by Jane Cousins
“Of course not.” Alma began to idly shuffle through the papers on her desk. “And I’ll thank you to keep all those sharp toys of yours in your boots, you can’t threaten me.”
Damn, Darcy plucked at the hemline of her skirt, smoothing it, trying to make it look like that was all she had been reaching down to do. “Me, threaten you? I’d never do that Great-Aunt Alma, you’re family.”
Alma laughed, flipping back her hair. “No, instead you’ll just try to glare me into submission. According to the pamphlet I believe that’s your number ten glare. I suppose I should be honoured, you must be very angry. But, let’s be honest here, Darcy, you’re not angry with me, not really, are you?”
“You assigned him to me for his Enforcer field exam, didn’t you? Throwing us together. You set me up.”
“Please, it started long before that. You weren’t even born when I took one look at an abandoned newborn with violet eyes and realised that he had a destiny here at the Southern Sanctuary. Encouraging my brother to find a home for him, steering Edward to choose James and his partner, Enrique. Knowing it was vitally important from a young age that Declan find a warm, supportive home and be taught what real love looks like. That it is not an easy road. I’m not sure if you are aware but Enrique’s family all but rejected him when they discovered he was gay. Not that that ever stopped them from coming around looking for a hand out when they needed money.”
“I wasn’t even born yet when Declan was dumped here by Rowan. How could you know anything about me… and him?”
“The threads are destiny. You just have to have faith in the threads. And in your own ability to twist, re-direct and channel them. Admittedly, I don’t always get it right, and if a connection is missed or messed up, potential disaster looms large.” Alma laughed dryly. “Honestly, some of the family are dismal at the hints and cues I put in place. I find it rarely pays to be subtle, just a word to the wise, for your future dabbling. But let’s not get side tracked, you and Declan…” Alma issued a soft sigh. “Such a nice, handsome boy.”
“Hold the fucking phone. I refuse to believe I get no say in my destiny. And just because you say something is meant to be, doesn’t make it so.”
“Very true. No one has any idea how fragile the connections between true melds are. I can only nudge, encourage and occasionally slap someone up the side of the head. Sometimes all it takes for true love to be lost is for a person to misplace a set of keys. A five minute search might very well result in a meeting never taking place… and the threads of destiny can potentially just crumble away, unrecoverable. You have no idea how many frantic, last minute saves I’ve had to metaphorically pull out of my ass, just to keep you ungrateful snots on the right track. Matchmaking… it’s not for the faint of heart.”
“I’m not your apprentice, stop sharing shit like that with me.”
“Dearest, if only you knew how many pitfalls stood between you and Declan coming together. At any time he could have succumbed to Aengus’s never ending harping and temptations, and just like that, the Declan we now know would never have been.”
“You knew about the God setting up shop in his head?”
“Of course.” Alma waved a hand in the air as if brushing that rather important fact aside. “And given his gorgeous packaging, it is almost beyond belief Declan didn’t become a licentious man-whore, cutting a swathe through the all too willing female population.”
“Oh, yeah, he should totally be congratulated.”
“No, he really should. Think on it. Those looks. That intelligent mind. That body. How many lesser Love God descendants have gone the route of cult leader, or daytime TV host, because they became addicted to being adored and worshipped? And they weren’t half as attractive or magnetic as Declan. Not only did the boy buckle down and refrain from misleading anyone in the romance department, he committed to becoming an Enforcer. Hours of daily training, study and dedication. Vowing to protect those around him at the cost of his own life.”
It was all true, what Alma was saying, but her Great-Aunt was missing one little factoid. “He marked me, magically. Put some type of claim on me, fucking up my love life good and proper.”
“Oh, just how did he do that? I hear on the grapevine your love life hasn’t been exactly stellar but I believe you’ve had a reasonably healthy number of men parade through your bedroom.”
“All men incapable of falling in love because they were already in love, with their work, their dreams or themselves.”
“Did one of those men break your heart? Have you been pining away?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then I don’t see how your claim is relevant at all.”
“He manipulated me.”
“Again, I ask, Darling Girl, how? Did you find yourself drawn to him? Did you dream of him nightly? Have you been blinded to his faults by his beauty? Did you sign off on his final Enforcer exam because he dazzled you with those gorgeous dimples?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Hmmm, well, excuse me for being obtuse, but I can’t see exactly how this so called magical mark affected you in any way, shape, or form… am I missing something?”
Darcy blinked. Damn. The mark really hadn’t affected her, had it? She would have still gone out with all those gormless obsessed men, since they were hassle free and commitment phobic. And she hadn’t been kept awake at night, her loins burning, with thoughts of Declan’s hot body swirling in her head. Not before this past week, anyway.
Shit. She’d always known the man was pretty, and built… she had eyes in her head, after all. And she’d always trusted him to have the good of the community and the family as a high priority. Willing to put himself forward as a shield, to protect, even at the cost of his own well-being.
Damn, and despite her best efforts over the years to see him as a ladies man extraordinaire, she’d only done that so she could label him and underline the fact that he was a no-go zone. Off limits. Scared to admit that not so deep down she really did like him, as a man. Was attracted to him, not just because of his looks but because he was funny, loyal, non-judgmental and supportive.
“I…” Was this love? Fuck, it had to be, she hadn’t killed him, had she? Not even a little maiming when he got handsy in the trap. When he teased her. When he handcuffed her and took her to dizzying heights of passion and walked away.
