She was lying on a hard dirt floor. The cave, no doubt. She could smell cool, damp air and only a trace of gargoyle, as if Levet were no longer near. And overall, the cool, exotic scent of power that could only belong to Jagr.

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.”

Chapter 8

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.”