stay here often?”
“No.” Regan shook her head. She’d heard of Hannibal, of course. Built on the edge of the mighty Mississippi River, it was the home of Samuel Clemons (Mark Twain), and the setting for many of his most famous novels. There was also some cave or another that had been the hiding spot for Jesse James (the History Channel was a wonderful thing). A charming town, but hardly a hot spot for demons. “He never even mentioned this place.”
Jagr considered her words as they crossed through an empty parking lot built close to the river. In the darkness, Regan could hear the waters that swirled and eddied around the tethered steamboat tied to the nearby dock.
“Then we can’t be certain that Culligan was behind the attack,” he at last concluded.
Great. New, mysterious enemies. Just what she needed.
“Why would the curs want to kill me?” she growled, as annoyed by Jagr’s cool reaction to her obvious danger as being shot at in the first place. Wasn’t he freaking sent to keep her safe? “I thought they worshipped pureblooded Weres?”
A golden brow arched at her churlish tone. “If there’s a local Were pack, they might think you’re a rogue. Weres are as territorial as vampires.”
“But what about the trail disappearing?”
“It’s a connection, but for all we know the curs slaughtered Culligan and covered his death with the same magic that hides their scent. We don’t know enough to jump to conclusions.”
He was right. Only a fool would ignore the possibility that there were other dangers beyond Culligan.
“Damn.”
Jagr’s icy expression softened at her weary concession. Never breaking stride, he thrust a paper bag into her hand and led her from the parking lot to the tangle of undergrowth that lined the river.
“Here.”
Regan frowned. “What’s this?”
“Food.” His gaze drifted down to her wrist. “You’ll need it to replenish the blood I took.”
White-hot heat flared through her, squeezing the air from her lungs. She could almost feel his fangs sinking into her flesh, and the sensuous tugs as he took her blood.
Ducking her head down, she ripped open the bag to discover two still warm bagels and a container of orange juice.
Her stomach rumbled in pleasure.
“Thanks,” she muttered, keeping her face hidden behind the thick curtain of her hair as she rapidly worked her way through the bagels.
Jagr retreated to his familiar silence, wise enough not to offer help when they reached a narrow path that led to the high bluff overlooking the river. Her nerves were already on edge. It wouldn’t take much to have her striking out, regardless of the consequence.
They climbed without speaking, and reaching the top of the bluff, Regan paused to throw away the empty bag, covertly leaning against the plastic trash can. The path had been a steep one, perilously sapping her waning energy.
In less than a heartbeat Jagr was at her side, his arm wrapping about her waist to haul her against the erotic power of his body.
“Why didn’t you ask for help?” he demanded, his dark voice sliding down her spine, sending ripples of pleasure through her.
Oh…hell.
She wanted to lean into all that male hardness. To close her eyes and drown in his ruthless strength.
The need was as intense and unwelcome as the awareness that hummed through her body with tiny, electric jolts.
Placing her palms against his chest, she shoved. “I’m fine.”
He frowned down at her, refusing to loosen his grip. “You might be dizzy…”
She shoved again. “I said I’m fine. Just stop talking about it.”
“About what?” His hard lips twitched. “My feeding, or your reaction?”
Lifting her foot, she kicked him as hard as she could in the knee.
It couldn’t have hurt. Even at her full power, it would be difficult to injure such an ancient demon. Still, it was enough to catch him off guard. Using the nanosecond of distraction, Regan ducked beneath his arms and rushed toward the gargoyle,
Stephen - Scully 10 Cannell