She’d never met Darcy, or any of her three sisters for that matter, but she’d learned from Salvatore that Darcy was currently mated to a vampire who not only adored her, but had just purchased a flipping mansion on the outskirts of Chicago for her. No doubt she was also drenched in diamonds, and attended the opera on a regular basis.

Not that Regan wanted all that froufrou crap. She’d rather be stabbed in the eye than put on a dress. Still, her sister’s cushy lifestyle was a thorn in Regan’s side.

Her family had abandoned her to the hands of a psychotic imp who had relentlessly abused her for thirty years. As far as she was concerned, the entire bunch of them could go screw themselves.

“Awesome, my sister is married to a genocidal maniac,” she drawled. “And people wonder why I’m not leaping at the chance to get to know my family.”

“Styx is no more genocidal than any other vampire. Or Were, for that matter.”

She snorted at the flat, emotionless tone. “Are you trying to reassure me? If so, you suck at it.”

“My only duty is to escort you to Chicago.”

“Duty?”

“Yes.”

Freaking perfect. This gorgeous hunk of man was nothing more than a flunky for her sister.

She pressed her hands against the unyielding wall of his chest. “Well, consider yourself officially off duty, because I have no intention of going.”

“Your sister is concerned. She only desires to protect you.”

His low, hypnotizing voice tingled down her spine even as his words pissed her off.

“Yeah, and where was all that sisterly concern when I was being held captive by a monster?”

His stark, beautiful face was without mercy. “You’re free now, aren’t you? Be grateful.”

“I don’t want to be grateful, and I sure as hell don’t want to have my supposed sister pretending she gives a damn after all these years. Tell her to take her concern and shove it up her…”

His head swooped down, his lips claiming her mouth in a kiss that was raw and demanding, and shocking as hell.

Regan had braced herself for the familiar blow. Even a savage bite to her neck. She wasn’t prepared for the sensation of cool, skillful lips parting her mouth, or the oddly erotic press of fangs.

The treacherous heat returned with a vengeance, flowing through her trembling body and tightening her muscles with the promise of beckoning pleasure.

He tasted of brandy and temptation, his hard body pressed against her most intimate places. She wanted to rip off the black T-shirt that looked spray-painted to his muscled bulk, and rub against the wide chest.

She wanted…

God, she just wanted.

With a groan, she allowed his tongue to slip between her lips, sucking it gently as her hips instinctively arched upward. Never in her life had she ever felt the touch of a man’s hand. Not unless it was to dole out punishment. Now her body was changing, altering as his kiss deepened.

Her lips softened, her nipples hardened to tight points, nearly begging to be stroked, her fingers spread across the chiseled muscles of his chest.

Then, as swiftly as he’d kissed her, the vampire pulled back to regard her with a strange expression of wariness. As if he was as caught off guard by her volatile reaction as she was.

Embarrassed, Regan smacked her hands against his chest. Damn the bastard. She’d just made a fool of herself, and it was entirely his fault.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

His features smoothed into an unreadable expression. “Darcy is my queen. You’re not allowed to insult her without consequences.”

“You consider rape a consequence?”

“It was a kiss, nothing more, and the only means to stop your childish whining without leaving a bruise.”

“You bastard.” Smack, smack, smack. “I have every right to whine after what I’ve suffered. You have no idea…”

“You’re not stupid enough to believe that you’re the only one who has ever suffered,” he said, overriding her words, his voice edged with ice. “It’s done. Move on.”

Her jaw clenched. Damn the cold bastard. It was bad enough he had gotten her all hot and bothered while he remained Mr. Freeze, but now he was dismissing her years of torture as if she were nothing but a sulky child.

“I would love to move on, but it’s a little difficult with freaking Hulk Hogan squashing me. Get off.”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you know of vampires?”

“That you’re evil, soulless bastards who care about nothing but yourself.”

“We’re also stronger, faster, and far more lethal than Weres.”

“And your point?”

“I’m going to release you, but know that if you annoy me, I won’t hesitate to tie you to the bed and shove a gag in your mouth.”

She didn’t doubt the threat. Not even for a minute. Of course, in her life, being tied and gagged didn’t rate high on the fright-o-meter.

“Charming.”

“Do you understand?”

“I understand that someday I’m going to shove a stake up your ass.”

A golden brow flicked upward. “That would not kill me.”

“No, but it’ll be funny as hell.”

Something that could have almost been a smile touched his mouth before swiftly disappearing.

“Not nearly as amusing as seeing you try.”

“Jackass.”

He regarded her for a long, silent moment, almost as if he was searching past her defensive aggression to the terrified woman beneath.

It was unnerving as hell.

“Will you behave yourself?” he at last demanded.

She blew out a sigh, knowing she would never get the aggravating man off her until she agreed. And she really needed him off.

Her mind might be contemplating the best means of kicking some vampire ass, but her body was still enjoying the sensations of his hard parts pressing against her soft parts.

“Fine, just get off,” she muttered.

With one smooth, fluid motion, the vampire was on his feet, looming over her. She had a brief moment to appreciate the faded jeans that molded to his powerful legs, and the motorcycle boots that covered his Shaq-sized feet, before he reached down to grasp her hand and jerk her upright.

With a gasp at the electric charge that jolted up her arm, Regan wrenched her hand from his grasp and backed away. She didn’t give a damn if it made her look weak. She needed space.

And maybe a wooden stake.

“How did you find me?” she demanded.

He folded his arms over his chest, appearing even more dangerously beautiful now that he was upright.

“It wasn’t difficult.” His low, mesmerizing voice filled the room. “Once I reached St. Louis, I simply followed the trail of the imp, knowing you wouldn’t be far behind.”

“And how would you know that?”

The ice-blue gaze regarded her steadily. “As I said, you aren’t the only one familiar with suffering. And I know when a demon, no matter how tiny, is released from captivity, the only thought on their mind is revenge. You want the imp dead.”

Her chin tilted. What the hell would this vampire know of suffering? He lived smack-dab on top of the food chain.

“If you’re so smart, then you know I have no intention of allowing Culligan to escape. You can go back to Chicago and tell my sister thanks, but no thanks.”

“There is nothing that would please me more than to return to my lair and leave you to your business. Unfortunately, that’s not an option.”

“Oh, it’s an option. Just turn around and walk out the door.”

“I was commanded to bring you to Chicago, and that means I’m not allowed to leave here without you. Not unless I’m willing to face the wrath of my king. Which—” His gaze seared a path down her tightly clenched body, lingering a terrifying moment on the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat, before returning to her wide eyes. “I’m not.”

Great. Her Knight in Shining Armor had not only showed up thirty years too late, but he was only there under threat of some horrible retribution.

It was enough to make a woman feel all warm and fuzzy.

Not.

“Then we have a serious problem, Hulk freaking Hogan, because I’m not going.”

“Jagr.”

“What?

“My name is Jagr.”

“Of course it is,” she muttered. The name was just as hard, dangerous, and beautiful as the rest of him.

“I could force you to come with me.”

“Over my dead body.”

That hit-and-run smile touched his mouth. “Don’t tempt me.”

Regan stomped her foot, at the end of her patience. “Dammit, would you just go away?”

“No.”

“Fine.” She marched across the tiny room that had been decorated in the seventies, all hideous swirling blues and greens, with cheap furniture and fading prints of flowers on the walls. Reaching the door to the connecting bathroom, she wrenched it open.

“What are you doing?”

She turned her head to stab the intruder with a frustrated glare. “You’ve managed to turn a perfectly rotten day into a masterpiece of misery, so either you truss me up and haul me to Chicago, or I’m taking a hot shower.”