Darkness UnleashedBy: Alexandra Ivy
“Regan, you are certain?” Jagr demanded.
Certain? No. She didn’t have a clue what was about to happen. Well, nothing beyond a great deal of pain when those huge fangs sank into her flesh.
Thankfully, she was no coward, and if Jagr needed blood to get him up and moving, then by God, he was going to get blood.
“Do you need an engraved invitation?” she taunted, not at all surprised when his mouth widened and his fangs slid smoothly into her wrist. Jagr was not a vampire to back down from a direct challenge. Regrettably, her plan had neglected one small detail.
She was braced for pain. She was even braced for the necessity of ripping him forcibly from her flesh if he lost his head and tried to take more than she was willing to offer.
What she wasn’t prepared for was the realization that far from painful, the sensation that jolted through her was one of intense, relentless pleasure.
“Oh…” Her eyes drifted shut as she felt him suck deeply of her blood, every pull tightening the coiling bliss that was lodged in the pit of her stomach. Her entire body trembled, the same excitement that had set her on fire when he’d kissed her blazing through her body. Only this time it was more powerful, more driving, more…explosive. She was drowning, lost in the dark, intoxicating desire…
Jagr knew he was creating panic in Viper’s exclusive nightclub. The elegant establishment with its crystal chandeliers and red velvet upholstery catered to the more civilized members of the demon-world. Jagr was anything but civilized.
He was a six-foot-three vampire who had once been a Visigoth chief. But it wasn’t his braided, pale gold hair that fell nearly to his waist, or the ice-blue eyes that missed nothing and sent creatures with any claim to intelligence scurrying from his path. It wasn’t even the leather duster that flared about his hard body.
No, it was the cold perfection of his stark features, and the hint of feral fury that smoldered about him.
Three hundred years of relentless torture had stripped away any hint of civility.
Ignoring the assorted demons who tumbled over chairs and tables in an effort to avoid his long strides, Jagr concentrated on the two Ravens guarding the door to the back office. The hushed air of sophistication was giving him a rash.
He was a vampire who preferred the solitude of his lair hidden beneath the streets of Chicago, surrounded by his vast library, secure in the knowledge that not a human, beast, or demon possessed the ability to enter.
Not that he was the total recluse that his vampire brothers assumed.
No matter how powerful or skilled or intelligent he might be, he understood that his survival depended on understanding the ever changing technology of the modern world. And beyond that was the necessity of being able to blend in with current society.
Even a recluse had to feed.
Tucked in the very back of his lair was a plasma TV with every channel known to humankind, and the sort of nondescript clothing that allowed him to cruise through the seedier neighborhoods without causing a riot.
The most lethal hunters knew how to camouflage themselves while on the prowl.
But this place…
He’d rather be staked than mince and prance around like a jackass.
Damn Styx. The ancient vampire had known that only a royal command could force him to enter a crowded nightclub. Jagr made no secret of his disdain for the companionship of others.
Which begged the question of why the Anasso would choose such a setting to meet.
In a mood foul enough to fill the vast club with an icy chill, Jagr ignored the two Ravens who stood on sentry duty near the back office, and lifting his hand, allowed his power to blow the heavy oak door off its hinges.
The looming Ravens growled in warning, dropping their heavy capes, which hid the numerous swords, daggers, and guns attached to various parts of their bodies.
Jagr’s step never faltered. Styx wouldn’t let his pet vampires hurt an invited guest. At least not until he had what he needed from Jagr.
And even if Styx didn’t call off the guards…well, hell, he’d been waiting centuries to be taken out in battle. It was a warrior’s destiny.
There was a low murmur from inside the room, and the two Ravens grudgingly allowed him to pass with nothing more painful than a heated glare.