Free Darkness Unleashed by Alexandra Ivy

both Darcy and Shay would rake him over the coals when he returned to Chicago. They possessed a bizarre fondness for the gargoyle. But for the moment, all he cared about was finding the curs and ending their threat to Regan.
    At his side, Regan raked a glance over his large body. “Why does he keep calling you a Goth? I’d say you’re more…ghetto chic.”
    Ghetto chic?
    “I was once a Visigoth chief.”
    “Christ.” Her eyes widened in shock. “Exactly when did you get changed into a vampire?”
    With a flinch, Jagr turned to enter the cave, the bags of clothing banging against his legs. The night of his turning was something he never discussed.
    Not with anyone.
    With a snort of disgust at his retreat, Regan followed on his heels.
    “Hello, Mr. Freeze. What the hell are you doing now?”
    “I need to speak with Salvatore.”
     
    The elegant bedroom in the St. Louis mansion was a decadent feast for the senses. Gold-veined marble walls reflected the glow of the priceless chandelier, the lacquer furniture was designed for accommodating the most adventurous sexual fantasies, and even the high ceiling was painted with naughty satyrs seducing Rubenesque angels.
    Lying in the middle of the Olympic-sized bed drenched in gold satin and black velvet, Salvatore Giuliani was jerked from his fleeting pleasure by the persistent buzz of his private cell phone.
    His hand reached for the phone even as the woman straddling his naked body prepared to impale herself on his stiff erection.
    “Don’t answer it,” the beautiful cur with long crimson hair and pale green eyes moaned, her lips trailing over his chest. “Please, lover.”
    “Get off, Jenna,” he growled, his golden brown eyes glowing as the wolf inside him stirred with anger.
    “Call them back later.”
    “Get the hell off.”
    With a sweep of his arm, Salvatore knocked the cur aside, rising from the bed in one smooth motion.
    “Bastard,” Jenna rasped, sprawled spread-eagle across the rumpled sheets, her eyes sparkling with excitement at his rough treatment.
    “You have no idea,” Salvatore drawled.
    Turning his back on the woman, he reached for the phone, his brows drawing together at the unfamiliar number. Only a handful of people were allowed to dial his private line. Those who called without permission usually found themselves missing their throat. And occasionally their spleen. Flipping open the phone, he held it to his ear. “Who is this?”
    “Jagr.” The cold, dark voice was edged with the revolting arrogance that was as much a part of a vampire as his fangs. Filthy leeches. “I was sent by Styx to retrieve the Were.”
    “Did you find her?”
    “Of course. We’re in Hannibal.”
    Salvatore curled his lips at the smug response. Cristo. He hated vampires.
    “And?”
    “And I want to know why your curs tried to kill us.”
    “Curs.” With quick strides, Salvatore was standing beside the heavy desk across the room, clicking through the files on his laptop. “There is no Were pack near Hannibal.”
    “Then you have some strays taking potshots at the tourists.”
    Salvatore clenched his fist, his eyes glowing with fury. As King of the Weres, he kept his rules simple. Obey or die. No room for confusion.
    “A problem easily corrected. I will be there tomorrow night.”
    “Once we locate them, I need at least one left alive to question.”
    Salvatore clenched his teeth at the cool command. One day soon…
    “I make no guarantees.”
    With a flick of his wrist, he snapped shut the phone and headed toward the door.
    “Aren’t you coming back to bed?” Jenna whined.
    Salvatore didn’t bother to glance in her direction. “Get your clothes on, and get out.” Reaching the door, he jerked it open to gesture toward the massive, shaven-headed cur that stood guard in the hallway. “Hess.”
    Dropping to his knees, the cur pressed his forehead to the crimson carpet in proper deference. “Yes, sire?”
    “We have a problem in Hannibal. I want you