Darkness Unleashed (25 page)

Her abused nail was nearly gone by the time the door to the office at last opened and Jagr stepped from the room. Hidden by the carved oak banister, Regan felt as if the wind had been kicked from her.

Christ, did he have to be so damned beautiful?

Struggling to breathe, Regan allowed her gaze to drink in the pale, starkly carved features and golden hair that was pulled into a long braid.

Beautiful, but so terrifyingly dangerous.

In more ways than one.

Lost in the painful tangle of emotions, it took a moment for Regan to realize that Jagr was headed directly toward the back entrance.

Why, the annoying jerk.

He had to know she was just behind him.

Hell, he could probably close his eyes and hit her with a dart a hundred miles away.

Which meant that he was deliberately ignoring her.

And why wouldn’t he
, a tiny voice whispered in the back of her mind.

He was a proud, magnificent vampire who had offered her his heart. She, on the other hand, was a totally screwed-up Were who was running scared.

She wouldn’t blame him if he never wanted to see her again.

Of course, that didn’t stop her from charging after his retreating form.

Screwed up, indeed.

“Jagr, wait.”

He halted at her soft call, his shoulders stiff, as if he were battling the urge to keep walking.

Then, with obvious reluctance, he slowly turned to face her.

“Regan.” His expression was as coldly aloof as his voice. “How are you feeling?”

She sucked in an agonized breath. God, she would rather he hit her than treat her as if she were a vague stranger.

“I’m fine,” she managed to husk. “Did you just return from Hannibal?”

“Yes.”

Sharp. To the point.

Emotionless.

Regan licked her dry lips, her gut twisting with sick regret.

“Did you discover anything about my sister?”

“No, I’m sorry.” The pale eyes darkened with frustration. “Salvatore disappeared, along with Levet.”

“Damn.” Regan stiffened in shock, momentarily forgetting her own troubles. “Did Duncan betray them?”

“I doubt it. Duncan was dead when we found the cabin where they were supposed to meet.”

Regan pressed a hand to her heart. It was bad enough that the cur was dead, and the powerful Salvatore missing, but poor Levet…

Christ, she should never have insisted that he accompany Duncan to that damn meeting.

She couldn’t seem to do anything without messing it up lately.

The Mess-Up Queen.

She should have a tiara and sash.

“It has to be Caine,” she muttered.

“That’s our assumption.”

“That bastard needs to have his ass kicked.”

Jagr shrugged, his hard muscles rippling beneath the tight black T-shirt.

Oy. He was edible.

Her mouth went dry.

“I believe Styx intends to nail his hide to the wall.”

“That’ll work.”

“Tane’s on the trail. I’m sure he’ll let Styx know if he discovers anything.” With a stiff nod, Jagr turned back toward the door.

Let him go, let him go, let him go…

“Are you leaving?” The words bypassed her brain and burst from her lips.

Once again, he grudgingly halted and turned. “I have my own lair. Or at least I did.” Without warning, that almost smile touched his lips, making her heart kick against her ribs. “The rats may have taken over while I was gone.”

Tentatively she moved toward him, half-afraid he might disappear into the night if she pressed too hard.

“They wouldn’t dare.”

He arched a golden brow. “You’re obviously unfamiliar with the rats native to Chicago. They fear no demon.”

“Perhaps no demon, but every creature fears an oversized Visigoth chief.”

His gaze deliberately skimmed over her pale face, lingering on the dark shadows beneath her eyes.

“Not every creature.”

“Well, I’ve never been very smart. If I had a brain, I’d no doubt be terrified.”

The stunning blue gaze lowered to her lips, his jaw clenching, as if in pain.

“I should go.”

Her hand lifted to touch him, only to hastily drop when he took a sharp step back.

“Will you be back?”

“Not unless Styx commands my presence.”

She swallowed the thick lump in her throat. “Oh.”

There was a tense, awkward silence that made Regan want to ram her head into the wall.

Before tonight she’d felt a lot of things when Jagr was near.

Fury, frustration, searing passion, and heart-melting tenderness.

Never, ever awkwardness.

What the hell had she done?

Slowly his gaze lifted to tangle with hers. “Do you intend to remain here?”

“No. I…” She gave a helpless shrug, unable to explain the stupid panic that attacked her each time Darcy tried to draw her deeper into their cozy clan. “No.”

“Where will you go?”

For all her determination to leave, she’d given remarkably little thought to the tedious details.

“I can’t go far. At least not until I’ve found a job and saved some money.”

His brows snapped together. Regan found herself pathetically pleased by the first real display of emotion.

“There’s no need for you to work…”

“Darcy’s already offered me money,” she hurriedly headed off his offer.

“Which you refused.”

“I’m not just being stubborn, Jagr.”

