To Handle A Hellcat (Southern Sanctuary Book 12)

by Jane Cousins

  Darcy winced, and let out a deep, relieved breath. Except for a long cut down one arm and a few nicks on her hands and more on her face, the result of flying glass, she seemed in relatively good shape. Which was more than she could say for her precious baby. She sent up a silent prayer of thanks to Hamilton, the family mechanic, who’d worked magic on her car over the years. Reinforcing the frame, making the seating space all but indestructible.

  Undoing her seat belt, Darcy gripped the sides of the car and awkwardly clambered out. Her boots sliding slightly, clods of dirt crumbling beneath her heels. Grrr, her head hurt, she must have banged it somewhere along the way. The ache in her skull was throbbing in time with her heartbeat.

  Okay, step one, find her mobile and call Hamilton to come and tow her baby. Step two, Darcy began climbing up the bank, heading for the downed Pagan Priestesses. It looked like the Locks of Love Charity would be receiving yet another couple of donations this week.

  Chapter Fourteen

  What was worse? Catching a glimpse of Darcy’s wrecked car being towed through the Town Square? Or being told he could find her at the local hospital in the surgical wing?

  No, the fucking cherry on top of the whole mess was watching three of the MacKenzie brothers, Mac, Gideon and Zeke, holding Darcy down while one of the nurses attempted to treat her wounds. Try, being the operative word, as Darcy snapped, snarled and came close several times to head butting her couple of times removed cousins.

  Declan wasn’t even aware of the scowl on his face, an incredibly rare sight, or the primeval possessive growl that rumbled from the back of his throat. But the MacKenzie brothers were officers of the law, trained to assess and deal with any situation. They knew exactly what to do.

  Darcy had been ineffectually struggling with her captors since the moment they had forced her to take a seat outside the operating theatres. Three, over six foot, magically strong men versus her… it should have been more of an equal match. Admittedly her head was throbbing, and she kind of ached all over. So even though she was spitting mad, and ducking to avoid the nasty smelling ointment that Nurse Ratchet wanted to apply, Darcy’s heart really wasn’t in it.

  Still, her instinct for danger hadn’t been dulled by the crash. When she heard that growl, she froze in place, along with everyone looming over her. Was there a wild animal in here? A creature-feature come to cause havoc? It wouldn’t be the first time. She could step up, even though she wasn’t in top fighting form. But hey, why bother when she was surrounded by cannon fodder. The MacKenzie brothers could take care of it…. hold on, why were they letting go and backing away so carefully?

  Hell, was whatever approaching worse than she could imagine? Was she being the one thrown in the path of a wild, deadly creature, to provide a distraction so everyone else could escape? Cowards.

  The tendons in her neck had tightened painfully since the adrenalin of surviving the attack on her life and resulting car crash had worn off. It cost Darcy, but she managed to turn her head. All she saw was Declan approaching, looking a little intense, sure, but way hot in tight faded jeans, shit kicker boots and a steel grey t-shirt.

  It was weird, between one heartbeat and the next the MacKenzie brothers had disappeared, muttering something about collating their reports. And Nurse Ratchet, otherwise known as Cousin Martha, had hurriedly stepped aside, dumped a few first-aid items into Declan’s hands and walked off. Instructing Declan to deal with her recalcitrant patient, barely even batting her eyelashes more than twice in Cyrano’s direction. Now that was strange.

  Every muscle, every molecule Declan had relaxed, as he came face to face with Darcy. Other than a nasty coloured bruise on her forehead, a long cut along one arm and a few small nicks, she appeared to be alright. His heart could beat normally again. The warring fear and anger roiling in his gut evaporated.

  “What happened to you?” He crowded in close, breathing in her scent.

  Darcy fought the urge to frown, it hurt too much. Declan had saved her from forced first-aid but now he was bodily blocking her escape route. She could totally get past him, but to do so would involve touching him and she wasn’t prepared to go there just yet. Not when weird little spikes of excitement were dancing in her gut and things low in her body were heating up.

