She had completed the basic outline of the cur’s face and was working on the narrow goatee when she felt Jagr move to stand at her side, his power carefully muted.
“That’s perfect,” he murmured, a hint of surprise in his voice. “You have a true talent.”
Regan shrugged. “Not talent, just practice. There’s not a lot to do in a cramped cage besides watch TV, read, and sketch.” With a few more strokes of her pencil, Regan was satisfied and held out the notebook toward Salvatore. “Here.”
Salvatore moved forward with the hulking Hess at his side.
“Do you recognize him?” the Were demanded of his companion.
The cur snarled in recognition, his eyes glowing. “Duncan.”
Salvatore frowned. “What do you know of him?”
“He’s a disciple of Caine.”
Shock rippled over the Were’s handsome face. “Cristo.”
“Who’s this Caine?” Jagr demanded.
Salvatore snapped his teeth, his thoughts obviously distracted. “Internal Were business.”
“It becomes my business when one of your hounds nearly barbeques me,” Jagr snapped. “Why are they trying to kill Regan?”
“I don’t know.”
Jagr stepped toward Salvatore, his body coiled to attack, his fangs glinting in the dark.
“Don’t try me, Were.”
Regan shivered, but Salvatore merely arched an arrogant brow. Courage or stupidity?
Impossible to say.
“You can flash all the fang you want, vamp, I have no explanation for why the curs would be in Hannibal, or why they would have an interest in Regan.”
“Then what the hell do you know?”
Salvatore gritted his teeth, but obviously aware that Jagr was preparing to beat the truth out of him (with as much pain as possible), he abruptly turned to pace across the cave.
“I’ve had reports that a cur by the name of Caine has been gathering curs into a secret society.”
Regan swallowed a ridiculous urge to laugh. “Like the Masons?”
Salvatore continued to pace. “From what little information I’ve been able to gather, it’s more like a fatwa.”
“A holy war?” she demanded.
“A handful of curs have convinced themselves that the Weres are deliberately diluting their powers.”
She shook her head. Being raised in a silver cage with only occasional encounters with other demons, she was remarkably ignorant of her people. Something that had never bothered her until a bunch of mangy curs decided to steal Culligan.
“Which powers?” she demanded.
Salvatore shrugged. “Their strength, their ability to control their shifts, their lack of immortality. Nonsense, of course. A cur might take on greater strength and a prolonged existence, but in the end they’re merely a human infected by our bite. They are not resurrected to become a full demon as vampires are.”
So the curs got a glimpse of glory, only to fall short. Kind of like her.
A mutant with no real place in the demon-world.
Who wouldn’t want revenge? Especially if it meant dethroning the smug, overbearing, GQ-addicted King of Weres?
Of course, Caine of the curs couldn’t be very smart if he thought for a moment a ragtag pack would have any chance against any pureblood, let alone one of Salvatore’s power. And why Duncan would imply they were somehow interested in her…
Her breath tangled in her throat. “Oh.”
Jagr flowed to her side, as if sensing the outrageous suspicion that flowed through her mind.
“What is it, little one?”
“I…” With a shake of her head, Regan turned to meet Salvatore’s searching gaze. “The curs believe a Were could offer them the powers they want?”
“As I said, a few idiots are convinced we are deliberately altering the amount of venom in our bites to lessen their abilities. Once I track down Caine, I intend to bring an end to his dangerous claims.” His sensuous lips curved into a terrifying smile. “A painful end.”
Regan grimaced. “Very Rambo of you, but have you considered the possibility that this Caine has decided to do more than just complain about the fate of curs?”
Salvatore snorted. “He doesn’t possess enough followers to strike against the Weres. He prefers to hide in shadows while stirring the seeds of revolution.”
“Yeah, well, maybe the Benedict Arnold routine is just an act.”
Jagr hissed, reading her mind with unnerving ease. “Yes.”
Salvatore frowned, thankfully not capable of rummaging around in her thoughts.
“What the hell do you mean?”
