by Jane Cousins
The other Priestess hovered in the doorway, likewise armed. Darcy tapped into her powers. It took less than a blink of an eye for the most optimal solution to register. She was already in motion.
Uncurling the laser whip from around Declan’s throat she shoved him aside, cracked the whip out, boosting its power slightly so it glowed a pale red. It wrapped around the wrist of the startled Pagan Priestess hovering in the doorway. Darcy heaved, putting everything she had into it. The woman stumbled forward, slamming into her partner.
Score, both of the guards had cleared the threshold, let the fun begin. Darcy twirled and slammed her boot into the gut of the nearest biker babe with a fluid back kick. Her other leg on the follow through kicking the blade out of her hand.
The babe still entangled in the laser whip charged. Darcy brought the whip up, using it to block her flurry of knife thrusts and wild punches. With her hands outstretched like that Darcy couldn’t help but take advantage, looping out the the laser whip, wrapping it around both the woman’s wrists, effectively handcuffing her. It was a simple matter then to deliver two quick nerve punches. The Priestess dropped the knife she was holding. Darcy quickly kicked it out of the way.
Stepping forward she grabbed a hank of the taller woman’s hair and tugged, effectively bringing her face down a little lower so she could deliver several jabs to her nose. Blood flew, the woman cried out, struggling to bring her tied hands up to protect herself.
Darcy sensed the other guard’s approach, waiting, waiting, at the exact right moment she grabbed the Priestess she was facing by the laser wrapped wrists and hauled her forward, ducking at the same time. Crunch. Head butt. Laser girl fell badly, another crunch, arm or shoulder broken by the sound of it. She wouldn’t be moving anytime soon, lying there panting hard, blowing bubbles of blood and snot.
The remaining Priestess pushed dark brown hair out of her eyes, a bruise already forming on her left temple, the black bringing out the deep blue of her eyes. People said a well rounded person could find art where ever they looked. Darcy doubted highly that she fit in that category but if she squinted just right, the bruise did kind of look like a bunny rabbit.
Blue eyes had barbed wire tattoos around each of her upper arms and her tight low-cut leather waistcoat gave Darcy a glimpse of a barbed wire stick man, tattooed high on her left breast.
They circled around the fallen Priestess. Blue-eyed babe holding up her fists in readiness. The lull gave Darcy a chance to note from the way the woman moved that she tended to favour her right side, believing it was the strongest. And it might well have been, and blue-eyed babe might have stood a chance if this was a conventional fight, if Darcy had played by any kind of rules.
The only guideline Darcy ever chose to adhere to when she fought was to always keep her opponent guessing. So she darted in, allowing blue-eyed babe to throw a right hook that missed by a mile, as Darcy then back flipped away, slamming the toe of her boot hard up against the woman’s jaw, snapping back her head.
Blue eyes stumbled back, crying out, dazed, legs wobbling. Darcy went in for the kill, racing forward she delivered a - side-kick, back kick, smack down punch to the temple - combo. As her boots stamped down hard on to the cement cell floor she watched her opponent flip in the air, eyes rolling back in her head as she slumped to the floor.
Whew, good work out. It felt nice to burn off a lot of her pent up rage and energy. Panting, smiling, she glanced over at Declan, he was backed against the nearest wall. The man really was smart, and nice, letting her have all the fun.
She expected to be hit by the dimple duo and a knee melting grin, and she was, but it was a micro-second slow in coming. Before it, as his eyes flicked down to her unconscious, bruised and bleeding opponents and then back to Darcy she saw a flash of… distaste?
A sharp arrow of blazing cold hit the centre of the web. Leaving Darcy almost breathless at the sharp edge of pain cleaving through her. No. She refused to care about anyone else’s opinion let alone Romeo’s.
Declan pushed away from the wall and his torn t-shirt parted. Darcy couldn’t help but think that the man should really invest in a Kevlar t-shirt, it would be loads more practical.
“We should check the house for Daria, and call in back up.” Declan was striding towards the open cell door. “Assuming the rest of the Pagan Priestesses are on their way here.”
