Darkness Unleashed (Guardians of Eternity #5)(85)

Jagr frowned, but Styx seemed to find the jab amusing. “Believe me, it was a hard-earned talent,” he admitted with a low chuckle.

Jagr’s frown deepened as he glared at his king. Traitor.

“Do you intend to return to Chicago?”

Styx briefly closed his eyes, testing the air. “It is too late to make the journey tonight,” he concluded, opening his eyes. “And I would prefer to clean up any loose ends before leaving.”

Jagr gave a dip of his head. “Speaking of loose ends, I have an imp to track down.”

“The dawn is only two hours away,” Styx warned.

Jagr patted one of the numerous daggers strapped to his body. “This won’t take long.”

“I will join you.” Styx took a step forward. “Once the imp is dead, we can search the cabin that Regan found. It could be the remaining curs have returned there.”

“Which means you’ll need me if you want to find the place,” Regan said, a smug smile curving her lips.

“There’s no need. We can follow your trail,” Jagr said, unable to halt the futile words even as Regan was sticking a finger in his face.

“Don’t even start. I’m coming.”

The two stood there, glaring at one another, until Styx moved forward to slap Jagr on the back.

“I would suggest you let it go, old friend,” Styx warned, leaving the room.

Jagr didn’t concede defeat as much as give into the inevitable. Regan was a force of nature he didn’t know how to control.

In silence, he followed Styx out of the lair and to the waiting Porsche parked in the circle drive. He even managed to hold his tongue as Regan climbed into the back, and he took his position in the passenger seat.

He’d barely shut the door when Styx revved the powerful engine and hurtled them through the empty streets, his lips twisted in what Jagr strongly suspected was a smile of amusement.

What the hell happened to vampire solidarity?

Bastard.

At least the car was able to make the trip at a pace just short of light speed, and directing Styx through the back roads, he at last held up his hand.

“Stop here.” He pointed toward the frilly house on the corner. “The tea shop is just ahead.”

The Porsche came to a halt, and they climbed out to stand in the shadows of a dogwood tree.

A dogwood that was currently decorated with a familiar, albeit considerably worse for the wear, truck.

Styx studied the ruined vehicle with a lift of his brows. “Tane’s?”

“It was.” Jagr glanced toward Regan, who was looking decidedly guilty. “Your handiwork?”

“Hey, I’d never driven before.” She gave an awkward lift of her shoulder. “Besides, it was already a piece of junk.”

“I would suggest you keep your keys close at hand, my lord,” he said, dryly.

“Ha. Very funny.” With a toss of her head, Regan moved down the street, her back rigid.

Styx smiled. “Although I hate to question Regan’s skill in demolition, I have to admit she is a mere amateur in destroying cars compared to Levet. That gargoyle possesses an exquisite ability to mangle even the finest vehicle. Just ask Viper.”

“Considering Viper’s unnatural obsession with his cars, I would rather not provoke any unpleasant memories.”

“Wise choice,” Styx drawled.

“I occasionally have moments of self-preservation.” His gaze was instinctively drawn to Regan as she paced impatiently just across the street from the tea shop. “Although not nearly so many as I might hope for.”

Styx laid a surprisingly gentle hand on his shoulder. “I would tell you that it gets easier, but I try to make it a policy not to lie any more than necessary.”

Jagr winced as a sharp pang pierced his heart. “Our time together draws to an end.”

“Only the Oracles can read the future. Cezar is proof of that.”

Jagr’s lips twisted. Cezar’s mate had turned out to be one of the rare Oracles, a fate that Jagr wouldn’t wish on anyone.

Bad enough to have a bad-tempered Were with a commitment phobia.

“I don’t need an Oracle to tell me that Regan is determined to remain a true lone wolf.”

Obviously weary of waiting, Regan planted her hands on her hips and glared at the two vampires.

“Are we doing this, or what?”

Styx slanted Jagr an amused glance. “Bossy little thing, isn’t she?”

“You have no idea.”

Throwing up her hands in defeat, Regan turned on her heel and marched across the street to the silent tea shop.

“Maybe we should make sure she doesn’t run into trouble,” Styx murmured.

“If only it was possible.” Jagr was swiftly rushing after her tiny form, a sudden urgency lending him speed as she disappeared through the gate of the picket fence and rounded the back of the house. Even at a distance, the scent of rotting peaches filled the air. “Regan.”

She came to an abrupt halt, her expression wary. “I smell it. Is he dead?”

“Yes.” Jagr didn’t need to see Gaynor’s body to feel the violence that shrouded the house. “And his death wasn’t pleasant. There’s a lot of blood.”

Appearing from the shadows, Styx studied the broken French doors. “There are three dead curs, and one unconscious, as well as the dead imp. I sense no one else.”