Regan struggled to put her vague suspicion into words. “If this Caine truly believes he can transform himself into a Were, why would he bother plotting a fight he can never win? Wouldn’t it make more sense to spend his time finding the key to enhancing his gifts?”
“He’s already gone through the change…” Salvatore bit off his words, his eyes glowing with that eerie fire. “Cristo.”
“And if he believes that he can still get the powers he lacks, what would he need?” Jagr rasped.
Salvatore toyed with the heavy signet ring on his finger. “If his theory wasn’t completely illogical, completely unscientific, and completely crazy, I suppose he would need a pureblood.”
Four pairs of male eyes turned to regard Regan as if she were a nasty bug beneath a microscope.
“Surely they would need her alive?” Jagr rasped, the edge of ice in his voice assuring Regan he wasn’t nearly so calm as he appeared.
She was swiftly discovering the stronger his emotions, the deeper he coated them in permafrost.
“Actually, I think they have been trying to take me alive,” Regan admitted, deliberately catching Jagr’s fierce gaze. “It’s you they want to kill.”
“Imagine that,” Salvatore drawled.
Jagr’s attention never wavered from Regan. “How can you be certain?”
“I’m not certain, but Duncan was trying to convince me to come willingly with him while you were still unconscious.”
“The terrifying Jagr knocked unconscious by a cur?”
This time Jagr flashed an icy glare toward the provoking Salvatore. “A witch.”
“Duncan said that he wanted to keep me safe.” Regan hurriedly headed off yet another squabble between the two. “He didn’t say what danger I was supposedly in, but it was obvious he was desperate to take me somewhere, no matter what he had to do get me there.”
Salvatore snarled a low curse. “I look forward to meeting this Duncan. We have a great deal to discuss.”
Something that might have been frustration hardened Jagr’s beautiful face.
“At this point, it’s all nothing more than speculation. Leaping to conclusions could put Regan in danger. For now, all that matters is that she remain protected.”
She instinctively bristled at his possessive tone. Okay, she was ready, willing, and able to take advantage of his bodacious body. Why not? She’d been forced into celibacy for too long. And he’d already proven he possessed the sort of skills a woman in rampant lust could appreciate.
But the last thing she wanted was an overbearing keeper.
She already had one of those on her list to kill.
“I can take care of myself, thank you very much,” she snapped. “And the only thing I’m interested in is the fact that Duncan claims they have Culligan.”
Jagr’s frustration became a tangible blast of frozen air. “It’s a trap.”
She rolled her eyes at his flat accusation. “Ya think?”
“I think when it comes to the imp, you tend to act first and think of the consequences later.”
Salvatore’s soft laugh replaced Jagr’s chill with a brush of warm velvet.
“I see he knows you in more than just the carnal sense, sweet Regan.”
She tossed him an annoyed frown. “Shut up.”
“Is that any way to speak to your king?” he mocked.
She was about to inform her freaking king she’d talk to him any way she pleased when the sudden entrance of Levet had everyone spinning toward him in shock.
Ignoring the various guns, daggers, and flashing fangs that were aimed in his direction, Levet waddled forward, his tiny snout twitching.
“Sacrebleu. What’s that stench?” He blatantly glanced toward Salvatore. “Oh. Dogs. I should have known.”
Salvatore merely smiled, reaching out a hand to catch the bristling cur at his side.
“Easy, Hess. Do you not recall the stunted gargoyle who so kindly led Darcy into our trap?” The smile widened to reveal the white, white teeth. “I never did have the opportunity to offer my thanks.”
“Not much of a trap since Darcy is currently the Queen of Vampires, not Weres,” Levet smoothly countered.
Salvatore’s eyes flashed, but his expression remained mocking. “Her loss.”
The words had barely tumbled from his lips when there was the distant sound of shattering glass.
Within the cave everyone stilled, the very air shimmering with a sense of foreboding. Then with a movement that was too swift for Regan to follow, Jagr had launched himself forward, knocking her to the ground and covering her with his large body, as the concussion of an explosion far below rocked the bluff.