No way in hell.
“Levet.” With a narrowed gaze, he motioned toward the wary gargoyle. “I have a little task for you.”
“Crap.”
Regan wasn’t certain how long she waged her battle with the clinging darkness. The thick shroud was nothing if not tenacious. But then again, so was she. (Some, especially a gorgeous Visigoth chief, might even claim she was stubborn as hell.)
Refusing to admit defeat, she shredded through the unconsciousness that held her captive, her senses slowly tingling back to life, though her lids remained too heavy to lift.
She was lying on a hard dirt floor. The cave, no doubt. She could smell cool, damp air and only a trace of gargoyle, as if Levet were no longer near. And overall, the cool, exotic scent of power that could only belong to Jagr.
He was near. Keeping watch over her.
Warmth flowed through her, banishing the lingering pain and bringing an odd sense of peace.
Peace?
From an arrogant vampire who thought he could put a leash on her?
Christ, she was mental.
Wrenching her eyes open, Regan glanced around the torch-lit chamber, assuring herself that she was safely tucked in the cave and not in the hands of the curs. Or worse, back in that damned silver cage.
Always assuming that the hideous thing survived the fire.
Confident she was in no immediate danger, Regan pushed herself to her feet, relieved when she didn’t fall flat on her face. Or even stumble—much.
Running her fingers through her hair, she glanced around the deepening shadows. The cool wash of power that charged the air assured her that Jagr was near, but his considerable bulk was nowhere to be seen.
So either he’d used his vampire tricks to wrap himself in darkness, or he was in one of the attached caverns.
She briefly hesitated.
Pride told her that there was nothing keeping her in the cave. She could walk out the front entrance and continue her search for Culligan. Or if she were truly smart, she could hop on the nearest bus and simply disappear.
No imps, no Weres, no annoyingly gorgeous vampires…
Pride, however, wasn’t in control of her feet. Instead of leading her out of the cave, they headed toward the openings at the back.
Ducking her head to avoid the low archway, she slipped into the cramped space that offered a natural cistern. As she straightened, she was prepared to find Jagr. His power was tangible this close. What she hadn’t expected was to find him stark na**d as he rose from the shallow water, tossing his wet hair over his massive shoulders.
The world stopped.
Or at least the little corner where Regan was standing.
Christ. She’d already accepted he was a magnificent specimen. The glorious mane of golden hair. The proud, masculine beauty of features. The relentless intelligence in the ice-blue eyes.
But stripped of his clothing, he was…holy moly.
Raw power molded into thick muscles and sinew were the only words that came to mind. Enough to halt the heart of any woman.
Briefly lost in the sheer perfection of his body, it took a moment before Regan’s avid gaze focused enough to realize that the smooth beauty of his ivory skin had been cruelly marred by a series of crisscrossing scars that ran from his chest to his groin.
Shocked as much by the pain that savaged her heart as by the sight of his gruesome injuries, Regan slowly lifted her eyes, clashing with the ice-blue gaze.
As always, his expression was impossible to read, but Regan wasn’t stupid. Jagr would have sensed the moment she awakened. Which meant he could easily have covered himself before she stumbled across him.
Vampires weren’t modest, but they abhorred any deformity. The scars would be a source of humiliation for such a demon.