His gaze drifted down to her small, perfectly rounded br**sts. “Which are you offering?”
She took a hasty step back. “None of the above.”
“A pity.” He lifted his gaze. “Then it would seem that I am staying. Tell me of the imp.”
“What?”
“I said, tell-me-of-the-imp.”
Her eyes narrowed at his slow, deliberate words.
“Why?”
“You obviously won’t leave until he’s dead, so I intend to put an end to this farce so I can return to the peace of my lair.”
“No.” She planted her hands on her hips. “No one kills Culligan except me.”
He arched a brow. “You expect him to stroll into your hotel room so you can beat him to death with a pillow?”
“I intend to rip out his throat with my bare hands.”
“What are you waiting for?”
Her lips thinned. “I lost the scent of the damned bastard at the edge of Hannibal.” There was a beat, then without warning, she stepped forward to grasp his arm. “Wait. You said you tracked Culligan to find me. Where is he?”
Jagr’s expression never altered, but his entire body tensed as a scalding heat rushed through him at her urgent touch.
Regan wasn’t the first woman he’d desired. Far from it. But never had his need been so ruthless, so raw, so primitive.
“So now you want my help?” he demanded, his voice as cool and controlled as ever. It was the ability to keep his emotions hidden that had allowed him to survive centuries of torture.
“If it leads me to Culligan.” Her fingers tightened, revealing she possessed all the strength of a pureblood. “Do you know where he is hiding, or not?”
“No.”
“But…”
“Like you, I lost his trail at the edge of town. That’s where I picked up your scent.”
“Damn.” She dropped her hand and stepped back. Jagr swallowed his low growl of disappointment. “How could his trail just disappear?”
“Most imps can create portals to move through long distances.”
“Not Culligan.” Her lips twisted with a grim satisfaction. “He’s a weak, pathetic bully who can barely cast a hex.”
Jagr shrugged. “Then he could be dead, although it’s far more likely he had assistance in covering his presence.”
He watched the frustration ripple over Regan’s delicate features. They weren’t an exact replica of Darcy’s. Her eyes were a darker emerald, her brows more gold than blond, and her expression was hardened by years of abuse. But overall, she shared Darcy’s fragile, heartrending beauty.
The sort of fragility that made even a scarred recluse want to toss her over his shoulder and take her somewhere he could keep her safe.
Unaware of his shocking thoughts, Regan furrowed her brow. “How would he cover his presence? A witch?”
“A witch would have the power. But, of course, so would any number of demons.”
“Great.” The green eyes flashed with irritation. “You’re a butt-load of help. So glad you showed up.”
“It was because the imp’s trail ended that I asked you to tell me of him. I need to know more before I can decide how best to lure him from the shadows.” He lifted his brows as she regarded him with a stubborn expression. “Regan?”