To Handle A Hellcat (Southern Sanctuary Book 12)

by Jane Cousins

  Thankfully, Declan was there to lend a hand. Hmmm, standing was a new experience when pretty much your entire lower half felt distant, numb and out of sync.

  Slowly, with nothing like her normal grace, Darcy stumbled over to her boots and stockings, she wouldn’t feel anywhere close to normal until she had those back on. Yuk, and she couldn’t get in her car in this wet top and underwear, it would ruin the leather. Huh, she was only just now aware that she’d been flashing Declan in her purple lace knickers for the last few minutes and his eyes had never strayed south of the border… so to speak.

  Not that she wanted the Lurve… no, it was official now, Love God Offspring’s appreciation or attention. Darcy’s ego was plenty healthy. Thankfully her pragmatic mind seized on the ideal solution to her problem. “I’m going to need your t-shirt.”

  It was a fantasy come to life for Declan. Darcy wearing nothing but thigh-high purple boots, be-ribboned pull up stockings and his t-shirt. Thank the Goddess, his jeans were hiding his reaction. Though he wasn’t really sure he was going to be able to walk until his excitement subsided.

  Darcy headed slowly for her car, dreading the idea that she was going to have to hand over her car keys to the bare-chested Adonis. “And don’t forget to collect the remains of my skirt, the weapons in the waistband, my handcuffs, my taser. Oh, and I think you’d better bring what’s left of the Queen.”

  “What was that?” Declan’s eyes were transfixed on the sight of Darcy’s perfect ass twitching away beneath the hem of his t-shirt.

  “The remains of the Queen, pick them up and bring them along.” Darcy instructed casually, smiling to herself in glee. Payback was a bitch wearing purple thigh-high boots today. Well, to be truthful, she was a bitch everyday of the week, only the colour of her boots changed. “One of the science geeks will probably want to study its snot or whatever that thing produces.”

  And just like that Declan’s excitement thankfully subsided.

  * * *

  Darcy checked her reflection in the blade of a knife. She was ready. Hell, be honest, she’d been ready an hour ago, but she was procrastinating.

  Seated on top of her desk, she swung her heels back and forth, admiring the shiny black vinyl thigh-high boots she had on. Absently smoothing down her cream plaid mini-skirt with its black checks and hot pink fine lines.

  She was now officially late. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to care. The thought of facing the family tonight at Great-Great-Aunt Adelaide’s latest book launch, it caused her stomach to roil and acid to taint the back of her throat. The Sanctuary magic might be dependent upon the mystical power grid that invisibly covered it. The residents however, were fuelled by gossip.

  And the rumour mill had to be running red hot today. Darcy just wasn’t sure what the lead item would be. Her being seen needing Declan’s help to climb the stairs to her office building on stiff, wobbly legs. The fact that Darcy had been wearing nothing but thigh high boots and Declan’s t-shirt. Or, that Declan had been seen exiting the driver’s seat of her car.

  No one would blink at the oddity of him being bare-chested, not considering his extraordinary record for tearing or losing clothes. No, that wouldn’t rate top billing, though would probably get an honourable mention, and provoke a lot of grinding of teeth from the women who had missed the sight in person. But being allowed to drive Darcy’s sports car? Her baby? And live to tell the tale? Declan’s infamy would certainly have gotten a boost that he quite frankly wasn’t in need of.

  Sighing, Darcy hopped down off her desk. Smoothing her glossy short black hair down. She’d been vaguely hoping if she waited long enough a new exciting case might pop up in her in-box, demanding her immediate attention. But her to-do list remained unchanged. Find the missing Incubus, was still number one. Visit her cousins and their babies, second.

  Oh, shit, and on her personal to-do list, find appropriate gifts for the babies and her brother. Pulling a short-sleeve black snug cardigan on over her cream bustier, Darcy squared her shoulders and exited the office. She couldn’t put off attending Great-Great-Aunt Adelaide’s book launch party any longer.

  While she set the perimeter traps and locked up her office she let her mind wander.

  Despite her distaste at the idea of mixing with small humans that could do nothing but eat, sleep and poop at this stage, vague curiosity niggled at Darcy. Not only had several family members hinted that there was something special… hinky about the newborns. The fact that they appeared on her official Special Liaison worksheet, that spoke volumes.

