by Jane Cousins
Outside, a flock of birds emitted a loud disapproving squawk. Birds were Aengus’s animal to call, but even they were unimpressed with his blatant betrayal, reneging on his sworn oath, and taking over the turtledove without permission.
Of course there wasn’t really anyone in existence in this realm to slap the God of Love down, he ruled.
Declan ducked, avoiding the set of sharp claws.
Aengus, still getting used to being in the driver’s seat of a turtledove, flew right on by and found himself entangled in Daria’s wig. She shrieked, beating it away. The wig came off, still caught in Aengus’s hooked claws.
“Shit. Shit. Is it gone?” Daria was still making swipes in the air.
“Daria it’s-” Heavens, Darcy watched as one of Daria’s flailing hands hit the surface of the rippling mirror, lightning burst across the surface and Daria was sucked in… gone. Crapola. That was not supposed to happen. They were supposed to go through as a group.
Sweet Lady, Raijin had warned her that the ring needed at least twelve hours to charge. If only Daria had grabbed Declan’s hand, at least the two of them would have been safe.
Declan could tell by the look on Darcy’s face that they were in trouble. And things were about to get a lot worse, he could hear the tromp of feet and loud voices approaching. Shit, he could also hear Aengus on the ground on the other side of the bed, in his bird form, struggling to untangle himself from the wig.
It would have been nice to finish Aengus, but it seemed unfair to kill off an innocent turtledove.
Not stopping to think, he grabbed Darcy’s hand and pulled her towards the doorway, slipping across the elaborately decorated corridor to the nearest gilt farm girl performing a crude act with a garden implement. Declan pushed on the end of the hoe, sending it deeper into the solid gilt girl’s nether regions, an audible click sounded.
“Ew, and yet, cool.” Darcy followed Declan through the section of wall that slid back immediately.
The panel closed behind them quickly and soundlessly.
“Come on.” Declan started walking. As he moved, soft glowing lights along the edges of the wide corridor lit up.
Darcy was wary, looking behind her at the hidden panel and around at the dust free and remarkably clean corridor. “This looks well used, won’t they find us kind of quickly?”
“Nah. The will-o-wisps keep everything clean. Whether it’s a disused portion of the Estate or not. No one knows about this corridor except Aengus, and currently he’s only capable of squawking. Come on. There’s a mirror in one of the reception rooms we can use to Portal.”
“There’s no point. Unfortunately, the ring needs twelve hours to re-charge. What about somewhere we can hide out for a while? Somewhere easily defendable?”
“I think I can do better than that.” Declan’s lips twisted upwards in a wide smile. “Come on. I know just the place.”
Darcy had little choice but to follow Declan’s silken clad derriere, she found she wasn’t particularly upset by the idea, because let’s face it, the view was pretty darn spectacular.
Chapter Twenty-One
Darcy leaned back against the large satin cushion and exhaled. Declan had assured her that Aengus had vacated, very unwillingly, his head completely. At least this realm was ensuring Aengus held up at least part of his bargain.
Problem was, by inhabiting the turtledove he must have discovered some sort of loophole so that he could still attack Declan. Plus there was all those Pagan Priestesses to be concerned with. Oh, she’d knocked a hefty number unconscious but there was more to their number than the thirty-two chosen to accompany Rowan to the Sanctuary.
“Are you sure we’re safe here?” Darcy looked dubiously at the ceiling, an intricate mosaic adorning it, depicting three lovers performing an acrobatic and intimate act.
Declan was standing with his back to her, sluicing water up over his arms and chest, scrubbing. The waist high level marble trough that ran along one wall was like a long, narrow bath, water falling steadily from the mouths of four carved lion heads to top up the water levels.
“We’re fine. Aengus has dozens upon dozens of secret, known only to him, nookie parlours.” Declan grabbed a large waiting bath towel and dried himself off, laughing as he noticed Darcy giving the wide satin sofa she was sitting on a dubious look. “I wouldn’t worry. This room was for his Ancient Rome era Vessel, only used once, hundreds of years ago and the Will-o-wisps would have eradicated anything unsavoury.” Dropping the damp towel Declan prowled back to the centre of the room. Pushing back his hair and absently rubbing at his arms.
