Alarm trickled down his spine like ice, but Jagr grimly ignored the warning. Regan had been setting off alarms since he first caught sight of her. Instead, he slowed before the cheap chain motel with the blinking vacancy sign.
Regan frowned as he headed toward the far end of the building. “What are we doing here?”
“This is the nearest shower.”
“We’re checking into a hotel?”
“Tonight I prefer to skip the paperwork. The desk clerk is no doubt busy sharpening his skills at Guitar Hero.”
“Christ, what is it with you?”
“What?”
She regarded him with a sour expression. “One minute you sound like you just crawled out of a medieval crypt and the next, you sound like you’re a full-fledged member of Gen X.”
He shrugged, hiding his smile at her fierce need to keep him at a distance. And people called him antisocial.
“I watch TV.”
“Let me guess. You’re addicted to Dexter.”
“Actually I prefer Gossip Girl.”
Her jaw dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
He moved toward the last door. “This one’s empty.” Placing his hand against the door, Jagr waited until he heard the click of the lock and pressed it open. Standing aside, he waited for Regan to march past him, her head high, her spine stiff.
Shutting the door, he held the bags toward the wary woman.
“Don’t turn on the light until you’ve closed the bathroom door. We don’t want to alarm the staff.”
She inched forward, clearly suspicious of his motives in bringing her to the hotel room.
“What are you going to be doing?”
“Keeping guard.” His brief amusement faded as the jasmine scent of her wrapped around him, stoking the hunger that smoldered deep inside him. The mere thought of her naked in the shower, with only a flimsy door between them…gods. Heat blasted through him, swirling through the air and making his voice thick. “Unless you have need of me?”
Snatching the bags, Regan backed toward the open door across the room.
“I’ve got it, thanks.”
Her tone was sharp, but Jagr didn’t miss the darkening of her eyes or the rapid beat of her pulse. He pushed from the door, the flames licking through his blood.
“My assistance would save time. I could scrub your back.” His gaze swept down the delicate curves. “Or your front, if you prefer.”
“Not even in your dreams, Jagr.”
Oh, she was definitely going to be in his dreams. The only question was for how many nights.
Or centuries.
“You did say you were in a hurry to get on the trail of Culligan.”
“Ha. Do I look stupid?”
The sweet, enticing scent of her arousal perfumed the air, but Jagr didn’t miss the hint of panic that flared through her emerald eyes. She desired him, but she feared that desire as much as she feared any emotion that wasn’t hate or revenge.
Damn. He moved forward, forcing himself to halt when a tremor shook through her body. She was going to bolt. He sensed it as clearly as if she’d tattooed it across her forehead.
“You look like a woman who has been knocked around enough to assume everyone is your enemy.” His voice was deliberately cool, his hunger firmly leashed. “I will not hurt you.”
She swallowed heavily, then predictably channeled her unease into anger.
“Because precious Darcy would be mad?” she sneered.
“Because I understand.”
“Yeah, right. Just keep watch, Hulkster,” she growled, her wolf prowling beneath her skin. “And don’t you dare come anywhere near this door.”
The door in question was slammed with enough force to split one of the wooden panels. Jagr remained in the center of the room, pretending that the image of Regan stripping off her clothes and stepping beneath the pelting water wasn’t searing through his brain. Then, confident she was actually taking the opportunity to bathe, he slowly backed out of the room and made a swift sweep of the neighborhood to make sure they hadn’t been followed.
Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he slipped to the back of the building and pressed himself against the worn bricks.
Nearly half an hour passed when the window next to him was shoved open, and a number of large bags were tossed onto the pavement. His lips twitched at the realization that Regan couldn’t leave behind her new clothes, even in her desperation to escape him.
Scooping the bags beneath one arm, Jagr straightened and turned, waiting for Regan to swing her legs (attired in a new pair of jeans), through the window. With a motion so fast not even a Were could follow, he scooped her off the ledge.
“The window, Regan?” he mocked softly. “You disappoint me. I thought you would be more creative.”
Regan gave a squeak and then a shriek as he easily tossed her over his shoulder and headed swiftly back toward the cave.
“Jackass.” Her fist slammed into his back with jarring force, reminding him that she was all pureblood, despite her inability to shift. “Put me down.”
“No.”
“Dammit, you’re wasting my time with these stupid vampire games.”
Moving with a speed that would defy human eyes, Jagr rapidly neared their temporary lair. He’d been a fool to believe that giving into her demands for clean clothing and a shower would ease her distrust.
He was still one of the bad guys.
She was determined to play the Lone Ranger (sans Tonto). And now he was once again forced to hold her close enough to torment him with the scent of her freshly scrubbed skin and hot blood.
His arms tightened around her legs as she continued to struggle. “This is no game, little one. I was commanded by my Anasso to bring you to Chicago, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.”
“I thought my sister was the one who sent you?”
“Darcy wants you in Chicago, and Styx wants Darcy happy. It’s the way of mates.”
The blows to his back abruptly halted. “And what about your mate? I can’t imagine she’s thrilled with this little road trip of yours.”
Jagr halted before the entrance to the cave, abruptly setting the aggravating demon on her feet.
“I have no mate.”
Something flashed through her eyes. Relief? Uncertainty? Indigestion?
Whatever it was, she was swift to squash it as she shoved her fingers through her damp hair.
“No mate? What a shocker.” Her smile was taunting. “With your stunning lack of charm and habit of treating women like you’re a Neanderthal, I would have thought the demon babes would be crawling all over you.”
Jagr’s fangs throbbed, his heavy erection ached, and his mood was taking a southward dip toward foul.
“It’s not the lack of females that has prevented me from taking a mate,” he icily denied.
“Then what is it?”
“My lack of interest in those females.”
“As if. Men like you…”
Jagr was bending down his head and sealing her lips with a brief, searing kiss before he could halt the impulse. Perhaps because for the first time in centuries, his brutal self-control was being undermined by a tiny wisp of a Were with the tongue of a drunken harpy and the manners of rabid badger.
Abruptly lifting his head, he met her stunned gaze.
“Why the hell do you keep doing that?” she muttered, her cheeks flushed with a heat she couldn’t hide.
Jagr growled deep in his throat. “If I knew, I would no doubt be falling on the nearest stake.”
The emerald eyes flashed. “That can be arranged.”
“There you are.” Stomping from the cave, Levet regarded them with a jaundiced frown, his wings twitching in aggravation. “I thought you’d abandoned me. Again.”
Jagr swallowed a snarl, resisting the urge to toss the gargoyle into the river below. His body might howl at the interruption, but the pea-sized part of his brain that was still functioning realized that he was allowing himself to be perilously distracted by his strange fascination with Regan.
Gods, he was going to get them both killed.
“Levet, I need your help,” he commanded in frigid tones, allowing his warrior instincts to drown his seething frustration.
“Of course you do.” Levet smirked. “You run off and do whatever vampires do, and I will be happy to keep Regan safe.”
As if Jagr would allow Regan out of his sight for a second. Stupid demon.
“I need you to track down the local cur pack.”
“Oh, I see.” Levet narrowed his gaze. “I’m to do the grunt work while you get to stay with the beautiful woman. Typical.”
“I suspect that the curs have a demon or witch who is helping to keep them hidden.”
“And what does that have to do with me?”
“You’re the only one capable of sensing magic.”
Levet sputtered, wanting to argue but unable to deny the truth. At last he threw up his hands in defeat.
“Sacrebleu. Fine, I will do it.”
“When you find the pack, do not approach them,” Jagr warned. “I don’t want them spooked before I discover why they were shooting at us, and what connection they have to the imp.”