Darkness Unleashed (8 page)

He was near. Keeping watch over her.

Warmth flowed through her, banishing the lingering pain and bringing an odd sense of peace.

Peace?

From an arrogant vampire who thought he could put a leash on her?

Christ, she was mental.

Wrenching her eyes open, Regan glanced around the torch-lit chamber, assuring herself that she was safely tucked in the cave and not in the hands of the curs. Or worse, back in that damned silver cage.

Always assuming that the hideous thing survived the fire.

Confident she was in no immediate danger, Regan pushed herself to her feet, relieved when she didn’t fall flat on her face. Or even stumble—much.

Running her fingers through her hair, she glanced around the deepening shadows. The cool wash of power that charged the air assured her that Jagr was near, but his considerable bulk was nowhere to be seen.

So either he’d used his vampire tricks to wrap himself in darkness, or he was in one of the attached caverns.

She briefly hesitated.

Pride told her that there was nothing keeping her in the cave. She could walk out the front entrance and continue her search for Culligan. Or if she were truly smart, she could hop on the nearest bus and simply disappear.

No imps, no Weres, no annoyingly gorgeous vampires…

Pride, however, wasn’t in control of her feet. Instead of leading her out of the cave, they headed toward the openings at the back.

Ducking her head to avoid the low archway, she slipped into the cramped space that offered a natural cistern. As she straightened, she was prepared to find Jagr. His power was tangible this close. What she hadn’t expected was to find him stark naked as he rose from the shallow water, tossing his wet hair over his massive shoulders.

The world stopped.

Or at least the little corner where Regan was standing.

Christ. She’d already accepted he was a magnificent specimen. The glorious mane of golden hair. The proud, masculine beauty of features. The relentless intelligence in the ice-blue eyes.

But stripped of his clothing, he was…holy moly.

Raw power molded into thick muscles and sinew were the only words that came to mind. Enough to halt the heart of any woman.

Briefly lost in the sheer perfection of his body, it took a moment before Regan’s avid gaze focused enough to realize that the smooth beauty of his ivory skin had been cruelly marred by a series of crisscrossing scars that ran from his chest to his groin.

Shocked as much by the pain that savaged her heart as by the sight of his gruesome injuries, Regan slowly lifted her eyes, clashing with the ice-blue gaze.

As always, his expression was impossible to read, but Regan wasn’t stupid. Jagr would have sensed the moment she awakened. Which meant he could easily have covered himself before she stumbled across him.

Vampires weren’t modest, but they abhorred any deformity. The scars would be a source of humiliation for such a demon.

So why had he revealed them to her?

And why now?

Struggling to clear her tangled thoughts, Regan forced a breath past her tight throat, her gaze shifting to the rippling water.

“Aren’t you supposed to hang some sort of sign if you intend to shower in a coed cave?”

There was a rustle, and covertly glancing out the corner of her eye, Regan watched Jagr tug on a pair of faded jeans, pulling up the zipper but leaving the button undone.

Yow.

Her mouth went dry. And it had nothing to do with his scars.

Did all men have such large…man parts?

And were they supposed to make a woman pant like a hound in heat?

“How do you feel?” he demanded, prowling until he stood directly before her.

“Headache, dry mouth, hair from hell.” With effort, she lifted her head to meet his guarded gaze. “How long was I out?”

“You lost a day.”

Frustration simmered deep in her gut. At this rate she would be signed up for AARP by the time she managed to track down Culligan.

“Crap. I remember crashing out of the RV and being attacked by that cur…then everything’s a blank.”

“The human.” His tone was clipped, icy. “She hit you with a spell.”

“Bitch. Is she dead?”

“No. You managed to injure the cur, but they both escaped.”

Regan grimaced. She didn’t have to ask to know that Jagr had chosen to carry her to safety rather than slaughter the cur and witch. Or even to capture them so they could be questioned.

The knowledge should have infuriated her.

She didn’t need his protection. She certainly hadn’t asked for it.

But she wasn’t infuriated.

She was stupidly pleased. As if she wanted to have someone concerned for her welfare.

Dangerous, Regan. Very, very dangerous.

As dangerous as wanting to run her hands over the scarred skin of his chest to prove they did nothing to lessen his fierce beauty.

Her tongue had touched her dry lips when she abruptly realized she had been staring at that wide, delicious chest for far too long. Wrenching her gaze back to his eyes, she felt a blush stain her cheeks.

“I…wonder what a witch would be doing with a pack of curs…”

“No,” he rudely interrupted, stepping close enough so that she was forced to tilt back her head.

“What?”

“That’s not what you’re wondering. Is it?” His voice was cool, detached. “If you want to know, just ask.”

