Darkness Unleashed (Guardians of Eternity #5)(69)

Memories of the endless years of torture seared through his mind, clenching his muscles until he was curled into a shuddering ball in the corner.

At last, not even the image of his beautiful Regan could hold back the hovering insanity.

In desperation, Jagr sank into the deep, death-like sleep only a vampire could achieve.

The comatose state left him vulnerable to attack, but it conserved his strength and, more importantly, it muted the black rage that threatened to consume him.

He was unaware of the passing hours. At least he was unaware until the soothing blackness was stirred by the sound of approaching footsteps outside his cell.

Slowly he allowed his consciousness to rise back to the surface, careful to keep his body perfectly still. At a glance he would look like a corpse, no heartbeat, no pulse, not even a breath. It was an ability that had served vampires well over the years.

Who would fear a dead man?

There was a scraping at the door, almost as if whoever was on the other side was unfamiliar with the lock. At last, there was a distinctive click and the door slid open.

Jagr’s fangs lengthened as the footsteps edged toward his seemingly unconscious form.

His first thought was that there was no scent. An impossibility without the assistance of a witch. His second thought was that the intruder hadn’t bothered to close and lock the door.

Freedom.

With grim effort, he leashed his brutal surge of hope.

There would be no escape until he’d dealt with the enemy who was stalking slowly toward him.

With his eyes closed and the creature’s scent masked, Jagr silently measured the sound of the footsteps.

Closer, closer, closer…

There was a stir of air as the intruder knelt beside him, clearly believing he was dead, or at least incapacitated.

It would be the last mistake the fool ever made.

Preparing to attack, Jagr allowed the bloodlust he’d so desperately tried to keep at bay to flow freely through his body. With his strength muted by the damned hexes, he needed the fury to fuel his powers.

“Jagr.”

The soft voice cut through the silence, but Jagr was past hearing. His only thought was to kill the enemy so he could reach the door and escape.

With a movement too swift for even the most skilled demon to avoid, Jagr shot his arm upward, grasping his enemy around the throat.

There was a gurgling moan as he wrenched his eyes open, staring at the pale, beautiful face poised above him.

Something flickered in the back of his mind. Some strange alarm that clamored for attention, but the bloodlust made his gaze flicker with a haze of red, obscuring the delicate features and drowning out the distress that clutched at his heart.

Kill.

He had to kill to be free.

With a low roar, he surged to his feet, still holding his prey by the neck. It was surprisingly slender. As easy to snap as a twig.

“Jagr,” a voice rasped. “It’s Regan.”

Regan.

The bloodlust faltered.

That name…

With a rough motion, he jerked the squirming captive closer, burrowing his head into the curve of her neck. Nothing. No scent. No explanation for why he was halting his killing blow.

“Jagr…please,” the voice pleaded, a hand touching his face in with a soft, familiar touch.

Jagr shook his head, dropping the creature as he struggled to clear his mind.

Instinct howled for blood, but a more powerful force refused to give into the screaming need.

He knew this woman, a voice whispered in the back of his fogged mind. She was…

His.

His to protect.

Shuddering against the fierce desire to attack, Jagr wrapped his arms around himself. Shit. He truly was going mad.

“Jagr?” The woman painfully struggled to her feet, either too courageous, or too stubborn, to remain down. “Are you hurt?”

“Stay back,” he growled in warning.

“What’s wrong?”

“I…” He gave another shake of his head. “Why can I not smell you?”

Beautiful green eyes widened, then with a jerky rush she reached into the pocket of her too-tight jeans to reveal a small amulet. She licked her lips as he tracked her every movement, his fangs exposed and his eyes no doubt glowing with hunger. He didn’t need to smell her fear to recognize it.

Careful to keep her motion slow and unthreatening, the female tossed the amulet toward the open door.

Immediately the sweet scent of midnight jasmine filled the cell, threading its way through the crimson veil of his bloodlust.

Drinking in the heady aroma, Jagr felt a stirring of excitement deep in the pit of his stomach.

“That scent,” he breathed. “I’ve smelled it before.”

“Yes.” With a frown she stepped forward, as if to touch him.

Jagr took a hasty step back, knowing that he was far from stable. Just as he knew that something would break inside him if he accidentally injured the woman.

“Do not.”

As if sensing the danger throbbing in the air, the female stood perfectly still, her expression troubled.

“I’m here to help you,” she said softly. “But we don’t have much time. I managed to slip past the curs on guard, but without the amulet they’ll soon catch my scent and come to investigate.”

Jagr growled, his fangs aching. Curs. Yes. He’d always hated the bastards.