To Kiss A Kringle (Southern Sanctuary Book 13)

by Jane Cousins

  “Cara doesn’t deal that well with surprises.”

  “But she’s even worse when she is anticipating something. The location hasn’t changed, it will still be at the Annexe. I’ve told Erik of course, he’ll be there and be bringing his tool belt. You’re now the only other person who knows the details. I’m trying to stay ahead of the dreaded speed of light grapevine. That’s why I couldn’t afford to email or phone you.” It was left unsaid that she hadn’t been taking his phone calls of late and probably would have ignored an email.

  Patricia could see both pros and cons with moving the date forward. Cara was really dreading meeting her Great-Great-square that by like around thirty-Grandfather, The God of Chaos. This might bring the potential damage bill down to a manageable amount. Alternatively, the entire Southern Sanctuary might shear off the tectonic plate and fall into the ocean. “Yes. Okay. But keep the phone numbers of an electrician and a plumber on your speed dial. And maybe think about giving the local hospital a heads up just prior to Apep’s arrival.”

  “Sound advice.” Cullen nodded. “Well, excellent. See you day after tomorrow then. Three pm sharp.”

  “Wait. What?” Damn it, she was starting to sound like a broken record but Cullen kept catching her off guard. He was acting like nothing had changed between them. Acting like he had no intention of leaving.

  “Three o’clock. Day after tomorrow. It’s when I rescheduled the high tea since Cara is working at the Annexe that day. I know you will want to be there, considering how invested the High Council, the entire District is in this encounter going well.”

  It was just Library business. Important Library business. As much as she’d like to say no, she couldn’t. Yet, she was unable to shake the feeling that Cullen was manoeuvring her into a corner for some reason.

  Well, that was fine. She had forty-eight hours to rake over the coals of her previous plans to oust Cullen and see if any of them could be re-ignited. And if not, she was smart, she would come up with something even more devious and clever.

  Patricia watched Cullen nod his head in farewell before he sauntered casually from the room. Grrr, she wasn’t sure what peeved her more. The fact that the man couldn’t see the writing on the wall, he was an Archer to his core, he could never be happy here. Or the fact that he seemed to have completely forgotten they’d slept together. No innuendos had passed his lips. And the heat that usually lurked in those jade green eyes when they settled on her… well, the temperature was definitely on the cool setting.

  Which was great, the last thing she wanted to do was talk about their non-relationship. And it meant, at least when it came to their sexual encounter, they were on the same page. It had been hot. It had been brief. It had been a one off. Mature, sensible adults, didn’t need to talk every damn thing to death. Great. Good.

  Okay, so she had forty-eight hours to refine her approach. The mission to oust Cullen from the Annexe was back on track. She’d get over him, eventually, she was sure of it. It would just take time… and lucky for her, given her gene pool, she’d have the rest of her long, long life to come to terms with his departure.

  The sooner Cullen left town, the sooner she could start forgetting him. And she would not use him as a benchmark for any future men in her life, that would just be crazy. He was too arrogant, too superior. She might love him, but it wasn’t like he was her meld match or anything… that would just be insane.

  It was for his sake she was doing this. Okay, and maybe her own. She didn’t want to become dependent on him being around, only for him to wake up to the fact, five, ten, fifty years down the track and realise that he was in the wrong place. And that she… the Southern Sanctuary, wasn’t enough to fulfil him anymore.

  Better for a quick break now, which would hurt, if the feelings she was already experiencing were any indication. But rather that, than be completely devastated down the track, when she was completely and utterly invested in the man. Yes, she was doing them both a favour here really.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Would you like me to fetch a spirit level and a tape measure? Just so you can double check I’m compliant.”

  Patricia shook her head. No need to let him know she had both in her purse. But she could tell just from eyeing the elaborate Christmas decorations that festooned the Annexe that neither would be required. “I’m just happy you were able to get them all up by the deadline.” Damn, one plan scratched off her list already.

  “Did you know there’s a Haven Bay in Western Australia? For some mysterious reason the Annexe decorations were sent there. All forty-eight boxes. It took me two days to track them down and get them sent back here. Some mix up, huh?”