  “A little run in with a couple of Pagan Priestesses. They’re…” Darcy waved a hand in the direction of the operating theatres. “…in surgery now.”

  “So there’s nothing to stop us from kicking out the entire gang, is there? It’s not just threats anymore, they are resorting to outright violence.” Declan dipped the applicator Martha had dumped in his hand into the pot of evil smelling blue ointment, dabbing a bit on a small cut on the back of Darcy’s hand.

  “Hey. Watch it with that stuff.” She leaned away from him. “And no, on the other thing. One of them was still conscious and swearing loudly that she and her friend were acting alone. Unfortunately, there were a lot of witnesses around when she did so.”

  Declan crowded in a little closer and managed to apply the ointment to two more small cuts.

  “Will you stop that.” Darcy batted his hand away but with no real power behind it, still trying desperately not to touch him. Kind of hard since he was standing between her splayed legs. Crap, that heat low in her body was ramping up to furnace level. When she tried to lean further away every muscle in her back and neck sent up a protest, ouch, good, pain was good, cleared the head.

  “Stop acting like such a baby.” Declan didn’t know whether to laugh or scowl. Darcy was in pain, he hated that. But she was acting like a toddler, refusing to be treated. And she clearly didn’t like the fact that he was standing so close to her… which was a good thing, right?

  Better still, she wasn’t pulling out a knife and stabbing him, so he had to be making progress. He sighed as she ducked sideways to avoid the applicator, pulling up short, wincing visibly, her breath hissing out from between clenched teeth.

  “Sit still. Or, do I have to bring out the handcuffs?”

  Darcy didn’t mean to freeze in place. Damn, she might as well have sent up a batch of fireworks to let Declan know that what happened between them last night had gotten to her. She expected him to follow up with a leer and a sly innuendo but all Declan did was lightning fast apply ointment to the long scratch up her arm.

  “We need to talk.”

  Darcy hid a wince, those words never boded well. “Nope, really, we don’t. Unless it’s about the missing Incubus, that’s the only subject requiring a discussion between us.”

  Declan hid his amusement, oh, he had Darcy on the ropes, she was out of her element, all but at his mercy. Damn it, he was too honourable to act on it. She was in pain. He would not take advantage. “I spoke with Rowan earlier, and Aengus popped into her body for a surprise visit.”

  “He can do that?”

  “If he has a link to that person or their permission, yes. Hint, if the eyes are flickering with green flame, then Aengus is in residence.”

  Darcy had a sudden peculiar thought, if Declan ever gave into Aengus, then his beautiful violet eyes would be no more. That would be a tragedy, one she could not allow to happen. “Go on.”

  “Why, what did you think I wanted to discuss?” Okay, he might be noble but he could still push a little.

  “Nothing. What did they want?”

  “Gave me an ultimatum and when I said no, Aengus made a threat against you, and I’m guessing a phone call was made and… well, here you are.” Declan stealthily applied ointment to the last few nicks and scrapes he could see.

  “Huh.” Darcy didn’t complain as Declan worked on her, little dots of numbness and relief were sinking in wherever the ointment was applied and there was a small part of her, a silly, miniscule part, that liked being the centre of his attention. “It’s weird. How they seem to be focusing on me, I mean.”

  “Oh?” Declan was treading in dangerous territory now. He picked up a waiting square bandage, concentrating on applying some of the ointment to
it. “You think? I just assumed since Aengus basically grew up here… knows how we work… he realises that in order to get me out of here, the only person that could aid him or stop him would be you.”

  “I suppose.” Anything or anyone who belonged to the Southern Sanctuary effectively fell under her purview to protect and defend. Still, Darcy felt like she was missing a part of the puzzle. She was about to open her mouth to enquire what Declan was holding back when she noted the large square Band-aid, loaded with evil smelling blue ointment, was headed directly for her. “Hey, what do you intend to do with that?” She ducked and then leant back as far as she could. Ouch, every muscle sent a memo in triplicate to remind her that any sudden movement was a bad idea.

  “That’s a rather a nasty bump on your head.” Declan eyed the protruding lump, rather colourful at the moment with streaks of dark green mixing with purple and a hint of black.

