“Who the hell are you?”
“A masterpiece of misery,” Jagr muttered, echoing her earlier words.
Shockingly, the creature blew a raspberry toward the vampire who could squash him without a thought.
“I am the demon who is about to save you and your Gothic friend’s ass,” he announced grandly. “Just lay there and bleed, Jagr, while I work my mojo.”
Regan watched Jagr’s eyes snap open with genuine horror, his hand reaching out to weakly grab at the creature. The tiny beast was too quick, and with a flick of his tail, he was hurrying to scramble onto the window ledge, his tiny arms outstretched.
“No.” Jagr moaned, and then without warning, his arm snaked around her waist and she found herself yanked down beside him. “Stay down.”
“What?” Regan glared at the vampire. “Dammit, Jagr, you’re hurt…” Her lecture was once again interrupted as a brilliant flash of light filled the room, swiftly followed by a deafening boom. “Christ,” she breathed, wondering if the Air Force had arrived and decided Hannibal needed bombing. “What the hell was that?”
She heard the patter of footsteps, and the gray creature returned to stand beside them.
“That was salvation, ma petite,” he assured her, leaning over Jagr. “How bad is it, vampire?”
Jagr reached up to grab the beast’s arm. “Did you kill them?”
“They’re most certainly toasty, if not dead. They will not be troubling us for a while.”
A hint of relief touched Jagr’s tight features. “Did you see them?”
The creature gave a flap of his wings. “No, but I smelled them. Yuck.”
“Tell me.”
“Cur.”
Jagr frowned. “Cur, not Were?”
“Has your brain dribbled away with your blood, mon ami? I am a gargoyle with exquisite skills. I know the difference between a Were and a cur.”
“Why the hell would a cur be shooting at us?” Jagr muttered.
“The better question is: who wouldn’t want to shoot you?”
Regan barely noted the sharp exchange, regarding the stranger with a disbelieving frown.
“You’re really a…gargoyle?”
The gargoyle performed a small bow, his wings fluttering to create a dazzling rainbow of red and blue and gold.
“Levet, at your service, my beauty. I was sent by your sister to escort you to Chicago.”
Regan struggled to a sitting position. “Jesus, was there anyone in Chicago she didn’t send?”
Levet shrugged. “She’s concerned for you.”
Before Regan could respond, Jagr hissed with impatience. “We can discuss Darcy and her evil sense of humor later. For now we must concentrate on leaving this hotel before the humans call the police.”
Levet snorted. “While I would be perfectly content to sign off on your death warrant, Jagr, there’s the teeniest tiniest chance I might need you to help keep Regan safe. You can’t be moved in your condition.”
“Blood…” Jagr rasped.
Levet held up his hands and stepped hastily back. “Sorry, fresh out.”
Jagr’s eyes fluttered shut, as if he were on the verge of losing consciousness.