“Are we destined to be enemies, little one?”

She floundered at the soft, but inexorable question.

Christ, this vampire tied her knots. Why couldn’t he just let her panic and drive him away with her volatile, completely irrational behavior?

It’s what any decent demon would do.

Instead, he stood there staring at her with that icily guarded expression that she knew hid just how much her answer meant to him.

“No,” she at last whispered, unable to deliver the final, unalterable blow. “I don’t want to be your enemy, Jagr. I seem to have enough of them already.”

Lifting a hand, he gently cupped her face. “Regan…”

She had no idea what he was about to say, nor was she destined to discover, as Jagr abruptly turned toward the house, his body stiff with tension.

“Jagr, what is it?”

“A trap,” he rasped, charging toward the French doors with a near blinding speed. “Styx.”

Momentarily stunned, Regan watched as Jagr disappeared into the tea shop. What the hell? Regan stepped forward, intent on following Jagr, when there was an audible click, followed instantly by the sound of an explosion that made the earth shake beneath her feet.

The world seemed stuck in slow motion as Regan watched in horror while the flames and smoke billowed through the house. Then without warning, the concussion hit, sending her flying backward as the house shattered from the force of the blast.

Jagr.

Stark panic clawed through her, but she was helpless as she was tossed like a piece of trash through the air, at last crashing into an oak tree with enough force to briefly knock her unconscious.

The blackness came and went with a blazing flare of pain, but Regan ignored the dizziness and urge to toss up what little remained in her stomach. She didn’t have time to be sick. Jagr had been in the house. She had to reach him, and by God, if he’d let himself be killed, she was going to…

“Alone at last, bitch.”

Consumed with her desperate fear, Regan was completely unprepared for the tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed woman who dropped from the branches of the tree to stand directly in her path.

Stumbling to a halt, Regan gritted her teeth as her gaze swept over the stranger, absently grimacing at the leather bustier and pants that matched the high-heeled boots. It wasn’t the Sluts-R-Us outfit, however, that caught and held her attention. Instead it was the hard, perfectly toned muscles that revealed this woman wasn’t just a local stripper on her way home from a hard night.

That, and the complete absence of scent.

“Sadie,” she breathed, her gut twisting with fury.

This woman was behind luring Regan to Hannibal, behind Gaynor imprisoning Jagr, and now behind an explosion that might very well have killed her vampire.

She was going to cut her heart right out of her freaking chest.

“I see my reputation precedes me,” the woman taunted, clearly unaware that she was already dead. “What? No snappy banter? I knew you were bound to be a disappointment.”

Regan slowly began to circle the cur. During her unexpected flight, she’d dropped the dagger that Jagr had given her. Go figure. And while her instincts howled for an opportunity to rip out her heart, she wasn’t stupid.

Now was not the time to take chances. Not when Jagr needed her.

“I don’t need snappy banter to kill you,” she drawled, hoping to keep the woman distracted.

“You kill me?”

“Yes.”

“You’re nothing without your vampire, you genetic freak,” the woman mocked. “A Were who can’t even shift.”

Regan’s heart twisted at the mention of Jagr, but she grimly kept circling the cur.

“I may be a freak, but I’m a pureblooded freak, which is more than you can say…cur.”

Reaching behind her back, Sadie tugged free a tightly coiled whip.

A whip?

Who the hell used a whip? Well, who besides Indiana Jones?

With a practiced flip of her hand, the cur snapped her wrist, sending the tail of the whip cracking a mere inch from Regan’s face.

Holy shit.

Leaping back, Regan swallowed a curse of frustration. The whip couldn’t kill her, but it could wrap around her and hold her immobile.

Not to mention it had enough reach to keep her from easily retrieving the dagger.

The only hope was leading Sadie away from the damned thing so she could try and make a dash for it when the cur was off guard.

“You think you’re better than me?” The whip snaked out again, slicing through the flesh of Regan’s cheek.