“Did I say you were?” he snapped.

“You didn’t have to,” she ruefully teased. “It was written in neon across your face.”

His scowl remained firmly intact. “Highly doubtful.”

She sighed, running a restless hand through her hair. “I want to see if I can make my way in the world like a normal person. Is that so astonishing?”

The brief glimpse of emotion was wiped away. Replaced by a coating of ice.

“You’ll never be a normal person.”

“Fine, like a normal demon.” She clenched her hands, wishing she could make someone, anyone, understand. “I need to know I can do it.”

“Who are you trying to convince, Regan?” he demanded, softly. “Me? Or yourself?”

“I’m trying to explain…” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

The tightening of his jaw was Jagr’s only response as he turned on his heel.

“I must go.”

“Jagr.”

“Dammit, Regan, what do you want from me?” he hissed, keeping his back to her.

A good question.

Unfortunately, she didn’t have a damned clue.

She only knew that watching him walk away was ripping out her heart.

“I…I want to thank you.”

He stiffened, still refusing to turn. “Thank me?”

“If it hadn’t been for you, I would have walked straight into the trap that Sadie set for me.”

“Somehow I doubt you would have been so easily captured,” he said dryly.

Her lips twisted. Her pride might want to believe his words, but she’d had plenty of time to consider her rash flight to Hannibal.

“I appreciate your confidence in my skills, but we both know I was so consumed with my need for revenge, I wasn’t thinking clearly. If it hadn’t been for you I…”

“I don’t need your gratitude, Regan,” he unexpectedly intruded, his voice harsh. “Just take care of yourself.”

And with that, he was wrenching open the door and disappearing into the waiting shadows.

Stunned by his abrupt departure, Regan grasped a nearby marble statue as her knees threatened to buckle.

Every instinct screamed at her to run after Jagr and wrap her arms around him. To beg him to toss her over his shoulder, and cart her to his hidden lair.

To…

With a crack loud enough to wake the dead, the arm of the statue snapped off in her hand. With a muttered curse, she hastily tossed the dismembered limb onto the floor.

“God, I’m such an idiot.”

One month later…

The quaint pub near Wrigley Field was the trendy sort of place that attracted locals, as well as a number of tourists who came for the hot wings and stayed for the cold beer.

Regan had quite literally stumbled across the joint when she’d been on the search for a place to live, and before she knew it, she’d rented one of the retro-shabby apartments above the pub and was working as a dishwasher to supplement the money that Darcy had adamantly insisted she take before leaving the mansion.

Not that she regretted her choice.

The owner of the building and pub, Tobi Williams, was a tiny, thirty-something woman with short, spiky pink hair, dark eyes, and enough piercings to make a metal detector explode.

In many ways she reminded Regan of her sister. She was perky, incurably optimistic, and yet a shrewd enough businesswoman to have taken a dilapidated building she’d inherited from her father and turned it into a raging success.

She also had a heart as big as Chicago.

Within two days of Regan moving in, Tobi had not only offered her a job washing dishes, but she’d badgered and hounded Regan to allow her to sell the drawings that Regan had created to fill her long, lonely nights.

Regan had been reluctant at first.

The simple ink-on-canvas etchings of local streets and various tourist spots were more doodles than masterpieces. Who the hell would waste their hard-earned money on them?

Only a week later, however, Tobi had managed to sell ten of the smaller etchings and four of the larger ones, handing over a wad of cash that Regan had promptly stashed into her nest egg. Now she could barely keep up with the demand.

Stacking away the last of the dishes, Regan wiped down the stainless steel sinks. It was well past midnight and the kitchen had shut down an hour ago. The bar would stay open until three a.m., but Regan’s duties were done.

Still, she made no move to climb the back steps to her apartment.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love her new home, she grimly assured herself.

Granted it was small, with
Brady Bunch
furnishings and the constant smell of hot wings, but it was hers. Completely and utterly hers.

Proof positive of her independence.

Yippee kiyah.

Trying to shake her strange sense of melancholy, Regan jerked off the large apron that covered her cotton shorts and skimpy T-shirt. The Illinois weather had taken a turn toward spring, and standing in front of a hot, steaming sink for hours didn’t help. If it wouldn’t have shocked the natives, she would come to work wearing nothing.

She’d just tossed the apron into the laundry basket when the swinging doors were shoved open, and Tobi danced into the kitchen waving around a small business card.

“I told you, I told you, I told you,” she sang as she twirled to a halt directly in front of Regan.

Regan rolled her eyes at her friend’s antics. “Christ, Tobi, you’re making me dizzy.”

Tobi flashed her charming grin, looking about sixteen in her polka dot sundress that revealed her numerous tattoos.

“I told you.”

