Snatching the bags, Regan backed toward the open door across the room.
“I’ve got it, thanks.”
Her tone was sharp, but Jagr didn’t miss the darkening of her eyes or the rapid beat of her pulse. He pushed from the door, the flames licking through his blood.
“My assistance would save time. I could scrub your back.” His gaze swept down the delicate curves. “Or your front, if you prefer.”
“Not even in your dreams, Jagr.”
Oh, she was definitely going to be in his dreams. The only question was for how many nights.
Or centuries.
“You did say you were in a hurry to get on the trail of Culligan.”
“Ha. Do I look stupid?”
The sweet, enticing scent of her arousal perfumed the air, but Jagr didn’t miss the hint of panic that flared through her emerald eyes. She desired him, but she feared that desire as much as she feared any emotion that wasn’t hate or revenge.
Damn. He moved forward, forcing himself to halt when a tremor shook through her body. She was going to bolt. He sensed it as clearly as if she’d tattooed it across her forehead.
“You look like a woman who has been knocked around enough to assume everyone is your enemy.” His voice was deliberately cool, his hunger firmly leashed. “I will not hurt you.”
She swallowed heavily, then predictably channeled her unease into anger.
“Because precious Darcy would be mad?” she sneered.
“Because I understand.”
“Yeah, right. Just keep watch, Hulkster,” she growled, her wolf prowling beneath her skin. “And don’t you dare come anywhere near this door.”
The door in question was slammed with enough force to split one of the wooden panels. Jagr remained in the center of the room, pretending that the image of Regan stripping off her clothes and stepping beneath the pelting water wasn’t searing through his brain. Then, confident she was actually taking the opportunity to bathe, he slowly backed out of the room and made a swift sweep of the neighborhood to make sure they hadn’t been followed.
Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he slipped to the back of the building and pressed himself against the worn bricks.
Nearly half an hour passed when the window next to him was shoved open, and a number of large bags were tossed onto the pavement. His lips twitched at the realization that Regan couldn’t leave behind her new clothes, even in her desperation to escape him.
Scooping the bags beneath one arm, Jagr straightened and turned, waiting for Regan to swing her legs (attired in a new pair of jeans), through the window. With a motion so fast not even a Were could follow, he scooped her off the ledge.
“The window, Regan?” he mocked softly. “You disappoint me. I thought you would be more creative.”
Regan gave a squeak and then a shriek as he easily tossed her over his shoulder and headed swiftly back toward the cave.
“Jackass.” Her fist slammed into his back with jarring force, reminding him that she was all pureblood, despite her inability to shift. “Put me down.”
“No.”
“Dammit, you’re wasting my time with these stupid vampire games.”
Moving with a speed that would defy human eyes, Jagr rapidly neared their temporary lair. He’d been a fool to believe that giving into her demands for clean clothing and a shower would ease her distrust.
He was still one of the bad guys.
She was determined to play the Lone Ranger (sans Tonto). And now he was once again forced to hold her close enough to torment him with the scent of her freshly scrubbed skin and hot blood.
His arms tightened around her legs as she continued to struggle. “This is no game, little one. I was commanded by my Anasso to bring you to Chicago, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.”
“I thought my sister was the one who sent you?”