  Hmmm, so if she approached them as a case, what would she do first? Research. Oh, happy thoughts, a little breaking and entering would be required. Sure, she could access the local hospital records via her gifted hacking skills, but Nell was notorious for making personal notes and observations in her files that never made it on to the computerised records. If Darcy wanted the whole truth, she needed to go to the source.

  Snap, she just had a brilliant idea. The files would include the newborn’s foot imprints. She could steal copies of those and get personalised presents made up for each of the babies. Better yet, it would also provide her with the perfect excuse she needed to put off visiting them for a few more days. Even her mother would understand if she said she was waiting for the presents to be made ready.

  Phew, which only left her brother, Boyd, the spare. It would be kind of amusing to do a similar thing for him. And of course the look on his face when he worked out that she’d somehow managed to sneak into his house, past all those ‘complicated’ locks he had installed, managing to make imprints of his feet. Oh, that would be priceless. What a great, personalised ‘suitable’ gift.

  Okay, but duty first, Adelaide’s book launch. The fun of breaking and entering later.

  Outside, Darcy took a deep breath. It was just past nine in the evening. The night air was a little balmy, laden with scents of the nearby ocean and recently cut grass. Mentally she gave the lion statues - Slaughter and War - a farewell wave for the evening.

  Her gait was even and smooth, it didn’t feel as if she was suffering any ill effects from her run in with the Leech Queen. Her motor-skills were back to optimal, except for passing pins and needles in the small toe on her right foot, and faint, but rapidly healing electrical burns across the base of her spine where the Queen had latched on.

  Declan certainly had stepped up today, recognising and dealing with the Buhay and then playing medic for her. She’d only hesitated four point five seconds before ticking the satisfactory checkbox on today’s evaluation form and forwarding it on to Elijah.

  Ducking down Kestrel Laneway, she headed for the main thoroughfare, Beach Road, where the majority of shops and eateries were located. Darcy couldn’t help but note how quiet it was. So much so she could hear the breaking of surf, emanating from behind the row of shops that backed on to the long pristine Haven Bay stretch of beach.

  Turning left, she headed for the Five Alarm Bar, where Adelaide was holding her party.

  Darcy supposed she could have Transportaled directly there from her office, but it was only a ten-minute walk. More importantly, it gave any enemies stalking her a chance to make their move… fingers crossed.

  And just like that, her prayers were answered. Out of the narrow alleyway between Great-Uncle Jefferies Antiques and Curios Shop and Aunt Gwen’s Hair Salon, a Pagan Priestess emerged to block Darcy’s path. Sometimes the hardest thing about her job was not to break out cackling loudly in glee. Woo-hoo, blood and mayhem. Now she was suddenly in the party mood.

  Schooling her expression into one of boredom and disdain, Darcy eyed the looming black clad obstacle. Typical biker babe wear, skin-tight pants, knee-high boots, leather bikini halter top with straps wrapping around exceptionally well defined abs. There was a tattoo around the woman’s mid-section, a wreathe of flames, and another tat on her shoulder of a rose melting into a puddle. Given the shadows, other than a swathe of long, lustrous, dark blonde curls, Darcy was unable to see much else
except the reflection of light bouncing off an overconfident smirk and the nine-inch curved blade the Priestess was holding up.

  Nice knife, she did love it when strangers just randomly gave her gifts in the street.

  “If this is a mugging, you’re doing it wrong.” Darcy advised helpfully. “You’re supposed to wait until I pass by, leap out, stick that toothpick in my kidney and demand all my money.”

  “This isn’t a mugging. This is a distraction.”

  Darcy couldn’t help but grin now. “I know.”

  She whirled, a Pagan Priestess with rippling raven hair was trying to creep up behind her. Amateurs. How do you expect to sneak when you are carrying a length of chain? She could only surmise it was the woman’s weapon du jour, since she had matching tattoos of chains wrapped around both upper arms.

  Darcy had already catalogued her opponents’ flexibility and skill-sets by the way they moved and held their weapons. A dozen fight options flicked through her head instantaneously. She didn’t choose the most optimal, she chose the most fun. She needed to release some steam.