With a start of astonishment, Regan realized that Jagr had mistakenly assumed her preoccupation with his scars was crass curiosity. Not…fascination.

Two very different things.

Of course, curiosity seemed the wiser course when she was alone in a cave with a half-naked vampire she suddenly wanted to lick from head to toe.

“I didn’t know that vampires could scar,” she muttered the most obvious question.

“It’s not a natural process.” His eyes darkened with an ancient fury. “It takes savage effort and twisted perseverance to permanently mar a vampire’s skin. It’s certainly not for the faint of heart.”

“Why would…” Her hand lifted to press against her heart. “Oh, my God, you were tortured.”

“Tortured and then starved so my body could not heal.”

“How long?”

“Three centuries.”

Her gut twisted in horrified sympathy. Three hundred years of endless torture? How had he survived? And more importantly, how had he survived with his sanity intact?

Christ, she couldn’t even comprehend the strength it must have taken.

And she had bitched at him for swinging from hot to cold?

He should have been a raving lunatic.

“Was it a demon?” she rasped.

His lips twisted in a humorless smile. “A vampire.”

“Jeez.” She slowly shook her head. “So the rumors are true.”

“What rumors?”

“Culligan was twitchy as hell whenever he had to approach the local vampire clan and pay tribute for doing business in their territory.” Her gaze skimmed over the thick scars. “He claimed that vampires are vicious beasts who will slaughter anyone, even each other.”

He shrugged, and Regan wished he hadn’t. The ripple of muscles beneath that ivory skin made things twitch and tingle in the pit of her stomach.

“Any creature can be vicious, especially Weres, but vampires have a particularly exquisite talent for terror and pain.”

Her gaze was jerked upward at the implication in his cold words.

“They tortured you for fun?”

“Certainly hearing my screams provided entertainment for my captors, but I was tortured for revenge.”

“Revenge for what?”

“The truth? I don’t remember.”

Jagr watched the predictable astonishment ripple over Regan’s beautiful features. Ah, if only his own emotions were so easy to analyze.

For centuries, he’d refused to speak of his endless torture. Most of his brothers sensed the violence of his past, and Viper knew that Jagr’s torturer had been a vampire, but nothing more. And none were stupid enough to ask questions.

So why had he deliberately forced this confrontation?

And it had been deliberate.

He could easily have covered his scars before she entered the back cavern. There had been no need for her to ever suspect the truth.

And even now he left them exposed, as if daring her to react to the ugly testament to his past.

So…why?

Thankfully Regan managed to recover her voice before he could consider his motives too deeply. They no doubt were something that should remain a mystery.

“You were tortured for three centuries, and you don’t remember why?” she husked, the sympathy shimmering in her beautiful eyes not nearly so repulsive as it should have been.

“When a human is turned into a vampire, they have no memory of their previous life. My sins were committed while I was still a Visigoth chief.”

“They must have been doozies.”

Jagr shuddered. It didn’t matter how many centuries passed, he would never forget the vampire who had held him captive.

Kesi had been a member of the Egyptian royalty before being turned, and she had retained all the proud beauty of her ancestors. The dark almond-shaped eyes, the smoothly burnished skin, the sleek black hair that had flowed like a curtain of satin down her slender back.

Ah, yes, she had been lovely.

And as poisonous as an asp.

She might have captured him in the name of revenge, but she had kept him out of a twisted, obsessive need to inflict pain. He hadn’t been her only victim in her private pits of hell.

“The vampire who turned me claimed that I led my clan into the local lair and slaughtered a dozen vampires, including her mate,” he explained, pleased as always by the thought that he had dealt Kesi a painful blow, even if he couldn’t remember it. “Unfortunately, I was captured during the raid.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t just kill you. Why make you a vampire?”

“Obviously you missed the Saw movies. Humans are far too fragile to survive more than the vanilla brand of torture. To be truly creative, you need a creature that can endure pain. And, of course, there’s always the bonus of making me immortal, so my punishment could last an eternity.”

“Dear God.” She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes shimmering with tears. “How did you escape?”

The memory of blood-soaked tunnels filled with vampires and demons he’d ripped apart with his bare hands was washed away by the glitter of tears trickling down her cheeks.

Bemused by the odd phenomenon, Jagr cupped her face in his hands and wiped the dampness with his thumbs.

“I killed them,” he murmured, his voice thickening with something other than ancient anger.

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

His lips twitched. “They weren’t nearly so pleased.”

A silence descended as Regan studied him with a searching gaze. Jagr didn’t flinch. He’d always feared that confessing the truth would make him feel vulnerable, exposed. Instead, he felt…cleansed.

