Regan stilled in shock. “How do you know my name?”
There was a prickle of power, and suddenly the lamp beside the bed flared with light.
“I was sent by Darcy to bring you to Chicago.”
Regan barely heard the low, slightly raspy words. Holy…crap.
She was a woman who’d spent her life surrounded by demons, many who could make GQ models weep with envy, but none could compare to the vampire currently lodged on top of her.
A delicious, heart-stopping, edible hunk of eye candy.
His body was hard and chiseled with more muscles than any man had a right to possess. His long hair, two shades a paler gold than hers, was pulled into a tight braid, emphasizing the ice-blue eyes. His features appeared to be carved from the finest marble, the lines and angles so perfect they could only have been formed by the hand of a master. His nose was aquiline, his cheekbones angular beneath the smooth ivory skin, his brow wide, and his lips…they were hard, but precisely chiseled. The sort of lips that made a woman wonder what they would feel like exploring hot, intimate places.
A shocking heat clenched her lower muscles, infuriating Regan. Christ, the demon was here at the bidding of her interfering sister, not to offer relief to a lonely, sex-starved Were.
Not that she would spread her legs, even if this was just a random encounter, she sternly told herself. Okay, he was hot enough to make her bones melt, and the scent of raw male power was making her head dizzy, but…
Stop it, you idiot. This wasn’t a man. He was a lethal vampire who could drain her dry in a heartbeat.
“Darcy sent you?” she snapped.
The frozen blue eyes narrowed, his nose flaring as if catching scent of her stupid awareness. Which was ridiculous. Wasn’t it?
“Yes.”
“Well, who died and made her queen?” she mocked.
“The Anasso.”
Regan blinked in confusion. “What?”
His gaze briefly swept over her pale face before lifting to clash with her uneasy glare.
“You asked who died to make Darcy queen,” he retorted. “Her mate Styx killed the previous King of Vampires, which made him the current leader, and your sister queen.”
Well, of course she was a freaking queen.
She’d never met Darcy, or any of her three sisters for that matter, but she’d learned from Salvatore that Darcy was currently mated to a vampire who not only adored her, but had just purchased a flipping mansion on the outskirts of Chicago for her. No doubt she was also drenched in diamonds, and attended the opera on a regular basis.
Not that Regan wanted all that froufrou crap. She’d rather be stabbed in the eye than put on a dress. Still, her sister’s cushy lifestyle was a thorn in Regan’s side.
Her family had abandoned her to the hands of a psychotic imp who had relentlessly abused her for thirty years. As far as she was concerned, the entire bunch of them could go screw themselves.
“Awesome, my sister is married to a genocidal maniac,” she drawled. “And people wonder why I’m not leaping at the chance to get to know my family.”
“Styx is no more genocidal than any other vampire. Or Were, for that matter.”
She snorted at the flat, emotionless tone. “Are you trying to reassure me? If so, you suck at it.”
“My only duty is to escort you to Chicago.”
“Duty?”
“Yes.”
Freaking perfect. This gorgeous hunk of man was nothing more than a flunky for her sister.
She pressed her hands against the unyielding wall of his chest. “Well, consider yourself officially off duty, because I have no intention of going.”