She watched him stride out without a backwards glance. Her core so icy suddenly that she could feel snowflakes forming on the tips of her eyelashes. She knew he’d show his true colours eventually. Hmmm, there was nothing but roiling anger in her gut now. So all systems were back to normal.
“Yeah, you go do that. I need to find where they stashed my weapons, and arrange another two donations for the Locks of Love Charity.” Darcy eyed the dark brown and tawny manes in question. She wondered idly whether the charity had membership levels, if they did, she would be totally in the running for Gold Status.
* * *
Darcy brushed away the tips of midnight dark hair that were teasing her cheeks and irritating her. Had she left a window open? Grrr, she was pissed off. Daria Geddes was missing. The missing Incubus was still… missing. And the Pagan Priestesses had not so surprisingly left town.
Darcy had found surveillance equipment at the house when she’d gone looking for her weapons. Best guess was that Rowan had watched remotely her plan to kidnap Declan fail dismally and realised that there would be major retribution in her future and scarpered post-haste, taking her leather clad posse with her.
Darcy had sent BOLO’s out to both the local Sanctuary Police and the Enforcers. Though she still wasn’t sure how the Incubus was involved, yet her senses buzzed and her internal net was jangling, which was as good as hard evidence. Hopefully the exponential increase in manpower, including the Enforcers and the local police on this case, should see something shake free sooner, rather than later.
Absently, Darcy rubbed her chest, trying to get the blood moving. She was feeling hyper and alert, like she normally did when a hunt was on. Every nerve ending was firing cold bursts of frosty, almost verging on painful shots through the web. Not just ready for the hunt to begin but oh so eager, it was hard to sit still.
She was back on form. It was a relief. There were no more disturbances in the force, or in her case the web. And okay, for some strange reason the icy burning pulsating anger that lived at her core, her centre, and normally contained there, that she tapped into when needed, was spreading icy fingers along the threads, through the web. She could all but feel the glacial eruptions, the pointy ends of row upon row of knife sharp icicles stabbing at her senses. It made her antsy, in turn wanting to stab at something… someone.
And she couldn’t seem to get warm.
Feelings. Bah, she loathed them and hated that it meant she had to become introspective and work out why things had changed, and how to use that change and incorporate it so she could be the best Goddess darn Special Liaison that she could be.
It wasn’t because she’d been bested by two traps within the last few days. And it wasn’t because the Incubus was still frustratingly missing. Or, even that Daria Geddes, family, might be somehow involved in the Pagan Priestesses’ plan to kidnap their lost Love God. Daria was either a victim or worse, one of the perpetrators. She could afford to rule no possibility out.
No, Darcy was never anything but brutally honest. She had a feeling that the unfamiliar fiery tendrils of heat that had been doing battle with the sharp arctic frozen jagged spikes, making her uncomfortable of late, was because of a… man. And not just any man. The most annoying, irritating, aggravating and disturbing man on this plane of existence, or any other for that matter.
And now all that heat, those fiery tendrils were gone.
Declan had been distant since the events in Daria’s basement, a little flirty, but not what she’d normally come to expect from him. Usually he was pick, pick, pick. Wanting to chat. Smiling. Relaxed. Dark violet eyes fixed on her, a mixture of merriment
and heat, unique, like it was a special look, one reserved just for her. She thought it had to be some kind of a sleazy trick, but she’d gone back through her mental files and couldn’t recall Declan giving that particular look to any other female, well, not in her vicinity anyway.
But it must have been her imagination. Either that, or Declan had finally had the blinkers removed from his eyes when it came to her. Realising that she really was Hoth, ice world cold to the core. Violence her preferred answer to every question, even ones just asking for directions. Waking finally to the fact that her unflinching approach to dealing out retribution, by virtue of her job, invariably involved blood and a harsh lesson for their enemies.
She hadn’t imagined that flicker of distaste in his eyes when he’d taken in her handiwork earlier.