  Darcy didn’t attempt to dodge or even duck as the length of chain came right at her, wrapping around her throat tightly. Most people would operate on reflex, digging their heels in and trying to tug their way loose. Darcy wasn’t most people. She grabbed the length of chain and hauled hard. The Pagan Priestess wasn’t expecting that move. Pulled off her feet, stumbling forward.

  Darcy jumped in the air slightly, head butting the raven haired Pagan hard. There was a crack of bone, a warm spray of blood and a cry of outrage and pain. Broken noses were a bitch.

  Darcy took the opportunity to rip the chain length right out of the woman’s hand. Twirling, she spun the chain out, wrapping it around the blonde’s wrist, giving it a quick hard tug. The Priestess lost hold of the knife.

  Behind her, Darcy sensed the raven haired girl shake off her temporary disorientation and charge. Timing was everything. Darcy planted her feet solidly and yanked extra hard on the chain. The blonde jerked forward. All Darcy had to do was take a small step to the left. Crunch. The Pagan Priestesses smacked together hard. They crumpled to the ground. The already dazed raven haired babe out for the count.

  Darcy reached up, unwinding the chain from around her neck, stepping forward, she stared down at the blonde who was struggling to get back to her feet. Damn, she was late enough for the party, fun time was over. Hauling back, Darcy followed through with a swift kick to the woman’s chin, snapping her head back. She dropped like a stone.

  Speaking of late, now she had two bodies to deal with, not dead, but certainly requiring some attention. She could call in the local police, but that would mean a lot of chatting and filling in of reports. Or she could haul the two off to the not so secret Liaison holding facility located under her office. The one reserved for very special cases.

  Hmmm, but these two, their pitiful attack hardly rated a stay in her tender care. They really weren’t all that special or unique, considering there were thirty-one more of them hanging around somewhere.

  Picking up her new knife. Darcy contemplated the two prone bodies. Maybe what was required here was a lesson, a - in your face, don’t even think about messing with me or any of my family – message. Darcy was an expert at those kinds of messages. She could totally work for an evil greeting card company if she ever wanted a change of pace.

  Smiling, Darcy leaned over and began testing just how sharp her shiny new knife was. One lesson coming up.

  Chapter Nine

  “I won’t mention the blood or the bruises, if you don’t mention the book cover.”

  Darcy swiped the pro-offered pile of napkins from Nico, owner of the Five Alarm Bar, and began rubbing at her face. “Book cover?”

  Nico sighed, lifting his chin slightly, indicating she should look behind her.

  Darcy’s gaze zeroed in on the middle of the room where a space had been cleared so that Great-Great-Aunt Adelaide could hold court. She wasn’t hard to pick out in the crowd, given she was dressed head to toe in her signature colour of all-white. But it was even easier tonight since she was standing in front of a fifteen foot blown up poster depicting the cover of her just published book.

  “Oh.” Darcy choked back a laugh. “Latin Shackled Heat?”

  The title was big and bold but what really caught and held your attention was the male model. He was naked, his back and legs glistening with beads of sweat. His muscles tense. His head thrown back, only his profile visible. A shadowy woman clinging to his side, her hand dangling a set of handcuffs strategically so that they covered the male models well defined tight bare ass.

  “Is that? You didn’t?” Darcy glanced at Nico’s sour expression. “I mean… nice turn out.”

  “You missed a bit.” Nico sounded surly as he pointed at Darcy’s cheek. The poster had been a very nasty surprise when Adelaide had first set it up. It wasn’t Nico on that cover, but damn, it could have been his twin. Talk about embarrassing.

  Darcy dipped a napkin in some soda water and dabbed at her right cheek, looking to Nico to double-check she’d managed to eradicate the few extraneous drops that had managed to land on her. Pleased to note her skirt, top, and most importantly boots were splatter free.

  “You’re good. You want some ice for your throat?” He eyed the blossoming black, purple and green bruises.

  “No, just a glass of champagne.” She accepted the glass and turned on the barstool to survey the crowd. It was an excellent turn out. But then her extended eccentric family were known to use the slightest of excuses to get together and drink. Two months ago there had been an all night shindig when Great-Uncle Paddy had his pathway re-paved.