“You okay?” Just because she saw no obvious signs of trauma didn’t mean that Declan hadn’t suffered during his captivity.
“Fine. It’s just a little cool in here.” Given the marble surrounds that was hardly surprising. Declan had only just finished speaking when the low brasserie that the sofas were situated around roared to life. “Thanks. Now if I could just have a good stiff drink I’d be in heaven.”
Darcy’s eyes flicked over to a silver table. “You asked and are answered.”
Declan grinned, striding over to the table scooping up the two silver chalices and the elaborately decorated bottle that had just appeared. “Will-o-wisps officially rock.” He sauntered back over to Darcy, pouring out two measures, handing one over before collapsing down onto the same sofa, a few feet separating them. “So, I heard they tried to swap me out for our missing Incubus. I’m betting you saw through that ruse in what… five minutes?”
Darcy took a sip from her chalice, hmm, ambrosia ale, nice.
Declan blinked, Darcy avoiding a question? That was unusual. “Ten minutes? An hour? Seriously, you didn’t realise he wasn’t me? For how long exactly?”
“Hey, there were circumstances, okay. We woke up in a cell, he was wearing your clothes and your face.”
“You… you, Darcy Montgomery, famed Spider Mage and Special Liaison, are trying to tell me that some gigolo Demon was so good at impersonating me, that you couldn’t tell it wasn’t me?”
“Not at first, no.”
How long did it take you exactly?” Declan was angry and beneath that he was kind of hurt. Was he kidding himself? Was Darcy not his soul mate? Or worse, was he just not hers? Fuck.
“Hmm, about eight hours. But he was only in my company for about an hour and a half of that time.”
“An hour and a half?”
“And most of that was spent on your phone… texting.”
“So what gave it away in the end?”
“Um… well, there were a few small anomalies that didn’t add up.”
“Small anomalies? Like what, exactly?” Declan skolled the contents of his chalice and poured himself another measure.
“Um, there was the ripped t-shirt for a start. No one tried to divest him of it. And none of the lipstick on his cheeks matched up with any of the relatives.”
“T-shirt. Lipstick. What else?”
“Well, then there was the women.”
“The women?”
Darcy didn’t think she’d ever heard that flat tone in Declan’s voice before. What was that strange feeling bubbling away in her stomach? It couldn’t be guilt, could it? No, she didn’t do guilt. “Yes, see, Nico called me, you… the Demon wearing your face, had gathered together a flock of women and was having kind of a raucous party… Nico wanted me to break it up.”
“So there Demon Declan is partying with a flock of women, having a raucous time. What exactly constitutes a raucous time by the way?”
“Don’t take that tone with me. Everyone knows you’re a chick magnet. There were about twenty women and you… the Demon, doing shots, you… he, was licking salt off some Meadow Maid’s cleavage, that sort of thing.”
Declan laughed but it wasn’t in amusement. He shook his head and pushed his hair back out of his eyes. “Fuck. Fuck.” He muttered several more curse words under his breath. “What the hell am I doing?” He drained the chalice again before setting it down. He lo
oked over at Darcy, shaking his head. “I had to be insane… right? Fucking insane, to think… to think….” He closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath and then opened them. “So, you were saying we have twelve hours to waste until that ring charges up again? I vote we get some rest.” He patted the wide sofa under him. “You stay on your side of the sofa, I’ll stay on mine.”
“Declan.” Darcy’s chest was thumping as hot and ice cold jabs alternated, stabbing her core. Declan’s gaze, when he looked at her now, it lacked that knowing sparkle, that simmering heat. She felt strangely bereft at the loss.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.” Other than her parents and her sister, Darcy didn’t think she’d ever apologised to anyone and meant it like she did right at this moment. “I find you annoying… aggravating… infuriating…”
“This would have to be the strangest apology.”
“Shut up, I haven’t finished.” She sent him her number sixteen glare. The – you interrupt me again and you can only pray that merely bad things happen to you – glare. “Where was I? Annoying… yes, the other thing, yes, aggravating… oh, yes, and I find you… disturbing, okay?”
