“Of course. We’re in Hannibal.”
Salvatore curled his lips at the smug response. Cristo. He hated vampires.
“And?”
“And I want to know why your curs tried to kill us.”
“Curs.” With quick strides, Salvatore was standing beside the heavy desk across the room, clicking through the files on his laptop. “There is no Were pack near Hannibal.”
“Then you have some strays taking potshots at the tourists.”
Salvatore clenched his fist, his eyes glowing with fury. As King of the Weres, he kept his rules simple. Obey or die. No room for confusion.
“A problem easily corrected. I will be there tomorrow night.”
“Once we locate them, I need at least one left alive to question.”
Salvatore clenched his teeth at the cool command. One day soon…
“I make no guarantees.”
With a flick of his wrist, he snapped shut the phone and headed toward the door.
“Aren’t you coming back to bed?” Jenna whined.
Salvatore didn’t bother to glance in her direction. “Get your clothes on, and get out.” Reaching the door, he jerked it open to gesture toward the massive, shaven-headed cur that stood guard in the hallway. “Hess.”
Dropping to his knees, the cur pressed his forehead to the crimson carpet in proper deference. “Yes, sire?”
“We have a problem in Hannibal. I want you to gather up three of our best soldiers, and pack the Humvee with enough arsenal to clean out a pack of rogue curs. We leave after my lunch with the mayor.”
Chapter 5
Regan watched as Jagr slipped the cell phone into the pocket of his jeans. Jeans that hung low on his h*ps and clung to his powerful legs with yummy determination…
Crap.
Tilting her chin, Regan tried to ignore the constant awareness that buzzed through her like an electric shock. Okay, the damned vamp was the most beautiful creature she’d ever seen. And he oozed sex from the top of his golden head to the tips of his shit-kicker boots. And his kisses were making her so randy she thought she might scream if she didn’t have relief soon.
But he was still the most obnoxious, arrogant, unpredictable, pig-headed brute it was ever her misfortune to encounter.
“If you intended to call Salvatore, then why did you send Levet to look for the curs?” she demanded, her voice sharp with…hell, she’d might as well admit it, if only to herself. Sharp with frustration.
He shrugged. “Salvatore has no greater ability to sense magic than I do. A gargoyle is a creature of magic. There’s no spell, no matter how powerful the demon or witch, that he won’t be able to track.”
“Well, I’m not just waiting in this cave for Levet to return.” She folded her arms over her chest, ready (no, aching) for a fight. “As you pointed out, we don’t even know if Culligan is with the curs.”
He flicked a golden brow upward, tossing her bags of clothing into a far corner. Clothes he’d bought for her just because he knew she wanted them. Her frustration became downright painful. Damn the vampire.
“And what is your plan?” he mocked. “To roam the streets, and hope you stumble over the imp?”
“Do you have a better idea, chief?”
“Yes. I think we should find the RV. The curs might be capable of hiding an imp, but they wouldn’t expend the magic to hide his vehicle.”
She snorted. “What does it matter if he isn’t in it?”
“Culligan was no doubt in a hurry to disappear. He might have left something behind that will reveal why he chose Hannibal.”