  “I don’t care. I’m not having that stuff near my nose.”

  “You won’t even smell it after the first five seconds, and it will help with the headache, you can’t tell me your head isn’t throbbing.”

  “My head is fine.” Darcy leaned back even further, muscles straining, some even quivering, pain dancing down every receptor.

  “What is Nell going to think if she could see you now? She’d insist you get this looked at.”

  Darcy glanced through the glass doors off to her left. It was easy to identify which blue outfitted medical person working on the biker babe was Nell, she glowed. “Nell’s going to have a lot more on her plate very soon to worry about than my little boo-boo.”

  Declan continued to eye the bruise, sometimes Darcy was her own worst enemy, so stubborn. The important thing was knowing how to handle her… without seeming like you were handling her. “Okay, if you say so, but you have major clash issues going on, I’m just saying.”

  He’d caught her attention. “What do you mean?”

  Declan glanced down at her powder blue plaid skirt with the fine dark pink and black checks and lines running through it. She’d paired the skirt with a dark pink tiny t-shirt with the words – Queen of you! - written across it in sparkling blue letters, and her boots were also powder blue. “Just that those dark greens and purples aren’t good with the pastels, but hey, that’s just my humble opinion.”

  Darcy leaned forward abruptly and tilted her head so that Declan could apply the nasty ointment and carefully cover her bump with the square inoffensive white Band-aid.

  “That’s my brave girl.” Declan’s violet eyes gleamed with amusement. He couldn’t resist, leaning forward and planting a swift quick kiss on those full cupid bow lips of hers. It was their first ever, and as kisses went, all too brief, but her lips felt heavenly pressed against his.

  “Hey?” Darcy found she could frown again, the numbing agent in the ointment already beginning to work.

  “Payment for services rendered.” Declan’s double dimples popped as he grinned broadly, unrepentant. “So, now what do you want to do? Roust the Pagan Priestesses? Have a stern chat with Rowan? Take four painkillers and go to bed?”

  That furnace between her legs emitted a warning that it was in danger of overloading as Declan mentioned going to bed, nope, not going there.

  “I’m fine.” Darcy chanced touching him, placing her hands flatly against Declan’s hard muscular chest and giving him a push. Forcing him to step back. Hopping down she ignored the twinges and bruises. The more she moved around, the better she’d feel… she hoped. “We’re heading out to check out the Fire Elemental Altar. We can take Nell’s car, she won’t be needing it for a while. I’ll just leave a note for the nurse letting her know where to express the hair from our road rash victims. The way things are going, the Locks of Love Charity is going to be inundated by the end of the week.”

  “You didn’t?” Though Declan was smiling as he asked.

  Darcy liked that he wasn’t all goody goody and shocked by her antics. Seriously, she had been shot at, and her car wrecked, donating their long luscious manes to a good cause was the very least those two bimbo babes could do. “I’m a giver, what can I say. Come on, haul that tight ass, we have an Altar to visit.”

  “You really think my ass is tight?” Declan grinned, following Darcy down the corridor. More pleased than he could express hearing her give a snort of derision, shaking her head in clear exasperation.

  They were talking. They’d gotten over the awkward silent treatment without Darcy even knowing it. Now, he just needed to figure out a way to exploit the progress he’d managed to make last night and the only way he could imagine doing that was to somehow get Darcy to be the one to make the next move.

  Yeah, no pressure there.

  * * *

  Darcy felt like a limp, overcooked noodle. Albeit one whose every muscle ached any time they made the slightest move, or in her case, even blinked.

  “That’s it, I’m calling it.”

  Darcy pushed her damp hair off her face, wiping her sweaty forehead, careful not to touch her bandage, as she did so. “I just need another minute…” Darcy gripped the Altar made out of dark grey lava sediment, all but leaning on it. Thankfully the unusually smooth gleaming waist high structure was incredibly sturdy. “The Incubus was definitely summoned here but the magic of the Summoner, it’s been… warped, twisted somehow. I know them… I know who this is… I can’t… there’s this weird interference.”