  Part of Darcy’s innate gift was to sort, catalogue and assess information in a split second. Always spinning her web. She could with only a glance list every person in the bar right at this moment. What they were wearing. What weapons they were carrying on them concealed. And how drunk they were.

  Weirdly, tonight her attention arrowed in on Declan. Seated on the far side of the room at a large round table. He was laughing and drinking with Charisse, her meld mate, Nate, Great-Aunt Annabeth, Aunt Roberta, and recently melded Fen Valhalla and his Valkyrie bride, Brodie.

  Declan looked relaxed, happy, as all the women at the table laughed loudly at something he said.

  Nate was casting partly amused, partly peeved glances Declan’s way, since he was sitting ridiculously close to Charisse. Idiot, Declan did love to push the buttons of all the Elite Maat Warriors.

  Fen’s attention appeared to be fixed on Brodie, looking as if he were trying to apologise to her for no doubt doing or saying something stupid.

  Without conscious thought, Darcy had also picked up on the fact that there were five Pagan Priestesses present, hovering in the background. Their attention also fixed upon Declan, their gazes filled with naked lust, a little awe and a distinct air of ownership.

  “What do you think when you look at him?” Darcy directed the question to the woman who had just commandeered the barstool next to her, Rowan, Declan’s biological mother. She had slipped out of the crowd without making a ripple, but no one could sneak up on Darcy.

  “I think you’ve all but ruined him.”

  Darcy noted Rowan’s deep blue eyes fixed upon her son were full of battling pride and disgust. “Ruined?” She ruminated over the word. Funny, Declan was the joy of his adoptive fathers’ world. An able and respected member of the Enforcement team. Even Elijah was forced to admit that sometimes only Declan’s particular charm could win them the day. His dimpled smile often more disarming than a hundred sharp swords.

  And Declan might be the target of a lot of teasing in regards to his looks and luck with the ladies, but he gave as good as he got. The family, from the cousins all the way up to the few remaining Great-Great-Greats, liked, admired… loved him. Ruined? It didn’t fit Declan Benavidez at all.

  “And he’s so…” Rowan knocked back some whiskey. “…. fucking cheerful. Is he
always like that?”

  Darcy’s hackles rose. It was okay for her to piss and moan about Declan’s relentless cheerfulness, but how dare this bitch come out of nowhere and criticise him. Whoa. Darcy tamped down hard on the desire to reach for her favourite knife and start cutting. Too many innocents were in the immediate vicinity. She was the family defender but usually she played it smarter than this.

  Besides, Declan was more than capable of looking after himself. And perhaps it was a smart choice on his part to want nothing what so ever to do with his long lost mother and her gang of leather clad followers.

  “He rarely stops dazzling us with those dimples.”

  Rowan released a just audible derisive snort and tossed back the remainder of her whiskey, signalling Nico for a re-fill. Darcy turned back to the bar. This close she had the opportunity to see that the tattoos encircling Rowan’s upper arms were golden ropes that looked weirdly life-like. And her wrists were encircled by tattooed green vines that seemed to all but rustle in some non existent breeze on their living canvas.

  There wasn’t that much resemblance between mother and son. Rowan’s blonde hair was shot through with glints of red. And her eyes were blue, a deep penetrating colour. But there was something about the nose and the way she lifted her chin. And certainly the woman was gorgeous.

  Rowan shook her head, a sneer settling over her features. “Abomination.”

  Darcy was used to that word being levelled at her, but it caught her off guard to note that Rowan’s gaze was still fixed upon Declan.

  “Is that why you abandoned him here?”

  “He was perfection itself when I placed him here for safe-keeping.”

  “You keep jewellery in a locked box for safe-keeping. You don’t leave a child for twenty-eight years and expect to waltz back into his life, demanding he drop everything and leave with you.”

  “He is a God. Meant to be worshipped. Adored. He has a Destiny. A Duty. And he belongs to us.”

  Even Darcy thought it kind of sad that no where in that statement did Rowan mention love. She might have a contentious relationship with her mum and two out of her three siblings, but Darcy knew she was loved. And in return she loved them with a ferocity that more than one psychiatrist had labelled bordered on homicidal. Darcy never did anything by half measures.