Darkness Unleashed (Guardians of Eternity #5)(36)

“I don’t need a trap to kill a Were, king or not.”

Regan shivered, feeling as if she were standing in the middle of a brewing thunderstorm.

Not surprising.

Salvatore was throwing off the natural heat of a furious pureblood, while Jagr’s power was a frigid blast.

Just like a hot- and cold-weather front clashing together.

“Christ, I’m choking on the testosterone in here,” she muttered, shifting to stand between the two men. About as smart as stepping between a rabid wolf and feral tiger, but nothing would get done while the two played “who has the biggest balls” game. She regarded Salvatore with an annoyed glare. “You didn’t find the curs because they’re being concealed by a witch’s spell.”

“Have you actually seen any of them?” the Were demanded, his gaze tracking Jagr as the vamp pressed his large body against Regan’s back and wrapped a possessive arm about her waist.

Regan swallowed a sigh. It always looked so sexy in the movies to have two men snarling and snapping over a woman. Now she just wanted to punch them both in the nose.

“One attacked us last night,” she said.

Salvatore stiffened in surprise. “A moment.”

Turning toward the entrance of the cave, the Were gave a low whistle. Immediately, two curs entered the cave. One a huge, hulking cur with a shaved head and pit bull face. The other smaller, leaner with short blond hair and a startling intelligent expression.

In tandem they fell to their knees and pressed their foreheads to the hard ground.

“Yes, your majesty?” The bald-headed cur spoke for the groveling pair. “How may we serve?”

Regan gagged as she turned toward Salvatore. “Oh, you’ve got to be freaking kidding me. I thought Culligan was full of himself.”

A smile curved the Were’s lips. Smug bastard.

“Hess has lived among the hunting grounds north of here. It’s possible he will recognize your attacker if you can describe him.”

“I can do better than that if you have a pencil and paper,” she said.

Salvatore snapped his fingers. “Max, go back down to the Humvee and find what the lady needs.”

“Yes, sire.”

Jumping to his feet, the young man charged out of the cave at full speed. Regan shook her head.

“You really get off on the whole royalty thing, don’t you?”

“It’s good to be King.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

His smile softened to a wicked invitation. “But not as good as it is to be the King’s…”

Jagr tightened his arm around Regan’s waist, his power making the hair on the nape of her neck stand on end.

“Careful, dog,” he hissed.

“Feeling a little territorial, vamp?” Salvatore mocked.

“Regicidal.”

Chapter 9

A tense silence descended as the two predators huffed and puffed and did all the stupid things males did when they weren’t allowed to kill one another.

Regan rubbed her hands over her arms, shivering at the painful prickles that brushed over her skin. Holy crap. Things could go nuclear in a hurry, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

At last the gathering storm was broken by the return of Max, who had barely broken a sweat despite his swift run up and down the high bluff.

“Thank God,” Regan muttered, struggling free of Jagr’s arm to snatch the notebook and pencil from the cur.

Vividly aware of the tension sizzling between the males, Regan moved to perch on a flat rock. Christ, the air in the cave was so thick she could barely breathe. And it didn’t help that the two curs had moved to flank Salvatore as if preparing for a battle. Why didn’t they just wave a red flag in front of the ancient, lethal vampire?

Morons.

Clearing her mind, Regan forced herself to concentrate on the memory of the cur that had attacked them. What was the point in fretting over Jagr and Salvatore? If they wanted to rip each other apart, then so be it.

She wasn’t about to play Super Nanny.

Sliding the pencil across the paper, Regan lost herself in her sketch. She was no Picasso (well, who was?), but over the years she’d discovered the trick of capturing an image with the minimum of strokes.

She had completed the basic outline of the cur’s face and was working on the narrow goatee when she felt Jagr move to stand at her side, his power carefully muted.

“That’s perfect,” he murmured, a hint of surprise in his voice. “You have a true talent.”

Regan shrugged. “Not talent, just practice. There’s not a lot to do in a cramped cage besides watch TV, read, and sketch.” With a few more strokes of her pencil, Regan was satisfied and held out the notebook toward Salvatore. “Here.”

Salvatore moved forward with the hulking Hess at his side.

“Do you recognize him?” the Were demanded of his companion.

The cur snarled in recognition, his eyes glowing. “Duncan.”

Salvatore frowned. “What do you know of him?”

“He’s a disciple of Caine.”

Shock rippled over the Were’s handsome face. “Cristo.”

“Who’s this Caine?” Jagr demanded.

Salvatore snapped his teeth, his thoughts obviously distracted. “Internal Were business.”