“Someone’s approaching,” he whispered close to her ear. She tugged his hand from her mouth, but was careful to keep her voice soft.
“Culligan?”
“I can’t tell. They must be cloaked by a spell to cover their scent.”
On the point of turning the hunter into his personal prey, Jagr stiffened. He had less than a beat to catch the scent of smoke before a bottle crashed through the window of the RV and exploded in flames. Instinctively, Jagr backed away. Fire was one enemy a vampire couldn’t battle.
“Time for you to go, Regan.” He shoved her toward the flames that were spreading with lethal speed. “Run.”
Digging in her heels she whirled to glare at him. “Are you mental?”
“The fire isn’t magical, you’ll heal from the burns,” he rasped, his body quivering with the need to rush her to safety.
“Yeah, only to be killed by the freaking King of Vamps when he discovers I bolted like a wuss and left his favorite pet to become toast.”
“Styx would never harm you, and I am not the Anasso’s favorite anything, let alone his pet. Now get the hell out of here.”
The smoke thickened, the heat already bringing beads of sweat to Regan’s face, but the woman stubbornly refused to flee.
“Forget it, chief. It’s not happening.”
“Damn.”
Muttering ancient curses and more than a few derogatory comments on the brains of Weres in general, and one in particular, Jagr wrapped his arms around his personal thorn in his side, and with one mighty surge smashed through the side of the RV.
Chapter 7
Even buffered by Jagr’s huge body, Regan’s breath was wrenched from her lungs as they crashed through the side of the motor home and landed on the pathway with a hard jolt.
Before she’d managed to suck in the much needed air, Jagr had jerked her to her feet and turned to face the two attackers that appeared frozen in horror by their abrupt appearance.
There was a slender human woman with a mop of blond curls and innocuous blue eyes, as well as a tall, leanly handsome man that Regan instantly recognized as a cur, with dark hair and a goatee that somehow seemed perfect for his wicked features.
Regan had barely regained her balance when a cold blast of power filled the air, and Jagr had launched himself into battle.
The female screamed in terror, but rather than fleeing as any intelligent creature should have done, she threw out her hands, as if trying to shoo away the massive predator. Regan might have found it funny if there wasn’t a brilliant flash of light that smacked Jagr in the center of his chest, sending him flying backwards.
Witch.
Regan rushed toward the vampire, who was sprawled on the hard ground, the front of his sweater charred and still smoking. Damn the witch to hell. No one was allowed to harm Jagr.
No one but her.
She was less than a half step away from the injured vampire when the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.
Allowing instinct to guide her, Regan crouched low as she whirled around, her leg striking out to trip the attacking cur.
Her dip allowed her to avoid a painful blow to her jaw as the attacker’s fist swung over the top of her head, but he managed to leap over her kicking leg, his eyes glowing with the eerie light of a wolf. Spinning to face her, the cur held up his hands in a gesture of peace.
“Easy, luv,” he soothed, his voice hinting at Irish origins. “I have no wish to hurt you.”
Regan gritted her teeth, too furious to be properly terrified.
“Yeah, right.” Her sharp laugh echoed through the trees. “I suppose you also have a bridge you’re trying to unload?”
His lips curved in a well rehearsed smile. “I swear on my sweet mother’s grave that I’ve been ordered to bring you alive.”
“Bring me where?”