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she husked, her heartbeat still thundering in her ear.
    With a deliberate motion, the vampire gently licked the two pinpricks of blood staining her wrist before allowing her to jerk her arm from his grasp.
    “You’ve never had the bite of a vampire?”
    Still too weak to stand, Regan contented herself with scooting backward on her knees, rubbing her already healed wrist on her jeans, as if she could rub away the memories of her raw pleasure.
    Fat chance.
    She knew beyond all doubt that the sensations would be seared into her brain for all eternity.
    “No,” she muttered. “Culligan refused to share torturing me with anyone else.”
    He remained stretched on the floor, his fiercely beautiful features unreadable.
    “Do you want an apology?”
    “Are you sorry?”
    “Not in the least. Your blood is far more potent than that of a human, and better yet”—his gaze swept down her tense body—“I now know the sweet cries you make when…”
    “Shut up before I make sure you need another transfusion.”
    The distant sounds of sirens shattered through the thick tension in the air. In the blink of an eye, Jagr was on his feet, reaching down to jerk her upward in one smooth motion.
    “The police. We must get out of here.” Stunned by the vampire’s remarkable recovery, Regan found herself being hauled toward the broken window. “Can you jump from here?” Jagr demanded.
    She flashed him a glare at his ridiculous question, then careful to avoid the jagged shards of glass still stuck in the frame, she climbed through the window and leaped to the sidewalk below.
    Slinking into the nearby shadows of the alley, Regan tested the air for any nearby dangers.
    There was the usual stench of trash that filled the nearby Dumpsters, the scent of humans stirring to prepare for their early morning shifts, and the unmistakable tang of burnt flesh and blood.
    A part of her knew she should cross the street and discover if any of the curs had survived the attack. She needed to know why they attacked. And if they had any connection to Culligan.
    Another part, however, realized that she was too weakened by her hours of searching for the imp, not to mention her recent blood donation, to face her enemies alone. Especially not when they carried guns.
    Even a cur could shoot her dead if his bullets were silver.
    Cursing her current sense of impotence, Regan gave a small jerk when Jagr simply appeared beside her. One minute he wasn’t there, and then he was. No sound, no stir of the air, not even a trace of his scent.
    It was unnerving.
    And maddening.
    And…a whole host of other things that made her temper snap and snarl.
    “What took you so long?” she hissed.
    He tossed a heavy leather bag over his shoulder, indifferent to her foul mood.
    “We have to go.”
    Without waiting for her agreement, Jagr grasped her arm and steered her back to the street and headed east. The wolf in Regan growled in protest at being manhandled, but she ignored her instinct to bite.
    Not only was she smart enough to know she would need the aggravating vampire to fight off any attackers until she regained her strength, but there was a dark (frighteningly seductive) fear that he would bite back.
    They had barely managed to reach the end of the block when there was the sound of flapping wings, and the tiny gargoyle landed directly in front of them. Regan halted, surprised to realize she was pleased to see the strange little beast. He was…endearing in his own way.
    “Hey, did you think to trench me?” he demanded, his wings obviously ruffled.
    “Trench me?” Regan demanded in confusion.
    “I believe he means ‘ditch me,’” Jagr translated, stabbing Levet with a cold stare. “You deceive yourself, gargoyle, if you think that you can play with me as you do with Styx or Viper. I don’t fear any punishment the Anasso could inflict if I decided to put an end to you.”
    Far from wilting beneath the frigid warning, Levet puffed out his chest, managing to