  “Yes. Some mix up.” She’d personally carefully blurred the postcode on each of the packaging labels weeks ago. But still, somehow, the Archer had not only tracked the stray boxes down, but he’d managed to get them back and hang every single ornament to the high standards required by the Town Charter.

  Someone very anal had written that section, but the Archer, probably thanks to his incredible eye for detail, had obviously hung each ornament in the exacting manner demanded.

  If anything, the sheer number of decorations bordered on overkill. Thankfully the soaring ceiling had meant Cullen had a lot of space to work with. Hmmm, how he got those angels up that high, and made them look as if they were fluttering around?

  It was kind of a relief to be standing on this side of the burbling stream. Which appeared to be the cut-off line in regards to the Christmas gone mad explosion of green, red and gold ornaments, tinsel, and twinkling lights.

  There was no magic snow falling here inside the Annexe. Instead, those tiny gold angels were holding little bells that tinkled out Christmas carols in a cheery manner. Thankfully, given the acoustics, and the number of interactive water sculptures that Erik had installed that splashed and gurgled, the carols could barely be heard from this side of the stream.

  “Well. So here we are… together. What would you like to talk about?”

  “Nothing.” Hissed Patricia under her breath, keeping the polite smile on her face.

  “Are you sure? Maybe we could discuss this erroneous belief you have that I’m leaving town.”

  Oh, he was so leaving. “I don’t wish to discuss that particular topic right at this moment.”

  “You’re right. Too big an audience. Let’s table it for after the high tea is over. How do you think it’s going?” Cullen enquired.

  Patricia’s attention shifted to the left, where the God of Chaos, Apep, was sitting with Cara, and her meld mate, Erik. He was a riveting man… God. Not tall. Only about five-ten in height. Slim. His skin dark coffee with a dollop of cream in it. His chestnut brown hair cut short and slicked back, calling attention to his straight nose and those arresting eyes. A strange shimmering colour that shifted from dark gold, to blue and back again.

  There was an air of constrained power around him. Yet Apep didn’t strike her as ego driven or power hungry. It seems like no thirty foot silver statue had been required after all. Or anyone to pray to him for that matter.

  Apep was wearing cream trousers and a matching mandarin coat with a high gold collar. Patricia had been introduced to him when he and five members of his court had magically appeared some thirty minutes ago. Apep had been nothing but cordial, his voice rich and surprisingly sensual, his smile genuine. He’d put an incredibly anxious, and startled Cara at ease by waving off her little burst of chaos that had erupted at his appearance.

  That poor metal table would never be the same. Though, perhaps Erik could use it in one of his future sculptures. And heaven knows what the two very rigid, very English butlers Cullen had hired to cater the event thought. They’d managed to save the tower of finger sandwiches and tray of petite fours. Only the silver tea service was slightly worse for wear with a visible dent in the side of the teapot.

  Thankfully it had taken only minutes to arrange a new buffet table, lay the lace doilies and place the food and beverage
s back where they belonged. All the time Apep had kept up a running casual conversation, as if nothing untoward had happened at all. Asking Cara questions as he led her and her meld mate over to the waiting round table where they could sit and talk.

  Patricia thought the meet and greet was going better than expected. She’d witnessed Cara laughing several times, her posture relaxed as they chatted, answering Apep’s many questions about her life and magic. Returning the favour and pelting him with questions of her own.

  Patricia would have said the high tea was an unqualified success except there were a few little things that just didn’t sit right with her gut. Something about Apep nagged at her. His body language she decided. The way he was holding his neck a little stiffly, as if he’d incurred some slight injury. That couldn’t be right, he was a God. He should be able to heal anything.

  Except he’d been technically dead for thousands of years. His spirit hiding out in Aaru, the god equivalent of Heaven, whilst his power hungry sons, Mot and Sek, and the now deceased Bal, carted Apep’s mummified remains around. Using it like a battery to maintain their own power levels.