“I don’t think, I know.” Ignoring the blood that dripped down her neck, Regan altered her course as if she were trying to reach the nearby gate. “You’re nothing more than an infected human who can imitate a Were but never become one. A pathetic wannabe.”

The dark eyes flared as the words hit their mark. “You know nothing.”

Regan jerked to the side as the whip flared out. “I know of your psycho plan to use my sister as some sort of guinea pig, in the pathetic hope you can become more than the bottom-feeders of the demon-world.”

“It’s our destiny to rule.”

Regan took two steps closer to the gate, hiding her grim satisfaction as Sadie followed.

“Because some idiot saw it in a vision?”

Crack. The whip cut a deep slice through her abdomen, ruining her new shirt.

Bitch.

“Caine is a prophet,” Sadie hissed.

Regan didn’t bother hiding her flare of pain as she stumbled, deliberately glancing over her shoulder as if judging the distance to the open gate.

“He’s a whack job who should be put in a straightjacket, and you’re even more of a whack job to believe him. I suppose the old saying is true—‘There’s a sucker born every minute.’”

A hard smile curved the woman’s lips. A pity really. The cur would have been beautiful if not for the vicious expression.

Well, that and the tart-from-hell outfit.

“Where’s your faith, Were?” Sadie demanded.

“When someone starts babbling about visions, my first thought is medication, not hallelujah.”

“You see, that’s what is wrong with youth today.”

“Sanity?”

“Cynicism.” A hand stroked up the bustier, cupping a still pert breast. “Look at me, I was a two-bit whore who was regularly raped by my father, and traded my body for the heroin that made my personal hell bearable. Then Caine changed everything, and soon I’ll be a queen.”

“Queen of Dogs?” She mocked, ignoring the heat of the burning tea house as she managed another few steps. Dammit, she had to get to that dagger and kill the bitch. If Jagr were still alive…no, he was alive. She couldn’t allow herself to think anything else. And she had to get to him. “Big deal.”

“It’s certainly better than wasting my time whining and pouting because you think you got a bad break.”

“Bad break? Culligan tortured me for the past thirty years.”

“Boohoo. So you had a few cuts and bruises.” The whip sizzled through the air, striking Regan’s neck even as she dove to the side. “Did you have to spread your legs for every disgusting male who couldn’t get it up unless he was beating on you? Did you sleep in an alley and pray someone would slit your throat so you didn’t have to wake up?”

Regan gritted her teeth. She healed swiftly, but she was losing too much blood.

“Worse, I’ve had to listen to your entire life story,” she taunted, luring Sadie even further from the dagger. “Do you bore everyone with it? Because that might explain why your only friend is an outlaw cur with delusions of grandeur.”

“Better than a stunted gargoyle and a walking corpse.” The black eyes smoldered with hatred. “Tell me, what’s it like banging a cold stiff?”

Regan hissed, her wolf howling with the urge to kill.

“God damn you.”

“Ah, did I touch a nerve?” Sadie unwittingly stepped further from the dagger, using the whip to slice another wound on Regan’s stomach. “You know, you have no one to blame but yourself for his untimely death. Well…second death. If you’d just come along nicely, there’d be no reason for the gorgeous vampire to die.”

Shit. Regan pressed a hand to the gaping wound. A few more steps.

Just a few.

“I have issues with becoming a lab rat for a bunch of dogs. Sue me.”

“I’d rather kill you, but unfortunately that’s going to have to wait until Caine is confident he has all he needs from your sister.”

Regan never halted her slow circle, but her eyes narrowed at the mention of her sister.

Just maybe she could kill two birds with one stone.

Or two worthless curs.

“Why does he want me?”

Sadie sneered as she flicked a dismissive gaze over Regan’s tattered, bloody body.

“You, my freak, are our backup in case she’s so ill-mannered as to croak on us.”

“Nice.”

“Revolutions are always messy.” She lashed out with her whip, frowning when Regan managed to dance out of the path. “At least for the losers.”