“Yes, well, you’ve told me that the old man who lives in 4B is actually an alien who missed his ride home on the mother ship. You told me that terrorists are training sharks to attack our beaches. And that your dead mother communicates to you through tea leaves,” Regan said dryly. “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”

“Here.”

Taking the card that Tobi shoved into her hand, Regan studied the gilt name etched onto the expensive card paper.

“Charles Rosewood.” With a frown, she lifted her head to meet Tobi’s expectant gaze. “What’s this?”

“He’s waiting for you at the bar.”

“Why would he be waiting for me?”

“He owns a bazillion tourist shops around Chicago. All in the most primo locations, I might add.” She heaved a wistful sigh. “God, I’d kill for his Michigan Avenue store.”

Okay. That explained precisely nothing.

Not an uncommon occurrence with Tobi.

She might possess the business acumen of a Fortune 500 executive, but she rambled like a total ditz.

“He’s a friend of yours?”

“Not hardly.” Tobi ran a hand through her hot pink hair. “He’s way out of my league. I only recognize him from the society pages.”

Regan shifted, uneasy at the thought some stranger was asking to see her.

Was it another trap? Was Caine still hoping he could capture her?

“Then what’s he doing here?” she demanded, openly suspicious. “And why does he want to see me?”

“He’s here because he noticed the etchings in the window, and he wanted to be introduced to the artist.”

“Why?”

“Holy crap, for such an intelligent woman, you can be incredibly dim.” With quicksilver movements that made Regan occasionally wonder if Tobi was more than just human, she grasped Regan’s arm and pushed her out the swinging doors. “Go talk to him.”

“But…”

“Go,” Tobi hissed, shoving her hard enough that she stumbled into the main room.

Intensely aware that a dozen customers had turned to look at her with raised brows, Regan had little choice but to smooth back the damp curls that had escaped her ponytail, and walk with as much dignity as possible toward the bar.

Keeping her pace measured, she wound her way through the wooden booths and small tables that glowed beneath the discreet lighting set in the open-beamed ceiling.

Once she reached the open space reserved for bar patrons, it was easy to spot the odd man out.

It wasn’t just his hand-tailored suit that fit his lean body like a glove, or the perfectly trimmed silver hair that framed his lined, still-handsome face. It was the way he held himself, and the cool arrogance with which he studied his surroundings.

He might as well have rich bastard stamped on his forehead.

Certainly not one of their usual fun-loving, free-spirited customers.

Angling so she would approach him from behind, Regan opened her senses and breathed in deeply. The stranger certainly smelled like a human. Not even a hint of demon blood. Odd considering most successful business owners were at least part imp.

Of course, that didn’t mean she was going to lower her guard.

“Mr. Rosewood?”

The older man turned smoothly, a charming smile already curving his lips. A smile that didn’t hide the shrewd intelligence in his dark eyes.

“Please, call me Charles.”

“Tobi said you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yes, Ms…?”

“Regan,” she said shortly, not bothering to hide her suspicion.

“Regan.” He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “A beautiful name for a beautiful young woman.”

Regan allowed his grip to linger before pulling her hand free.

Yep. Definitely human.

“How can I help you?”

He waved a manicured hand toward the etchings in the pub window. “You did those?”

“Yes. Tobi lets me sell them here on commission to make some extra cash. Is there a problem?”

“Quite the opposite. I find them enchanting.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was polite, guarded. “Were you interested in buying one of them?”

“Actually, I’m interested in selling them.”

“Selling?” She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“As I said, I find them enchanting, but more importantly, I’m certain my customers will find them enchanting.” Almost as if a switch had been thrown, his expression went from charming to astute. “How fast do you work?”

Regan blinked, sensing she was about to be hit by a steamroller.

“I can do one or two smaller sketches in a day. The larger ones take at least two days.”

“So…four smaller sketches and two large sketches in a week?”

“Something like that.”

“Good.” He regarded her steadily. “I want to buy them.”

“All of them?”

“All of them, every week. And I’m willing to pay top dollar for exclusive rights to your work. Shall we say—” He reached down to pluck his business card from her hand, and retrieving a pen from his pocket, he wrote on the back. Then with a faint smile he shoved it back into her hand. “How’s that as a starting figure?”

Steamroller, indeed.

No wonder the man owned half of Chicago. The poor imps didn’t have a chance.

Bemused by the man’s brisk, decisive manner, Regan glanced down at the card, her heart nearly halting at the figure he had scrawled on the card.

“Christ.”

“Here.” Reaching toward the bar, Charles poured a large shot of whiskey into a glass and handed it to her. “You look like you could use a drink.”

“Thanks.” She downed the whiskey in one fiery gulp. “It’s just a shock.”

“A good shock, I hope?” he murmured.