  Apep had only been back in the land of the living a few months now since his spirit was reunited with his remains, thanks to five rubies imbued with Apep’s chaos chi.

  As far as Patricia knew Apep had yet to seek vengeance on his wayward sons for their part in killing his beloved daughter, Ruh, and effectively sentencing him to death for thousands of years. Sek and Mot remained at large. And that could only mean that either Apep didn’t have enough power to kill them. Or, the duo were in hiding. Perhaps a combination of the two factors.

  The other thing unsettling Patricia at the moment was the members of Apep’s court.

  Her gaze flickering to the two dog headed guards that had position themselves some four feet behind Apep, remaining at stiff attention. Their unblinking dark eyes, and furry faces at odds with the glistening brown of their human muscular chests and solid thighs on display, thanks to the small maroon loin cloths they wore and boots that ended at mid-shin. No, those two weren’t the problem.

  No, the problem was standing a lot closer. Apep’s three heads of staff. Zartel, Head of Security. Athaltho, High Priest. And Faleph, Prime Advisor. They were setting off warning bells for Patricia. And if that was the case, Goddess knows what Cullen was picking up from the trio.

  She tried to pin down her concerns, hoping to share them with Cullen. The trio were doing nothing more than standing some ten feet away, like them, watching over the meeting from a polite distance. Chaperones, not participants. Here to ensure all went well.

  Short, fat and bald Athaltho was beaming an approving smile. His dark blue robes modest, falling to his knees. The only indication of his exalted position was the large silver clasp on his left shoulder, depicting two ravens tearing apart a smaller bird.

  Prime Advisor Faleph made no secret of his distaste for this whole affair. He looked like he was biting into a lemon. His thin dark features all but screwed up. His upper lip curled back in a sneer. Navy eyes full of scorn. He kept clutching at his red robes restlessly, as if he was either bored or impatient.

  Which just left golden warrior boy Zartel, towering over his two companions. His blonde locks fell in waves to his bare shoulders. A large sword strapped to his back in readiness in case anything went wrong. He looked tall and forbidding in dark brown leather breeches and knee high boots.

  He’d cast a fierce glare Patricia’s way when he’d first appeared. One that appeared to promise retribution. She’d had to bite her lip to keep from laughing in the face of his major pout-fest. Every few minutes he would send another glare her way. What an immature sulky prat, she should be the one to hold a grudge. Zartel was the one who’d broken into her home and splayed his naked butt all over her clean sheets. Offering to have sex with her as if he was doing the overripe spinster a favour. He was lucky she didn’t atomise Great-Great-Aunt Daphne’s youth cream and drop it down the front of his trousers for another fire ants in his pants lesson.

  “Well?” Cullen was still waiting for Patricia’s response.

  “I think we’re in big trouble.” She kept her voice whisper soft.

  “Agreed.” Cullen casually glanced around the vast room. He could feel the threat approaching like a freight train, he just couldn’t pin down the direction of origin as yet. It was frustrating, but at least he knew Trix was ready.

  Patricia wanted to stamp her foot in frustration. This day was not turning out how she expected it to. First she’d spent an annoying hour trying to decide what to wear. Changing her mind over six times. Finally settling on a cream blouse, and rust coloured linen trousers. Pairing them with cream, suede, low heeled sandals, in case any chaos befell them and she had to run. She’d left her hair down. And she’d kept her jewellery to a minimum, wearing only a chunky amber necklace.

  Waltzing into the Annexe, she’d been expecting to find any number of infractions she might use for ammunition to oust Cullen. But the missing Christmas decorations had been found and were hung to the exacting requirements stated by the Town Charter.

  The public bulletin board wasn’t just up to date, it was connected to the local grapevine. Cullen had gone digital and was paying her good friend, and cousin, Maureen, who had her finger on the pulse, to send through updates.

  Damn it, such a good idea she wished she’d come up with it.

  Patricia’s ammunition had turned to ash. Though it looked like trouble was on the horizon regarding the high tea. The High Council were very invested in this meet and greet going well. Keeping on the good side of the God of Chaos was priority number one. And Cullen was responsible for this event.

