Sensing Jagr move to walk by her side, Regan gave herself a mental shake and squared her shoulders. Time to start acting like a mature pureblood.
Whatever the hell that meant.
“Where did you go?” she demanded.
His cool glance slashed in her direction. “I disposed of the bodies.”
“Oh.”
“Levet was right,” he continued smoothly. “They were curs. Three of them. Two were caught in Levet’s blast and one managed to escape.”
Her steps faltered. “Why aren’t we following his trail? Culligan might have sent him.”
“I followed the trail. It disappeared four blocks north of here.”
“Just like Culligan’s.”
“Yes.” The frosty blue gaze swept over her face. “Did the imp have a lot of contact with the curs during your imprisonment?”
“On occasion.” Regan grimaced. “No more than any other of the lowlife demons we encountered during our travels.”
“Travels?”
“Culligan never remained in one place more than a few nights. We crisscrossed the country a hundred times.”
“What about Hannibal? Did you 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.