  “Darcy, we’ve been in here for twenty minutes already, much longer and you’ll be able to put a fork in me and declare me done.”

  “Oh, stop your whining.” She growled, trying to concentrate. Studying the Summoner’s magical signature for the hundredth time. It was just a matter of identifying and untangling the… oddities that saturated the magic. Who ever had summoned the Incubus, they weren’t… right. Unwell? No, it was almost as if there were two people involved in the summoning, and yet not. There was only one magical signature present but it had weird thick layers blanketing parts of it, along with sly little tenuous threads infiltrating other areas. The reading was just down right odd.

  “If you fall down I will be forced to pick you up in my big, strong, admittedly very capable arms, and hold you against my steely chest, carrying your fragile, damsel in distress self away from this hellish hot pocket.”

  That got Darcy’s attention. The idea of being in Declan’s arms… no way. “You know what, you’re right. I have the signature memorised now, I can work on decoding it back at the office.”

  She tried not to glance Declan’s way, but damn it, how could she not. His steel grey t-shirt was soaked through and plastered to his upper body like paint on a masterpiece. His hair was dark golden with sweat, the ends barely moving as his mysterious magical breeze worked overtime against the heavy, hot, oppressive air and the fact they were a couple of miles underground.

  Darcy reluctantly let go of the Altar. Turning, she heaved a sigh, looking across the dirt floor at the narrow crevice that would see them commence the fifty minute steep climb out of the subterranean cavern. Shit, she’d still been coasting on righteous anger and adrenalin when they made their way down here. But now, Darcy really wasn’t sure if she was up to the climb. And for all Declan’s big talk about carrying her… given the narrow passageways and the numerous stalactites to duck under, it wasn’t really an option.

  “Hold on.”

  Darcy hid her relief, putting off the claustrophobically narrow and awkward climb out of here for even just another minute was too tempting by half.

  “You’ve got the reading of the magical signature, if we leave via the Portal, it won’t matter now, will it? There’s nothing left to contaminate, is there?”

  “No, but we did come in Nell’s car.”

  Declan shrugged. “Drum lives to do stuff for Nell. We’ll just text him to come and collect it.”

  Darcy tried to think, but she was just too tired and muscle sore. And Declan was stalking towards her, his violet eyes sparkling, reflecting the flickering flames fro
m the ring of fire that edged the cavern space. Crowding her back towards the Portal, unless she dared to stay still and allow him to put his hands on her. No, because that idea sounded strangely too good. She immediately began heading towards the Portal.

  Fed by magic, the white hot flames that rimmed the edges of the cavern created one big flaming circle which never died or dimmed. Heavens, it was hot in here. If possible, most of the family avoided using this Altar, except for the sauna-fiends and those who wanted a lot of privacy for their magic.

  The location was isolated, found deep under the sea cliffs a few miles inland. Using the Fire Elemental Portal itself was considered tricky, the superheated air meeting the cool air of the destination or origin point more often than not tended to have highly undesirable reactions.

  Not that it would have had a problem connecting with the Demon realm to call the Incubus. But Darcy couldn’t help but send up a prayer, hoping that they wouldn’t end up incinerating the maintenance closet in her building. Were there any flammable liquids in there?

  She shuddered as Declan stepped up behind her, going through together was a smart idea. Though it was weird how she could differentiate between the body heat Declan exuded and the relentless grating heat of the mystical eternal flames.

  Darcy must have been more distracted by the heat and her aches and pains than she’d thought. It certainly wasn’t Declan’s nearness knocking her for a loop that caused her to miss where he set their destination. One moment they were in the cavern, stepping through the Transportal, the next, they were in what looked like a man’s closet. Darcy had barely time to blink before Declan was flinging open the door and herding her out.

  She didn’t recognise the room, though luxury cabin would have probably been a more fitting term for the space. Open planned. A large king sized bed decorated with crisp cream sheets and a muted grey throw was off to her left. Directly in front of her was the living space. Charcoal grey sofas surrounded a low square coffee table. And to her right was the kitchen; cream cabinets and polished cement bench tops that gleamed.