  She wasn’t hoping that something bad would happen, that would be wrong. But all her instincts were telling her that things were about to go sideways. All she could do was be ready and try and keep the casualties and damage to a minimum.

  Cullen knew from long time experience that expecting trouble didn’t give you an edge. He could run through thousands of potential scenarios. But all that would do was clutter his head with a never ending series of useless equations, trajectories and potential nearby weapons. Until the move was actually made, he could only empty his mind and wait. Wait for his senses to be tripped.

  It was funny, even when you are expecting trouble, the direction, the impact, the players involved, it could still surprise you. Still take valuable seconds for everything to be revealed and for him to correlate his reactions.

  There was nothing he could do for Faleph, the thin, sneering Prime Advisor was suddenly on the ground. His throat cut and his life’s blood spraying out of him at an alarming rate. Athaltho must have sliced the jugular with the sharp edge of the elaborate silver clip he wore.

  Faleph’s gurgling death rattle had barely commenced when the two dog headed guards moved up on other side of Apep, hauling him to his feet, slapping black metal cuffs around his wrists. The metal table falling with a clang, sending plates and their contents smashing to the ground. Hot tea splashing the slate tiles.

  The moment the guards had Apep, Cullen froze. A hostage, one as important as the God of Chaos, that changed everything. Around him glass panes rattled in their frames. The ground trembled slightly, and the water in the stream rippled sideways, splattering the slate flooring.

  “That’s enough of that.” Athaltho casually pinned the silver clip to his shoulder, uncaring of the blood he was smearing across the blue material of his robes. His black gaze lifted to focus on Cara, who was standing in Erik’s arms off to the side, where he had hauled her out of the way. Cara’s face was too pale, her blue eyes behind the lens of her glasses, a little too dazed. Behind them stood the two distant cousins he’d hired for the day to act as English butlers, wisely staying out of the way.

  “I… I’m not sure I can.”

  Athaltho’s smile never slipped from his round face. “I suggest you try very hard, my dear. No one else has to die here today. Unless you force my hand. No, don’t l
ook to dear old Grand Pappy, those black manacles have cut him off from his magic.”

  Erik glared at the High Priest, rubbing Cara’s back soothingly as he did so. Cara breathed slowly, forcing herself to inhale and exhale. Slowly, the trembling and rattling ceased around them.

  “Excellent.” If possible, Athaltho’s grin broadened. “Let’s see, we have our God. All I need is the woman.” Athaltho’s dark eyes flicked to Patricia. “If you’d be so kind, Zartel?”

  The tall warrior’s long legs brought him swiftly to Patricia’s side. She didn’t struggle as he wrapped her hair around one large hand, twisting it, like it was a leash. She knew, bone deep, the warrior and his cohorts wouldn’t get away with this.

  No doubt the Archer had an elaborate plan already locked and loaded, she just needed to be patient and wait for her cue. Hmmm, but there was one little thing Cullen should factor into his equation. “He’s mine.” She mouthed the words Cullen’s way just before Zartel yanked on her hair, indicating it was time for walkies. Arrogant warrior asshole, he had no idea who he was messing with here.

  “I’d like to issue a deep and heartfelt apology on behalf of my staff for their rude… though unsurprising actions.” Apep looked unperturbed by his sudden change in circumstances. Ignoring the manacles on his wrists and the grip of the two dog headed guards on his upper arms, keeping him in place. “I’ve given these dolts a mind bogglingly number of opportunities to make their move and expose their hand. But they just would not take a hint. Minions. What are you going to do, eh? Once upon a time, they’d rip out their own liver for an opportunity to serve you. Now, it’s all power hungry self-serving sycophants.”

  Athaltho noticed the blood smears on his robes finally, lips pursing regretfully for a split second before that grin once more lit his face. “You do like to hear yourself talk, don’t you?”

  “Pot. Kettle. Athaltho.” Apep’s lips lifted in a rueful smile. “You know, I’m genuinely surprised that Faleph wasn’t in on this little coup. All that sneering.”