As he intended, Regan was swiftly distracted, a blush staining her cheeks as she took a jerky step away from his lingering touch.

“You said you smelled blood.”

“Yes.” He moved to the very front of the RV, forced to bend over as he studied the driver’s seat. “I don’t know why Culligan came to Hannibal, but his welcoming committee was in a foul mood.”

“He’s dead?”

“He was alive when he left the RV, but he was hurting.”

“Damn.”

With an unexpected speed, Regan was moving deeper into the living area of the RV, punching holes into the faux wooden panels of the wall.

Jagr moved to her side, his lips curving as splinters filled the air. There was nothing more arousing than a powerful woman.

“Not that I don’t approve of wholesale destruction, but there are more satisfying means of exorcising your frustration,” he murmured.

“Culligan kept his money and private papers in a safe…ah.” Tossing him a smug smile, Regan tugged out a small metal box from the hole she’d just made in the panel. A smile that faded as she struggled to wrench the thing open. “Crap.”

“Allow me.” Without asking for permission, Jagr pulled the box from her grasp and wrenched the heavy lid off.

Not surprisingly, he was rewarded with a nasty glare. “Am I supposed to be impressed with your bulging muscles and mindless brute strength?”

“You can be impressed by anything you want, little one, although most women prefer my bulging…”

“Bleck.” She held up a hand. “Enough.”

Jagr might have been offended if he didn’t catch the unmistakable scent of her desire whenever he was near.

Glancing in the box, Jagr grimaced and shoved it toward Regan. “I think you’ve earned this.”

“Christ,” she breathed, her eyes widening at the stash of jewels and watches and neatly stacked money. “Humans. You would think thousands of years of evolution would finally give them the talent of recognizing a blatant swindle.” Regan shuddered, staring at the box as if it were contaminated. “I don’t want this. It’s tainted.”

“Then give it to a charity or throw it in the river. Just so long as Culligan or his friends can’t get their hands on it.”

Regan grimaced. “You’re right.”

“I’m right?” Jagr pressed a hand to his heart in mock astonishment. “Blessed saints, did the sky fall?”

“Smart ass…”

Regan’s eyes widened as Jagr flowed forward to press a hand to her mouth.

“Someone’s approaching,” he whispered close to her ear. She tugged his hand from her mouth, but was careful to keep her voice soft.

“Culligan?”

“I can’t tell. They must be cloaked by a spell to cover their scent.”

On the point of turning the hunter into his personal prey, Jagr stiffened. He had less than a beat to catch the scent of smoke before a bottle crashed through the window of the RV and exploded in flames. Instinctively, Jagr backed away. Fire was one enemy a vampire couldn’t battle.

“Time for you to go, Regan.” He shoved her toward the flames that were spreading with lethal speed. “Run.”

Digging in her heels she whirled to glare at him. “Are you mental?”

“The fire isn’t magical, you’ll heal from the burns,” he rasped, his body quivering with the need to rush her to safety.

“Yeah, only to be killed by the freaking King of Vamps when he discovers I bolted like a wuss and left his favorite pet to become toast.”

“Styx would never harm you, and I am not the Anasso’s favorite anything, let alone his pet. Now get the hell out of here.”

The smoke thickened, the heat already bringing beads of sweat to Regan’s face, but the woman stubbornly refused to flee.

“Forget it, chief. It’s not happening.”

“Damn.”

Muttering ancient curses and more than a few derogatory comments on the brains of Weres in general, and one in particular, Jagr wrapped his arms around his personal thorn in his side, and with one mighty surge smashed through the side of the RV.

Chapter 7

Even buffered by Jagr’s huge body, Regan’s breath was wrenched from her lungs as they crashed through the side of the motor home and landed on the pathway with a hard jolt.

Before she’d managed to suck in the much needed air, Jagr had jerked her to her feet and turned to face the two attackers that appeared frozen in horror by their abrupt appearance.

