The man stepped closer, as if hoping his potent heat would befuddle her mind. “It was a simple snatch and grab.”
She continued inching toward Jagr. Her heart twisted. Why wouldn’t he wake up? He would poof if he was dead, wouldn’t he?
“Hardly simple,” she accused. “Culligan didn’t go willingly.”
His lips curled into a snarl. “There might have been some blood involved.”
“Why take him at all?”
“Beyond the pleasure of listening to him squeal?” The cur chuckled. “We discovered that he’d held a fellow wolf captive. That can’t go unpunished.”
He was lying. Regan had never been so certain of anything in her life.
“Fantastic. Where the hell were you when I actually needed your help?” she mocked, still circling the dangerous cur.
Suddenly, she was close enough to sense Jagr’s power, though it was faint. Sheer relief crashed through her.
He was still alive.
She didn’t know why, but it felt as if a truck had abruptly been lifted from her chest.
Unaware of Regan’s distraction, the man smoothed a hand over the rippling muscles of his chest, his smile edged with a wicked smile.
“I’m here now. Ready and prepared to help with whatever you might need.”
Ick, ick, ick.
Regan didn’t feel any of the tingling excitement that she felt when Jagr regarded her with that heated awareness. All she felt was…revulsion.
Struggling to hide her less than flattering response, Regan was distracted as the witch grabbed the cur’s arm.
“What are you doing?” she hissed, her eyes wide with panic. “The vamp won’t be down forever. We have to go.”
Regan growled, itching to knock the woman to the ground and beat the crap out of her. The witch squeaked, but before Regan could get her hands on her, the cur was shoving the terrified woman behind his back.
“Not without my pretty little wolf.” He held out a slender hand. “Come with me, Regan. That’s the only way you’ll ever get your hands on Culligan.”
“Tell me where he is and I’ll join you later,” she countered.
“No deal. You either let me take you to him now, or you’ll never find him.”
She clenched her hands. “How do I…”
There was a rustle as Jagr stirred on the hard ground, clearly shaking off whatever spell had hit him.
“Shit.” Without warning, the cur reached out to grasp her arm, his charming expression hardening to one of ugly anger. “You just ran out of time, bitch. You’re coming with me.”
“Not in this lifetime,” Regan hissed, yanking her arm free and taking a swing at the arrogant cur.
The man ducked, his fist hitting her in the center of the stomach before she could react. Regan grunted as the air was knocked from her lungs, but rather than battling against the painful momentum, she allowed it to take her to the ground, falling next to Jagr’s legs.
She’d barely hit the dirt when the cur was on top of her, one fist catching her on the side of the head, the other grabbing her hair as he tried to yank her back on her feet.
Blinking back the wave of dizziness, Regan grimly reached out for Jagr’s leg. She’d been battered enough times not to be distracted by a bit of pain. Not even when her hair was being pulled out by the roots.
Hissing in fury, the cur wrapped his hand around Regan’s throat, squeezing her windpipe as he tried to force her to her feet. Regan gritted her teeth, aiming a kick at his knee as she ran her hand down Jagr’s leg to his boot.
The attacker howled in pain as her heel connected with his kneecap with a sickening crack, but his fingers only tightened on her throat.
Regan struggled to breathe, her fingers at last closing around the dagger Jagr had tucked into his boot. Jerking it from the hidden sheath, she slashed at the arm holding her captive.
The silver blade slid easily through flesh and muscle, scraping against the bone as the cur abruptly leaped backward, loosening his crushing grip on her throat.
Holding his arm, the man glared at her
She continued inching toward Jagr. Her heart twisted. Why wouldn’t he wake up? He would poof if he was dead, wouldn’t he?
“Hardly simple,” she accused. “Culligan didn’t go willingly.”
His lips curled into a snarl. “There might have been some blood involved.”
“Why take him at all?”
“Beyond the pleasure of listening to him squeal?” The cur chuckled. “We discovered that he’d held a fellow wolf captive. That can’t go unpunished.”
He was lying. Regan had never been so certain of anything in her life.
“Fantastic. Where the hell were you when I actually needed your help?” she mocked, still circling the dangerous cur.
Suddenly, she was close enough to sense Jagr’s power, though it was faint. Sheer relief crashed through her.
He was still alive.
She didn’t know why, but it felt as if a truck had abruptly been lifted from her chest.
Unaware of Regan’s distraction, the man smoothed a hand over the rippling muscles of his chest, his smile edged with a wicked smile.
“I’m here now. Ready and prepared to help with whatever you might need.”
Ick, ick, ick.
Regan didn’t feel any of the tingling excitement that she felt when Jagr regarded her with that heated awareness. All she felt was…revulsion.
Struggling to hide her less than flattering response, Regan was distracted as the witch grabbed the cur’s arm.
“What are you doing?” she hissed, her eyes wide with panic. “The vamp won’t be down forever. We have to go.”
Regan growled, itching to knock the woman to the ground and beat the crap out of her. The witch squeaked, but before Regan could get her hands on her, the cur was shoving the terrified woman behind his back.
“Not without my pretty little wolf.” He held out a slender hand. “Come with me, Regan. That’s the only way you’ll ever get your hands on Culligan.”
“Tell me where he is and I’ll join you later,” she countered.
“No deal. You either let me take you to him now, or you’ll never find him.”
She clenched her hands. “How do I…”
There was a rustle as Jagr stirred on the hard ground, clearly shaking off whatever spell had hit him.
“Shit.” Without warning, the cur reached out to grasp her arm, his charming expression hardening to one of ugly anger. “You just ran out of time, bitch. You’re coming with me.”
“Not in this lifetime,” Regan hissed, yanking her arm free and taking a swing at the arrogant cur.
The man ducked, his fist hitting her in the center of the stomach before she could react. Regan grunted as the air was knocked from her lungs, but rather than battling against the painful momentum, she allowed it to take her to the ground, falling next to Jagr’s legs.
She’d barely hit the dirt when the cur was on top of her, one fist catching her on the side of the head, the other grabbing her hair as he tried to yank her back on her feet.
Blinking back the wave of dizziness, Regan grimly reached out for Jagr’s leg. She’d been battered enough times not to be distracted by a bit of pain. Not even when her hair was being pulled out by the roots.
Hissing in fury, the cur wrapped his hand around Regan’s throat, squeezing her windpipe as he tried to force her to her feet. Regan gritted her teeth, aiming a kick at his knee as she ran her hand down Jagr’s leg to his boot.
The attacker howled in pain as her heel connected with his kneecap with a sickening crack, but his fingers only tightened on her throat.
Regan struggled to breathe, her fingers at last closing around the dagger Jagr had tucked into his boot. Jerking it from the hidden sheath, she slashed at the arm holding her captive.
The silver blade slid easily through flesh and muscle, scraping against the bone as the cur abruptly leaped backward, loosening his crushing grip on her throat.
Holding his arm, the man glared at her
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