Declan blinked, Darcy had that tone in her voice, the one that said, there, I’m done, you dragged it out of me, I hope you’re satisfied. Seriously? “More.” He demanded. It was barely a baby step on her behalf, no way was he going to accept it.
“More?” Darcy’s gaze narrowed until her eyes were practically slits. Merciful Lady. Words could be twisted. Words could be misinterpreted. Words could be used against you in a court of law. She ground her teeth, considering her options. Slamming down her chalice she pushed off the wide satin cushion, scooting to the edge. The damn thing was more of a massive day-bed surrounding the brasserie on three sides than a sofa.
Putting what she felt for Declan into words, that would be way too… hard. She wasn’t built for lengthy explanations. She was a woman of action.
Declan watched Darcy stand up and stride boldly towards him. Jaw set together tightly. Clear blue eyes shimmering with pricks of glacial core ice. No weapons were visible, so he felt somewhat safe. With feline grace and sensuality she placed a knee on either side of his legs and settled herself on his lap, facing him.
Sitting there, she looked fucking gorgeous, her plum coloured t-shirt had shimmering purple letters across it, Ninja Diva. And the plum plaid micro mini and black thigh high boots were nicely off-set by plum coloured stockings with black and purple checked ribbons holding them up.
Declan didn’t grab hold of her, like every instinct he had demanded he do. Instead he sat there passively, letting her take the lead, seeing where this was going.
Darcy leaned in and planted her lips against his. Whoa, heat shot through her, the web dancing and the recently reinforced titanium strength threads hummed with sensations. Declan’s scent – decadent dark cacao, rich blood orange and lush oak moss wrapped around her. The taste of him on her lips, better than ambrosia ale. The feel of his bare chest under her palms, warmed velvet. She tried to dial back her senses, but they hungered for more, she hungered for more.
It took everything Declan had to grab Darcy by the shoulders, and gently but firmly push her away. Liking the way her lips flattened momentarily with peevishness, a disgruntled questioning look settling in her eyes. “No.”
“No? Is this payback for the other day?”
“I’m not letting you get away with this, Darcy. I want words.”
“Incommodious. Rebarbative. Irksome. That’s just three words. You want more?”
“I’ll settle for hearing more about this Demon impersonator. You really didn’t know it was me?”
Grrr, Darcy brushed back her midnight dark hair. “No. Yes. Hell, okay, fine. Things about him weren’t adding up from the get go but I just… I kind of thought that it was me finally seeing the light.”
“Seeing the light?”
“You know, getting over what ever… this… is.” She waved a hand indicating the two of them.
“This just gets better and better.”
“You know what I mean.” Darcy growled. “You know me, I don’t like to… like to…”
“Have feelings?” Declan supplied.
“Yeah, them. So I thought when I woke up in that cell and my Spider powers were all back on an even keel that I’d been suffering from a hormonal imbalance, or maybe there had been a solar flare, or something like that affecting the grid.”
“It’s called attraction, not ebola.”
Darcy’s nose wrinkled momentarily. “What ever. And I kind of thought that you’d… the Demon you, had woken up to the fact that you and me wouldn’t work. You… he, gave me this look, after I handled the two Priestesses guarding us, it was that judgmental – did you really have to hit them that hard – look everyone invariably gives me at some point in the proceedings.”
“And you didn’t think something was wrong?” Declan was exasperated with this gorgeous woman. Didn’t she know him? Didn’t she trust him to have her back?
“Well, then you… he, proceeded to kind of ignore me, and then there was all the women at the bar. I thought you… he, was just getting back on the horse after our little strange… anomaly.”
“Fuck. Why don’t you just take an ice pick to my jugular, Darcy? I get it, you think I’m scum, lower than the low. Despite all the teasing over the years, I thought you had some idea of who I really was. But now… wow, fuck, I’ve been stupid. You can get off me. I don’t need to hear anything more.”
