Culligan.

Chapter 15

Just for a moment, Regan remained frozen in the doorway.

After days of endless, grueling, relentless searching, she’d stumbled over her damned prey when she wasn’t even looking for him.

How was that for irony?

She clenched the dagger, studying the imp who’d made her life a living hell.

He looked…ghastly.

Blindfolded and leaning heavily against the chains, as if he couldn’t hold his own weight, his red hair was matted into disgusting clumps, and his white skin was marred with dirt and dried blood.

Gone was the brash, conceited demon who had taken such delight in tormenting her, and in its place was a sad, pathetic waste of a creature wearing nothing more than a red thong.

A smile of absolute pleasure curled her lips as he weakly attempted to lift his head, clearly sensing someone had entered the shed, but too disoriented to recognize her scent.

“Who’s there?” he croaked. “Please, help me. I’m being held against my will. Please…” His plea was cut short as she crossed the narrow space to rip off the blindfold. He blinked against the sunlight that spilled into the room, then his eyes widened in horror as he recognized his rescuer. “Oh, shit.”

“Hello, Culligan,” she purred, her gaze lowering to the small medallion tied around his neck. The witch’s amulet. And the reason she hadn’t sensed the bastard when she’d first approached the cabin.

“You,” he rasped, struggling against the heavy chains that held him.

“Surprise.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I told you that you couldn’t escape me.” Reaching out, Regan ripped the amulet from the leather thong around Culligan’s neck and tucked it into her pocket. Immediately the shed was filled with the overpowering smell of plums, while her scent disappeared. Well, well. Wasn’t that convenient? Her smile widened with wicked pleasure. “Of course, at the time I didn’t expect the curs to be so rude as to steal my toy and hide him from me. I hope they didn’t break you.”

Sweat bloomed on his forehead, visions of his death dancing in his head.

“There are curs crawling all over the place,” he desperately attempted to frighten her away. “Are you trying to get caught?”

He did have a point.

A smart Were would cut out Culligan’s heart and escape before the curs returned.

Unfortunately, her mission was no longer one of simple revenge. Jagr needed her. And if it meant keeping this bastard alive and risking her neck…then so be it.

Of course, that didn’t mean she couldn’t have some fun with the jackass.

Lifting the dagger, she drew a thin line over his heart, watching the blood drip down his chest.

“Actually, there’s not a cur to be found,” she mocked.

He shuddered, although she hadn’t truly hurt him. Yet.

“It’s a trap. They’ll be here any minute.”

She pressed the dagger deeper. “Not in time to keep me from carving out your heart.”

“Wait.” He struggled to breathe, his eyes wild with delicious fear. “Let’s not be hasty, Regan.”

“Hasty?” Fury made her blood boil. “I’ve waited thirty years to kill you. It’s all I dreamed of night after night.”

“How can you say that? I’ve been like a father to you.” He squealed as the dagger slid deeper. “Okay, maybe not a father, but don’t forget I saved you from that ditch. You could have died if it weren’t for me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Ditch, eh?”

“Maybe it was more of a culvert.”

“You worthless piece of shit, I’ve talked to Gaynor,” she hissed. “I know the curs gave me to you in Chicago.”

Terror flashed through the pale green eyes before Culligan was frantically attempting to cover his ass.

“Gaynor? You can’t believe a word he says. He deliberately tricked me into coming to Hannibal.” His face tightened. “Treacherous bastard.”

“I’d believe that treacherous bastard if he told me the sky was green before I would believe a word that came from your filthy mouth.”

He glanced down at the dagger stuck directly over his heart, licking his lips.

“Right, I get it. You’re angry. I didn’t treat you as well as I should have. That doesn’t mean we can’t come to an…understanding.”

Her sharp laugh echoed through the small shed. “Understanding?”

“Anything. Just tell me what you want.”

A few days ago what she wanted was this imp dead. Slowly, painfully, and by her hand.

Now she had to accept that there were more important things.

Jagr.

And the truth of her past.

“What I want is answers,” she rasped.

“Fine. Whatever.”

“Tell me how you got your nasty hands on me when I was a baby.”

“I told you I found you in a…” He screamed as Regan pushed the dagger a hair’s breadth from his heart. “Shit.”

“One more lie, and you’re dead,” she warned. “You didn’t find me in a ditch.”

Cowering with a fear that warmed Regan’s vengeful soul, Culligan gave up on his lame story.

“Okay, okay.” He sucked in a careful breath. “I was in Chicago, minding my own business, I might add, when I was approached by a cur who claimed he had some hot cargo he needed to unload in a hurry.”

“I was the hot cargo?”

“You and your sisters,” he clarified. “The curs had blundered and attracted the attention of the local social services agency. The humans had already taken one of the babies, but the curs managed to slip away with the other three.”

Regan stiffened. Well, that little tidbit would please Darcy. According to Salvatore, her sister had never been able to discover how she’d ended up in the hands of humans. And of course, she now knew how Culligan had managed to get a pureblooded Were in his power, if not how the curs had gotten a hold of her and her sisters in the first place.

“They tried to hush it all up, but the rumors hit the streets, and the curs were afraid that the word might reach the ears of the Weres. They needed to get rid of the evidence before they were caught red-handed.”

“What happened to my sisters?” she demanded, astonished to discover that the answer actually mattered.

What happened to the lone wolf who didn’t give a crap about her family? The one who would rather have her eyes clawed out than be invited to Thanksgiving dinner?

Jagr happened, a soft voice whispered in the back of her mind.

He’d made her…soft. Damn him.

Unaware of her inner conflict, Culligan gave another glance at the knife stuck in his chest.

“One stayed with the humans, and one they smuggled to curs out of state. They gave you to me, and the other…I don’t know.”

Her teeth clenched. “The curs have one of my sisters?”

“I haven’t seen her, but they claim to have one. They’re supposedly doing some kind of experiments on her.”

The air was squeezed from her lungs. “What kind of experiments?”

“Do I look like a scientist?” The petulant words became a screech of agony as she twisted the knife. “Ow. Damn you, it’s something about making the curs more powerful. That’s all I know, I swear.”

So the suspicion that the mysterious Caine was obsessed with creating the cur version of Frankenstein wasn’t as farfetched as it seemed. Christ. Was the man a nut job? Who knew what could happen if he started screwing with the ancient magic that turned a human to a cur.

Of course, had Salvatore been any different? He’d deliberately altered the DNA of her and her sisters to produce females who wouldn’t shift. And he did it so they could become some sort of broodmares to resurrect the fading Weres.

Damn arrogant men and their God complexes.

In a perfect world, women would be in charge.

“If the curs have my sister, then what do they want with me?” she gritted.

“My only guess is that you’re the backup in case your sister kicks the bucket before they’re done experimenting with her.”

“Bastards.”

Culligan shivered. “You have no idea. Release me, Regan, and I can help.”

“You know where they’re holding my sister captive?”

“I…” His ready lie faltered on his lips as her eyes narrowed in warning. “No, not…exactly, but…”

“Worthless,” she muttered, abruptly realizing that was the perfect word to describe this sorry excuse for a demon.

Culligan was a weak, greedy fool who offered nothing to the world.

He didn’t even make a decent villain.

Her grip tightened on the handle of the dagger, her bitter, choking thirst for revenge somehow lessened by the thought. It was as if she’d just hauled the boogeyman out of the closet, and discovered he was nothing more than a spineless slug.

Culligan quivered as she unwittingly dug the knife deeper. “Dammit, watch that thing.”