Perhaps it was Regan’s sweet tears that washed away a portion of the bitterness that festered in his soul.

At last, she sucked in a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? It wasn’t your fault.”

“I meant I’m sorry that I didn’t believe you when you said you understood. You do.” Her lips curved in a watery smile. “More than anyone.”

“Yes.”

“And that’s why you haven’t forced me to Chicago.”

Jagr hid his flare of wry amusement. If she wanted to believe that was the only reason he hadn’t tossed her over his shoulder and hauled her to Chicago, then so be it.

“The thirst for revenge is a powerful force,” he agreed. “Nothing will keep you in Chicago while Culligan lives. I would just have to come hunting you again.”

“Hunting?” The emerald eyes darkened, then shockingly, she lifted a hand to lightly trace one of the scars that marred his skin. “Do you think I’m your prey?”

With a hiss, Jagr jerked from the searing temptation of her touch. By the fires of hell, what was she doing? Even a complete virgin should be able to sense that his legendary control wasn’t so legendary. Not when it came to this emerald-eyed Were.

“Regan,” he warned softly.

Deliberately she followed his retreat, her hand once again boldly stroking over his chest.

“What?”

He grasped her wrist, his fangs lengthening as scalding pleasure poured through him.

“Don’t toy with me.”

She didn’t try to tug her wrist from his grim grip. Instead, she simply lifted her free hand and continued to torment him with light, searching fingers.

“Why did you show me your scars?” she demanded.

Jagr shivered, his body swiftly going up in flames. “You’re playing a dangerous game, little one.”

She met his gaze squarely, ignoring his warning as she stepped close enough to wrap him in midnight jasmine.

“Did you think they would bother me?”

“Do they?”

“Only what they represent.” Leaning forward, she trailed her lips over a thick scar. “The fact that you were forced to endure such pain for so long.”

Jagr’s fingers loosened on her wrist, his thumb brushing the rapid beat of her pulse. Fine. Obviously she wanted to play. Already he could catch the scent of her arousal perfuming the air.

Who was he to be the voice of reason?

Soon enough she would discover you couldn’t dance with the devil without getting burned.

Sliding his hand up the elegant sweep of her back, he grasped the tender nape of her neck.

“Like you, little one, I survived,” he murmured. “And for the first time, in a very long time, I’m very glad that I did.”

“Me, too,” she whispered, her head bending forward to brush her lips over his chest.

Convulsively, his arms wrapped about her, tugging her tight against his hard body.

“Do you understand what you’re starting, Regan?” he rasped, his senses stirring with an intensity that was almost painful.

“Not really.” She trailed her tongue down the dip over his breastbone. “But I like it. Do you?”

His soft groan rumbled through the cavern as his hands shifted to cup her hips, compulsively pressing her to his thickening cock.

“Shit, if I liked it any more I would go up in flames,” he muttered, for the first time fully appreciating the powers that had become his when he’d been reborn a vampire.

He could hear every beat of her heart, feel the finest of tremors that shook her slender body, smell the midnight jasmine of her skin…the temptation of her rich blood.

His fangs throbbed in concert with his aching erection.

“I never knew…” She arched back to meet his hungry gaze. “Does it always feel like this?”

Unable to resist the sight of that slender neck arched in open invitation, Jagr lowered his head to nibble his way down the satin skin.

“No,” he rasped, his voice thick with need. “Never like this.”

She quivered as his tongue ran a searing path along the line of her collarbone.

“Then what’s happening?” Her fingers dug into his upper arms, as if her knees had suddenly become too weak to support her. “One minute I want to punch you in the nose, or at the very least get a restraining order, and the next…”

He nipped her earlobe, careful not to break the skin. One overwhelming lust was enough.

“And the next?”

“I want to strip off my clothes and feel your hands on my skin.”

Before she could even guess his intention, Jagr grasped the hem of her shirt, and with one smooth jerk had it pulled over her head. She gasped as he tossed it aside and just as easily rid her of the tiny white bra.

“Like this?” he rasped, his hands moving to cup her breasts with a reverent care.

By the gods of his mother, she was beautiful. Perfect. Edible.

His thumbs stroked the rosy tips of her nipples, rumbling in pleasure as the peaks hardened and she shivered with excitement.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Exactly like that.”

His head lowered, his lips closing over the tip of her breast.

“And like this?”

Her head dropped back, her hair brushing over his arms that he had wrapped about her like a warm spill of satin.

“Oh…God, yes.”

Grimly reminding himself of her innocence, Jagr leashed his desperate hunger. Falling on her like a ravaging beast probably wasn’t the best seduction tactic. Not yet.

