyers.” She ground her teeth until they ached, refusing to acknowledge the brutal pain that twisted her gut at the mere thought of Culligan. She’d made a promise to herself a long time ago: she would never, ever give the damned imp the satisfaction of making her cry. Not one tear. Not ever. Regaining command of her emotions, she met Jagr’s fierce gaze. “Before the show started, he would slice me open with his knife, or break a leg, and I would stumble into the tent he’d set up. Once I had the audience’s attention, he would rush over to put his hands over me and start praying.”
“And you would heal,” he hissed softly.
“Right before their very eyes. The humans thought they were watching a miracle. They couldn’t get their wallets out fast enough.” Her lips twisted with disgust. “Chumps.”
“Humans believe what they see.”
“They’re still chumps.”
His hands lifted, lightly cupping her face and forcing her to meet his gaze. Regan’s heart stuttered to a halt. Christ, she’d thought his frigid composure was unnerving, but now his eyes had lost their ice and smoldered with a savage, near feral fury. It was a forcible reminder that while this vampire had been sent to rescue her, he was still a dangerous predator.
“Jagr?”
“I’ll skin him alive and feed his heart to the vultures,” he rasped. “Or perhaps I’ll chain him in the sewers near my lair for the rats to devour—slowly.”
Regan didn’t doubt his threat. Or his ability to carry it out.
What she didn’t understand was the strange thrill that pulsed through her heart at his harsh words. As if she was…pleased by his arrogant assumption that he could interfere in her business.
Which was even more terrifying than his perilous fury.
Jerking from his touch, Regan glared at him in frustration. “I told you, Culligan is mine.”
Chapter 4
Jagr’s anger eased as he watched Regan hastily back away from him. Oh, he still intended to slaughter the imp. Slowly, painfully, and with exquisite skill. But he couldn’t deny a hint of amusement at Regan’s skittish unease at his grim announcement.
She’d spent the past thirty years being brutally taught that she could depend on no one but herself. Trust no one. Now her prickly independence resented the mere hint that someone else might fight her battles.
Just as she resented the thought she possessed a sister and pack who cared for her.
“We’ll see,” he murmured, turning to grab two armfuls of clothes off the rack. “This should do.”
As he’d hoped, Regan was instantly distracted. He wasn’t a particularly perceptive vampire. Unlike Viper, he couldn’t sense other’s most intimate thoughts. But not even an idiot could miss her covetous expression or longing sighs as she had searched through the racks.
She wanted the clothes, she would have them.
“I can’t take all that,” she protested.
“Then I will.”
Without missing a beat, Jagr searched until he found the large bags stashed behind the counter and filled them with his bounty. He even included several bras and panties that were piled in a large bin, refusing to consider what the bits of lace of would look like against her ivory skin.
Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he pulled out a wad of cash and tossed it near the register, then headed out the door and into the dark street.
He knew better than to ask, or worse yet, demand that Regan accompany him. She needed to feel as if she were in control. He was willing to give her a sense of freedom so long as she didn’t put herself in danger.
There was a tense pause before he heard Regan’s soft curse, and soon she was hurrying to match his long strides.
“Why did you leave money?” she demanded. “You have a moral issue with stealing?”
Jagr allowed his powers to flow through the dark street, searching for any hint of danger.
“No, just a dislike for attracting unwanted attention. I left enough money to keep the owner from calling the cops and risk losing her sudden windfall.”
“Now where are we going?”
“A shower.”
Confident there was nothing more threatening than the usual humans and a few water sprites that sang their siren song from the river, Jagr turned the corner and headed toward the main highway that cut through town.
Despite his swift pace, Regan easily kept at his side, her gaze warily searching the shadows, her body tense, ready for any unexpected attack.
Jagr should have been pleased. The woman was obviously smart enough to keep up her guard, despite the seeming lack of danger.
But he wasn’t pleased.
In fact, he was downright pissy. As if some latent, primitive part of his nature was offended she would question his right and ability to keep her safe.