With a smooth thrust, the dagger slid through the soft under skin of Culligan’s chin, moving through flesh to pierce his tongue to the roof of his mouth.
The shriek of agony was muffled, but no less sweet.
The land south and west of Hannibal smoothed from high bluffs to rolling fields and heavily wooded acres. Squatting down to study the narrow dirt path, Jagr could hear the rustle of raccoons and opossums, as well as native deer. Precisely the wild game that would attract a pack of hungry curs.
Too bad there wasn’t a hint of cur in the air. Not a scent, not a track, not even a stray hair.
There was a rustle beside him and the scent of midnight jasmine teased at his senses.
Regan.
His jaw clenched as his body painfully reacted to her proximity.
Gods, he thought his days of torture were behind him. He’d slaughtered his enemies and retreated to the barricaded safety of his lair. His life was supposed to be one of peace and quiet contemplation.
Yeah…right.
There was nothing peaceful in the way his body burned for a Were who couldn’t decide if she wanted to rip off his clothes or stick a stake in his heart. Or in the knowledge he was risking a death sentence by ignoring Styx’s order to return Regan to Chicago so the revenge-crazed woman could kill her enemy. Or even in having his hard-earned distrust for others slowly, relentlessly undermined.
It was no wonder he was in the mood to bite something.
Or, more particularly, someone.
Smoothly rising to his feet, Jagr turned his head to study the female at his side.
As if by magic, his fury and frustration eased to a rueful resignation.
Perhaps Regan had cast a spell upon him. Or perhaps the brutal barriers he’d built around himself were simply no match for the powerful attraction that roared through him.
Whatever the case, he knew he wasn’t nearly as desperate to return to the dark solitude of his lair as he should be.
Shuffling her feet, Regan at last cleared her throat. Since leaving the cave, she’d grimly refused to utter a word. No doubt assuming her silence was some sort of punishment.
He hated to tell her that before the days of technology, he’d gone decades without a sound to disturb his studies. Besides, he’d known her silence wouldn’t last. She was not the type of woman who could keep her emotions bottled inside.
She was more a spit-in-your-face, kick-your-ass type of gal.
Just the way he liked them.
“Well?” she demanded.
Jagr hid a smile at her sharp tone. “This is where I lost the imp’s trail. What of you?”
She glanced around the empty field, her brow furrowed. “It was around here. Maybe closer to those trees.”
“Then that’s where we’ll begin our search.”
Before he could take a step, Regan had stubbornly folded her arms over her chest.
“This would go faster if we split up.”
He lifted his brows at the suggestion. “So I can waste the rest of the night chasing you down? I don’t think so. You stay at my side.”
“Christ.” Her eyes shimmered in the moonlight, not the glow of a Were on the point of shifting, but one of a pissed-off woman. Just as dangerous. “Wasn’t it enough that I was imprisoned for the past thirty years? Do I have to go from one hell to another?”
His eyes narrowed. “My only purpose is to keep you safe, Regan, not to imprison you.”
“Well, it feels remarkably the same.”