Darkness Unleashed (Guardians of Eternity #5)(52)

“You’re frighteningly quiet. Are you plotting general mayhem, or just my own demise?”

“I’m enjoying the scenery.”

His gaze lingered on the fields that would eventually be planted with corn and soy beans and the occasional patch of sorghum. The recently tilled fields were no doubt a lovely sight for the local farmers, but hardly one of the Seven Wonders of the World.

“The scenery?”

Her lips curved into a wistful smile. “Culligan used to drive through the back roads when we traveled from town to town. I always envied the humans tucked safely in their beds with no idea of the monsters lurking in the dark.”

Jagr grimaced. He didn’t have a memory of his time as a human, but the rumors of his brutal rampages were legendary. There hadn’t been many tears shed when he’d mysteriously disappeared.

“Humans are not without their own share of monsters.”

“Maybe not, but the countryside always seems so peaceful. Especially at night.”

“Obviously you haven’t read In Cold Blood.”

She rolled her eyes. “Spoken like a true city vamp.”

“I haven’t always lived in cities, you know,” he drawled. “I’ve spent centuries hidden in lairs so remote I had to travel hours to feed.”

“Centuries of solitude?” She sucked in a deep breath. “It sounds like heaven.”

“At times.” He slowed the truck as he turned to study the smooth perfection of her profile. “There are also times when it’s lonely and tedious and frightening.”

She turned to catch his intense gaze. “Frightening?”

“Without a connection to the world, it becomes far too easy to question the purpose in continuing to exist.”

Even in the darkness he had no trouble seeing the shock, and something that might have been horror, that rippled over her face.

“Did you…?”

“If I hadn’t discovered a passion for my research, I would not have struggled against the lure of ending it all,” he readily confessed. “It’s a temptation that all immortals must battle.”

Without warning, she shivered, wrapping her arms around her waist as if warding off a sudden chill.

“You’d better not do anything so stupid while I’m around, chief,” she muttered. “I intend to be the only tragedy to befall you.”

A stab of satisfaction rushed through him at her unmistakable distress. She didn’t like the thought he had very nearly put an end to his empty existence.

“Don’t worry, little one, you won’t get rid of me that easily.”

She deliberately turned her head to stare out the window, pretending an interest in clumps of houses and car lots and gas stations that replaced the fields as they skirted the edge of town. Jagr allowed her to wrestle with her emotions in silence, forcing himself to concentrate on where he’d seen the sign for the tea shop.

Crawling through the sleeping residential streets, he nearly missed the refurbished three-storied house that was set behind two towering oaks.

“This is it,” he said, abruptly pulling the truck to a halt on the opposite side of the street. It was nearly two in the morning and, in the finer neighborhoods of Hannibal, the citizens were safely tucked in their beds.

Leaning forward, Regan studied the pretty white structure with pink trim, and all those curly doodads that Victorians were addicted to.

“No.” She shook her head. “This can’t be right.”

He deliberately glanced at the gold letters painted in the bay window. “It claims to be the Clemons Tea Shop. Do you think there’s more than one?”

“It’s way too upscale for any of Culligan’s friends,” she muttered. “He hangs around with bottom-feeders like himself.”

“Fine. We can return to the lair, and…”

He hid his smile as she hastily shoved open her door and jumped out of the truck.

“We might as well have a look while we’re here.”

He caught up with her as she vaulted over the white picket fence, his senses assuring him that there was nothing in the house but a prowling cat. Of course, his senses were worthless when it came to the curs and their damned witch, he reminded himself, tugging the handgun from his waistband as they rounded the house and entered the tiny rose garden at the back.

Reaching the edge of the patio dotted with tables, they both came to a sharp halt.

“Do you smell that?” Regan demanded, her eyes glittering at the distinct scent of peach that had nothing to do with the tarts or scones served from the nearby kitchen.

Jagr nodded. It wasn’t the distinct plum scent of Culligan, but definitely fey.

“Imp. And male.” His fingers tightened on the handle of the gun. “Do you recognize the scent?”

“No.” She sucked in a deep breath, using her Were senses to test the air. “I don’t think Culligan was ever in contact with the imp while he held me captive.”

“So why would this mysterious imp contact him with an invitation to meet in Hannibal?”

Her gaze widened. “A trap?”

It had been Jagr’s first thought as well. “An imp would sell his own mother if he could get a profit.”

Her lips curled in anticipation. “I think I’d like to meet this imp.”