Fuck, what had she expected him to do, smile? Just because he had always done so in the past? But she was forgetting how unpredictable he could be. Just when she expected him to laugh, share a joke and gift her with a heated violet look, he turned everything around, and was acting like ninety-nine percent of the population. Judging her actions, and finding them abhorrent.
And she wasn’t upset. She was back on her game. Look at her, all senses firing. Balanced. Ready. Waiting for the next piece of the puzzle to fall into place and wham… the hunt would be on.
And damn it, she needed the hunt to begin soon, she couldn’t ever recall being so knife-edged wired. Almost like her powers wanted to switch off all the over-thinking, analysing and as much as she loathed to admit she had them, feelings, and just descend into the bitter cold blizzard, and go hunting.
Swinging her shiny black vinyl thigh-high boots back and forth as she sat on her gleaming, bare, humongous desk, Darcy forced herself to take a deep, calming breath, and unlock her jaw. It had been clenched from the moment she and Declan had left Daria’s house in the capable hands of the Enforcement clean up crew.
Declan’s attention had been glued to his phone, scrolling through messages, laughing and muttering to himself as he texted, pretty much ignoring Darcy. Back at her office he’d barely lasted twenty minutes before he asked if he could head out for the day. Oh sure, those violet eyes had settled on her, smouldering with sensuality, but the man smouldered when he was bored or sleepy. His look no longer felt weighted with heat just for her.
Darcy had been tempted, like some silly schoolgirl with a crush in need of a wake-up slap, to ask him what happened to wanting it… all? To wanting her? To seeing her? But she was gripped by the certainty that she wouldn’t want to hear his answers now, not after catching a glimpse of that look he’d given her. The one that said he now understood who she really was… and it was too much, she was too much.
Grrr, she rubbed at her chest again, unconsciously. How, after only a few days, had she gotten use to the warmth that Declan exuded? Had come to somehow take it for granted? She liked her icy cold angry core, she couldn’t deny the ability to tap into it made her an awesome Special Liaison. But over the last few days when the surrounding web had began to thaw, retracting that cold anger back into a nice contained tiny ball, even though she found herself off balance, she had secretly liked it, able to breathe easier… she might even go so far as to say she’d actually been able to relax occasionally.
She wouldn’t change things, but sometimes it was hard to be switched on, wired into the world, all senses open and firing constantly every minute of the day. With Declan… go on, admit it, with Declan several times over the last few days she’d felt moments of almost peace.
Darcy’s mobile beeped, signalling a text had arrived. Merciful Lady be praised, a distraction from all this sickening introspection. Next thing you know she’d be turning over a new leaf, and saying things like thank you, and initiating chit-chat just to put people at ease – hurl.
Darcy pushed off the desk, her emerald green plaid micro mini flipping up momentarily. Nico had just sent out a red-alert text, things had gotten interesting at the Five Alarm Bar. Heading for the Transportal located off the corridor outside her office, Darcy crossed her fingers, please let it be a riot, please let it be a riot.
At the very least let there be the need for violence and bloodshed. Not that she was trying to work through any issues or anything. The heat was gone. But it wasn’t like there had been anything between her and Declan to get over. So he’d felt her up when they’d been caught in the trap together out by the Earth Altar. And he’d exhibited what a talented tongue he had when she was handcuffed to her ceiling the other night. It boiled down to nothing more than one orgasmic oral encounter and some flirty nonsensical banter.
It was obvious that Declan had been nothing more than bored. And she’d just been in convenient proximity to entertain him. Nothing more. Nothing less. Yikes, her icy cold centre slammed out a blistering artic blast that jangled her senses and scraped her all but raw.
Alright, alright, calm down, sometimes her powers put together links or connections at a primal, instinctual level that it took her mind a while to fully comprehend. Nell often pointed out that Darcy’s powers allowed her to operate on pure instinct, tapping into the top of the food chain animalistic predator side that most human beings, with their modern sedentary narrow lives, had over generations turned their back on.
Grrr, what ever was going down at the Five Alarm Bar, Darcy’s instincts were telling her it was important. Maybe, just maybe she might find the missing puzzle piece or link in the chain that would allow her to finally get a clue as to what the hell was going on… and then, finally, she could hunt.