There was a slender human woman with a mop of blond curls and innocuous blue eyes, as well as a tall, leanly handsome man that Regan instantly recognized as a cur, with dark hair and a goatee that somehow seemed perfect for his wicked features.

Regan had barely regained her balance when a cold blast of power filled the air, and Jagr had launched himself into battle.

The female screamed in terror, but rather than fleeing as any intelligent creature should have done, she threw out her hands, as if trying to shoo away the massive predator. Regan might have found it funny if there wasn’t a brilliant flash of light that smacked Jagr in the center of his chest, sending him flying backwards.

Witch.

Regan rushed toward the vampire, who was sprawled on the hard ground, the front of his sweater charred and still smoking. Damn the witch to hell. No one was allowed to harm Jagr.

No one but her.

She was less than a half step away from the injured vampire when the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

Allowing instinct to guide her, Regan crouched low as she whirled around, her leg striking out to trip the attacking cur.

Her dip allowed her to avoid a painful blow to her jaw as the attacker’s fist swung over the top of her head, but he managed to leap over her kicking leg, his eyes glowing with the eerie light of a wolf. Spinning to face her, the cur held up his hands in a gesture of peace.

“Easy, luv,” he soothed, his voice hinting at Irish origins. “I have no wish to hurt you.”

Regan gritted her teeth, too furious to be properly terrified.

“Yeah, right.” Her sharp laugh echoed through the trees. “I suppose you also have a bridge you’re trying to unload?”

His lips curved in a well rehearsed smile. “I swear on my sweet mother’s grave that I’ve been ordered to bring you alive.”

“Bring me where?”

He held out a slender hand. “Come with me, and I’ll show you.”

Did she have stupid tattooed on her forehead?

Regan attempted to inch around the cur, plagued by a desperate need to reach Jagr.

“What do you want with me?”

“Nothing more than to keep you safe.”

“Safe? You tried to shoot me in that hotel room, not to mention nearly roasting me alive just a minute ago.”

“We were trying to kill the vampire in that hotel room, not you. We thought he was attacking you.” His gaze slowly roamed down her body, his arrogant expression revealing he believed women enjoyed being checked over like used cars. Schmuck. “Weres and vampires don’t usually mix.”

“And tonight?” she demanded.

“I had no idea anyone was in the RV. I was sent to get rid of it, not to harm you.”

Regan stiffened. She’d assumed that they had been followed by the cur to this remote spot. But if he was telling the truth, then he’d known about the RV.

And Culligan.

“Who sent you?” she hissed. “Culligan?”

The man snorted. “Don’t be daft. As if I would take orders from a filthy imp.”

“But you know where he is?”

He confidently stepped closer, his voice low and seductive. “Not only do I know, but I have him all tied up like a birthday present, just waiting for you to come and punish him.”

Regan’s thoughts churned. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of her actually going with the cur. Her every instinct shrieked in warning. Besides, she wouldn’t leave Jagr. (Why she felt the need to protect an ancient vampire who was currently holding her hostage, not to mention driving her nuts, was something she wasn’t about to consider.)

But if she could keep him talking, then he might give some clue as to where he was hiding Culligan…and why the hell he wanted to get his hands on her.

“How do you know Culligan?” she asked.

The cur shrugged. “Never met him before he arrived in Hannibal.”

“Christ, is there a demon who comes through town who you don’t try to kill?”

“We didn’t try to kill the imp.” The man stepped closer, as if hoping his potent heat would befuddle her mind. “It was a simple snatch and grab.”

She continued inching toward Jagr. Her heart twisted. Why wouldn’t he wake up? He would poof if he was dead, wouldn’t he?

“Hardly simple,” she accused. “Culligan didn’t go willingly.”

His lips curled into a snarl. “There might have been some blood involved.”

“Why take him at all?”

“Beyond the pleasure of listening to him squeal?” The cur chuckled. “We discovered that he’d held a fellow wolf captive. That can’t go unpunished.”