“No.” Darcy squeezed her thighs together. “I was… wrong. I… I think I didn’t want to believe the truth. Didn’t want to acknowledge that there was anything more to you than the pretty packaging.” Darcy waited a beat, a jab of ice racing across the threads. “This is where you are supposed to bat your eyes at me and point out that I just called you pretty.”
Declan sighed. “What is it you want from me, Darcy?”
Grrr, see, this is why she loathed conversations, they either went around and around or they went nowhere. They’d tried things Declan’s way. Now they would try it hers. Reaching down she grabbed the waistband of her t-shirt and pulled it off over her head, throwing it away.
“Darcy.” Declan had barely finished choking out her name when her skirt went the same direction as her t-shirt. Fucking hell. She was sitting on his lap, dressed in nothing but lacy matching black coloured knickers and bra and those hot as hell thigh-high black boots. “I don’t think you-”
“Stop thinking.” Darcy reached behind her, unsnapped her bra and flung that away as well.
No. No. Declan was torn. This was really happening. Darcy Montgomery was sitting on his lap performing a perfunctory, but still damn hot, strip tease. He should be pushing her away. She didn’t want to be attracted to him. Was fighting him every inch of the way. This would all be meaningless without Darcy committing heart and soul to what was going on between them.
Then she pushed off of him and stood up. No, no, no. He mourned the feel of her, missing her heat, her scent. She stood before him, looking oh-so-touchable, oh-so-fuckable, and he thought for a split second she was going to smirk at him and sashay away. But not his Dark Mistress of Mayhem, Pain, and Pandemonium. She smirked alright, but she didn’t walk away. She reached down, hooking thumbs under the lace of her knickers and pushed them down to her ankles, stepping out of them and kicking them away with the toe of her boot.
Declan’s cock was rock hard. Flash fire was raging through his blood and the last of his rational thought had just waved bye-bye. “The fucking boots stay on.” He growled. His violet gaze skimming over her gorgeous body, soaking up the sight of those pink tipped high breasts, the perfection of her porcelain skin and that beyond sexy smile that was curving up the edges of her full, cupid bow lips.
“Damn right the fucking boots stay on.” Darcy slid to her knees, pushing his legs apart as she did so. “But the pyjama pants come off.” She reached up, grabbed the waist band and yanked them down eas
ily, satin sliding against satin.
She placed her hands on his splayed knees and slowly skimmed her palms up over his muscular thighs, pushing his legs apart further.
“Darcy.” Declan wasn’t sure if he was urging her to hurry or to protest her underhanded tactics that he was loving all too much.
Darcy leaned forward and licked his cock from base to tip before taking control of his hard-on with one hand, drawing it closer to her so she could swirl her tongue around the engorged head.
Declan groaned and then groaned again as he was engulfed in Darcy’s hot, wet mouth. His chest constricted for a moment, he was forgetting something, oh, yes, to breathe. This was a hundred, nay, a thousands time better than he had ever imagined. Darcy’s hot, wicked mouth sucking on his cock was about the Goddess darn sexiest thing he had ever seen.
Darcy savoured the taste of him, the molten heat. Luxuriating in the waves that hummed down the hyper-efficient threads of the web. The thrill of this act, the intimacy, it had her sex creaming and her heart racing. Tongue swirling down him from tip to base and then up again.
Declan groaned her name.
Darcy grinned up at him. “Looks like I win this round. My name on your lips in a breathy, come hither manner, wasn’t it?”
Damn, he loved that devilish grin on her face, doubly so since she was all but naked. Declan had a split second to decide, let Darcy resume her lavish attention to his cock or start taking a more aggressive role in this union. Damn, as if he had a choice. The idea of playing, tasting those perky breasts of hers, sinking his cock into her hot, creamy sex, yeah, no choice at all.
He surged forward before those luscious lips could make him lose all ability to reason. Scooping Darcy up and throwing her down on the wide satin cushion next to him, diving on top of her before she’d even quit bouncing.
“I wasn’t finished.” Darcy growled, she did hate leaving a project half done. It reeked of unprofessionalism and caused the web to jangle. She tugged on Declan’s silken locks for emphasis, expressing her displeasure.