Another Polar bitter blast of icy anger erupted from her core, weird, in the last few hours the epicentre of her web – her understanding of everything - was acting like a volcano, one that spewed out large shards of ice and razor thin glass like daggers. Nothing but icy, arctic freezing cold plucking at the threads, slamming against her senses.
Shit, Darcy hit the Portal door at Mach-four, what ever was happening at the bar, it was vitally important that she be there. Although, given the day she’d had, maybe all her instincts were telling her was that she just really, really needed a drink.
Chapter Eighteen
Darcy was all too familiar with protecting herself when she went into a potentially dangerous situation with her senses flung wide open, on hyper-alert. The coppery stink of spilled blood. The harsh cries of battle and agony combining to assault her eardrums. Ready for the flash of swords and the lightning fast clash of opponents, moving almost too quick for the eye to instantly gauge who was friend and who was foe.
She was an old hand at dealing with all that.
Stepping out of the Transportal, located next to the bathrooms at the Five Alarm Bar, Darcy was surprised to find herself staggering slightly. As it took a millisecond for all her firing senses to recalibrate to deal with the barrage of hedonistic factors that slammed into her like an anvil from the sky. Reflexively she shut down everything… but it was too late.
She felt slightly punch drunk, and it took an embarrassing two heartbeats until she had herself under control.
Heavens, what was up with the choking wave of perfume? Her olfactory senses, even with only a nanosecond to assess, had catalogued over four hundred notes. The combination and saturation levels of the perfume made her stomach roil. Damn, and she thought some of the Great-Great-Aunts were heavy handed.
And her poor ears, ringing still from the high pitched, nails on a blackboard giggling, and girlish shrieks of coy laughter. Harpies would be jealous of the pain inflicted.
Annoyingly it took several blinks to clear her retina, the light refracting off too many sparkling necklaces, bangles, earrings and a boat load of be-jewelled belly rings. Bloody hell, that was a lot of glittering bling to find in one location.
It was like she’d stumbled into a scene of the supernatural-version of frat girls gone wild. As she made her way to the bar, Darcy catalogued the cluster of women. Five Sea Nymphs, a handful of Tree Dryads, a sprinkling of Meadow Maids, a trio of Disciples of Aphrodite, a
clutch of Pollen Posies, and what may or may not have been two rare Unicorn Maidens.
Was it a hen’s night? Someone’s birthday? Some kind of supernatural spring-break girls’ trip?
She made her way to the bar, taking a seat next to a girl who was collapsed face down on it, a mass of dark blue hair covering her features. From the heavy snoring, Darcy was assuming she was passed out.
“What the hell, Nico?”
“Thank St Medard, you’re here.” Nico’s cheeks were flushed and his dark caramel eyes glittered with high emotion. “You have to do something about this.” He waved a hand towards the gaggle of young women.
“It’s not a crime to have fun, or even…” Darcy cast a quick glance that way. “… to fall out of your crop top. What do you expect me to do exactly?”
“I was thinking you could slap some sense back into him, for a start.”
Him? Darcy’s attention narrowed, laser sharp focus sorting through the sparkling jewellery, the scanty outfits, the way too much bare flesh on display, until she found him, Declan Benavidez, at the very epicentre. Colour her not surprised.
Although weirdly, her senses were all jangling, icy blasts causing the entire web to vibrate like it was some sort of wind chime. Shit, it have never done that before.
Were her instincts seriously telling her she needed to witness Declan in full sleaze mode just to eradicate any last, lingering… disturbing feelings she had for the man?
If so, this was definitely the scene to witness as a white-blonde Meadow Maid slugged down a shot and then leaned over to plant a kiss on Declan’s all too ready lips. Then he leaned over and licked a line of salt off the cleavage of a Tree Dryad and downed a shot of his own. A round robin drinking game… how quaint.
She’d always said Declan was nothing more than a ladies man, motivated by the number of notches he could carve into his bedpost. It seems finally Casanova had decided to stop being coy about his private life.