“Yes, I…” Abruptly, Regan was hit by the unwelcome reminder, that “if it seemed to good to be true…” motto. This sudden windfall seemed all too convenient. “Wait. You don’t happen to know Styx, do you?”

“Styx?” The man frowned in confusion. “As in the mythical river?”

“What about Jagr?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I’ve never heard of them. Are they local artists?”

She grimaced. His confusion seemed genuine enough.

“Never mind.”

His brows lifted at her odd behavior, but taking the empty glass from her hands and setting it on the bar, he determinedly pressed his advantage.

“So, Regan, will you meet at my office so we can make my offer official?”

“You’re serious?”

“When it comes to business, I’m always serious,” he assured her. “Call the number on the card and my secretary will make the arrangements.”

With a nod of his silver head, Charles turned and walked toward the pub door.

Regan watched his departure, clutching the business card as she tried to decide what she was feeling.

There was surprise, of course. She never dreamed her casual etchings could be worth a dime, let alone a small fortune. And maybe a bit of pride. Hell, she wasn’t above a few vices.

But shouldn’t there be more?

Satisfaction at the knowledge she would soon have financial security? Anticipation of planning her future? Overwhelming joy and fulfillment?

Obviously spying from the kitchen, Tobi was charging toward the bar before the door had closed behind Charles.

Skidding to a halt, she regarded Regan with an impatient expression.

“Well?”

Regan gave a bemused shake of her head. “He wants to buy my etchings.”

“Woo hoo!” Indifferent to the curious gazes she was attracting, Tobi grabbed Regan and gave her a rib-crushing hug. “I knew it. Haven’t I been telling you that you’re a fabo artist, and that you were bound to be discovered?”

Gently disentangling herself so she could suck air into her collapsed lungs, Regan pulled her lips into a stiff smile.

“I’m not sure peddling art to tourists is being discovered, but I’ll admit you’ve always had a lot more faith than I did.”

“Because I know talent when I see it.”

Regan’s smile became genuine as she reached out to ruffle Tobi’s pink spikes of hair.

“You’ve been such a good friend to me, Tobi. If you hadn’t let me…”

“Blah, blah, blah.” The woman waved her hands in dismissal, then her eyes abruptly widened. “You know, you should go out and celebrate. Drink some bubbly, eat some chocolate, find some yummy stud to spend the night giving you mind-blowing sex.” She grimaced, waving her hand toward the bar. “I’d join you, but Carly’s a no-show yet again, and I have to close.”

That’s exactly what she should do.

Go out. Maybe hit the bars. Find some adorable hunk to…

Her mind shut down.

It simply refused to go where adorable hunks might lurk, even if it was only in her fantasy.

She heaved a sigh. “Actually, I think I’ll just go home and savor my stroke of fortune.”

Tobi threw her hands in the air, her silver bracelets rattling.

“Jeez, what am I going to do with you? You’re beautiful, intelligent, and sexy as hell, and if I weren’t such a nice person I’d hate your guts, but you don’t have a damn clue about enjoying yourself.” She tilted her head, her smile disappearing as she studied Regan with an uncharacteristically serious expression. “That apartment might as well be a prison, Regan. Go out. Live. You can’t be a hermit forever.”

Prison…

Regan winched at the repulsive word.

Because it was true.

Oh, it was nothing like her time with Culligan.

She could come and go as she pleased. She could wear what she wanted, eat what she wanted, and make her own decisions.

She had her independence. A home, a job, the promise of all the money she could possibly need.

But where was the glorious freedom she’d been seeking?

She worked, she sketched, she slept.

Not precisely the full-throated, guns-blazing sort of existence she’d dreamed about all those years behind bars.

She’d exchanged one prison for another.

And why?

Because every moment of every day she missed Jagr. Hell, she even missed Darcy and the terrifying Styx.

Lifting her hands, she rubbed her aching temples.

For so many years, she fantasized about escaping Culligan and being her own master. It was the only thing that had kept her sane.

And she held on to those fantasies like a drowning woman held onto a lifeline.

Even when a genuine, unmistakable chance at happiness was dangled right before her eyes.

Holy shit.

She really was a schmuck.

“Regan? Is there something wrong?”

Regan was jerked out of her painful thoughts. With a blink she focused on Tobi, not surprised to discover her friend staring at her with a worried expression.

She’d been standing there like a mindless zombie.

“Actually, I’m great.” Impulsively she leaned forward to kiss Tobi’s cheek. “And you’re right. What my night needs is a yummy stud.”

Tobi lifted her brows. “You sound like you know where to find one.”

“Not exactly, but I know where to start the search.”

With a newfound, glorious sense of purpose, Regan squared her shoulders and headed directly toward the front entrance. In a distant part of her mind she heard Tobi call her name, but she never faltered as she stepped out the door and into the dark street.