Continuing to torment her nipple with his tongue, Jagr deftly slid down the zipper of her jeans, longing for the sensation of her naked body pressed against his. When there was no protest from Regan, he slowly began to peel them downward, lowering himself to his knees as he efficiently tugged off her running shoes and socks before removing the jeans.

Then, still kneeling, he simply drank in the sight of her.

Her legs were long and slender. Her waist narrow enough he knew he could span it with his hands. But it was the firm muscles that rippled beneath her smooth skin that sent a jolt of excitement through him.

Well, that, and the tiny triangle of silk that was at his direct eye level.

His fangs were fully extended, ready and willing to cut through the delicate material to reveal the sweet treasure beneath.

Once again, however, he restrained his sharp-edged need.

Instead, he slowly worked his way back to his feet, trailing his lips up the curve of her stomach, the hollow between her breasts, and the frantic pulse at the base of her neck.

She groaned, her lips parting willingly as he at last claimed her mouth in a demanding kiss.

“Jagr,” she moaned.

“You smell of midnight jasmine. I could drown in that scent.”

“You smell of power,” she whispered against his lips. “Like a strike of lightning.”

“Does lightning have a scent?” he teased, his hands compulsively caressing the curve of her back. He could have her in his arms for an eternity and still it would not be long enough.

Because this is where she belongs.

Where she will always belong.

The disturbing words floated through his mind before he could halt them.

“Raw energy,” she retorted, moaning as his tongue traced the edge of her lower lip. “Dangerous…unpredictable…”

“Oh, I can be very predictable, little one,” he corrected, grasping her hand to gently place it against his pulsing arousal.

Her breath caught as her fingers traced his hard cock straining against his zipper, her eyes darkening with awareness of her feminine power.

Desire clawed deep within him. He wanted to make this a slow, delicate seduction, but the thought of being buried deep within her was swiftly undermining his control. At heart, he was still a barbarian. A wild, pagan coupling was becoming a more viable option by the second.

Regan couldn’t have missed the sudden heat that filled the cavern, or the tension that clenched his muscles, but as if deliberately seeking to push Jagr over the edge, her searching fingers slowly tugged down the zipper of his jeans, releasing the heavy thrust of his erection.

“Gods,” Jagr managed to croak, shuddering at the hot surge of desire.

“Do you like this?” she demanded, lightly skimming her fingers down his thick length.

“Yes,” he growled, his hands clutching her hips as he sought to remain in control of his building need.

“And this?” she whispered, her hand moving steadily lower.

“Regan…” He muttered a curse, his eyes clenching shut as he battled to hold off the surging climax. “Yes.”

She discovered his tender sack and lightly squeezed. “And this?”

“Enough,” he choked, grasping her wrist to halt the exquisite torment.

“Why?”

Forcing his eyes open, he met the glittering emerald gaze. “Because just your touch is enough to make me explode.”

The sweet scent of her arousal deepened at his blunt words. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“Bad?” His sharp laugh echoed through the darkness. “By the saints, I would walk through the fires of hell for the feel of your hands on my body.”

Her lips curved in a smile of pure temptation.

A natural born Eve.

“Then why are you stopping me?”

Good question.

Oh, it wasn’t uncommon for him to deny himself pleasure.

His lair was a cold, barren series of cement tunnels beneath an abandoned warehouse. It had none of the luxuries that most vampires craved. His only concession to comfort was his vast collection of books, his high-tech computer, and his plasma TVs.

And certainly he never allowed himself to wallow in the self-indulgent pursuit of physical pleasure that many demons craved.

He never questioned his monkish existence. What did it matter if it was an obsessive need to feel in control after years of being in the power of others? Or some obscure hatred for being turned into the same monster as those who’d tortured him? Or even a boorish distaste for the company of others.

In this moment, he wanted to plunge into the swirling sensations that heated his blood to a fever pitch. He wanted to…feel. To melt the ice that had held him captive since he’d left those blood-soaked caves.

He wanted Regan in any way she would have him.

It was obvious that despite her innocence, this Were possessed a playful curiosity. Why not allow her to explore her potent effect on his body?

They had an eternity to satisfy any number of fantasies.

Endless, decadent, wicked fantasies.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Jagr released her wrist at the same moment he branded her lips with a searing kiss. She readily opened her mouth to allow the invasion of his thrusting tongue, her hand moving on him with awkward but shockingly blissful strokes.

He didn’t know why she’d suddenly lowered her stiff barriers. Why she’d accepted the passion that had pulsed between them since their first meeting. And to be honest, he didn’t give a shit.

Fate was rarely kind to him. He intended to take advantage while it was willing to smile on him.