Damn, it was galling to be caught so wrong footed with Great-Aunt Alma for an audience. At least the woman was no longer smugly smirking her way, if anything, she kind of looked sympathetic… which was way worse.
Grrr, Darcy clenched her hands into fists, she would not reach for her knives, she had better control than that.
“It’s horrible, isn’t it? Love. To feel so… off balance and vulnerable. I remember hating that feeling, and yet at the same time there was suddenly this awareness that I wasn’t alone anymore, and… oh, Goddess, the sex…” Sadness filled Alma’s brown eyes. “I was so like you, girl about town, things to do, people to manipulate and then Mason crossed my path. Of course my very first instinct was to kill him. It’s funny, because it’s so damn sad, how quickly sixty years can blink by when you are happy. Oh, don’t get me wrong, we locked horns more often than not. Spending hours trying to win an argument, until we couldn’t recall why we had started arguing.” Alma chuffed a soft laugh. “I loathed the idea of being melded for a lifetime, it sounded inconceivable, a punishment. But when Mason... died, I realised that the punishment, the life sentence… was having to live without him.”
Oh, fuck, and Great-Aunt Alma had gone and done it, actually made Darcy fire up her rusty miniscule ball of rarely used empathy and feel sorry for her. No way could she hurt Alma now. Not today anyway. Besides, she had a more important priority to deal with, she had a newbie Enforcer to track down, she wanted some answers.
Just what the hell did this stupid magical mark on her actually do? Why had he given it to her? And would he be willing to consider a permanent, commitment centric, loved up melding?
An if so, how would he feel about Darcy branding her name across his forehead in permanent marker?
Getting to her feet, the web sang with data overload. Darcy pushed down on all the trepidation, fears and what ifs that danced along the Declan related threads. Okay, it was time to ovary up and face the fact that she did emotions now. But the one thing she refused to do any longer was distrust herself or her instincts.
She’d already upgraded to titanium strength threads, thanks to Declan being in life. Thanks to opening up, admitting to feelings. Upgrading to a new level of maturity and balance which seemed to be reflected in the web. And her evolution appeared to be on going. She could sense the boundaries of the entire web pushing outwards, growing. She would deal with it. She always did.
Now, about the magical newborns. Hmmm, there was no point in having a discussion with Nell or making an announcement until she had Great-Uncle Nestor on board and willing to take project lead. And that just left her with one last thing to address. “Let me be very clear, I am not your apprentice.”
Alma looked up, smiled, and winked, knowingly. “Absolutely not.”
Grrr. “No, seriously. I told you, I have a very demanding, very fulfilling job that I love. I am not an apprentice matchmaker or secret apprentice matchmaker.”
Alma flicked her hair back casually. “Darling Girl, matchmaking apprenticeships generally last about twenty to forty years, you’ll have cowed and quelled anyone who ever thinks of looking at a Sanctuary resident crossed eyed by that time and will be in desperate need of a new challenge to keep you sane… I mean, out of trouble. And let me tell you, my job is way more taxing and interesting than yours. For one, I’m only allowed to rely on devious tricks and manipulation, no violence or threats allowed.”
Again Alma had just dissed her job as Special Liaison, it was enough to make Darcy want to prove to her Great-Aunt that she didn’t need to resort to violence to get things done… but how? The web thrummed and vibrated, data zipping, forming, collating, as a really smart, very appropriate idea presented itself.
Hmmm, oh, yes, okay, she definitely wasn’t going to be Alma’s apprentice now, or for the next forty years… yikes, but a little payback in kind might be required. What if she matched the matchmaker?
Alma had been a widow now for almost twenty-five years, wasn’t it time the woman practised what she so bluntly preached?
Cool, Darcy did so love a devious side project. Pity, it had to be matchmaking-centric, but that was only fitting justice for interfering Great-Aunt Alma and her insistence in not only butting into Darcy’s love life, but slapping her with the apprentice label, secret, real, or not.
Okay, so Darcy socked that away on her mental to-do list, find a suitable match for Great-Aunt Alma and then plot, trick, scam and manoeuvre her into said match. Justice served in kind, and best of all, no blood and no body to dispose of. Alma would never see it coming.
But priority number one, she had a man to track down… and for the first time ever it was entirely personal.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It might seem a tangent, but the first thing Darcy needed to do was change her outfit. Her Cousin Riya, a Fate Weaver, who made all Darcy’s clothes had heavily impressed upon her from an early age that it was important to always wear the right outfit. And Darcy couldn’t agree more. She’d won a war in a buttercup yellow plaid skirt. Instilled fear in a slathering Gorgon in her candy green patent leather boots. And distracted her mother more than once with anything that came from the pastel end of her wardrobe.
More importantly, Riya scotchgarded all her ensembles, so the few rare drops of blood that did land on her were easy to remove.
Yeah, she totally couldn’t track Declan down and torture… ask him what the hell was up with the mark and what he was doing for the rest of his life in candy pink boots, and a top that spelled out – Because I said so – in silvery glitter.
No, she wanted something with a touch more gravitas, after all, this was a life changing moment for her. She was thinking a fire-engine red ensemble, or maybe acid orange.
Hmmm, and she was also seriously thinking of stealing… borrowing, Great-Great-Aunt Adelaide’s white sports Mercedes. Nell’s boxy black jeep really didn’t emote the man hunter theme she was aiming for. Besides, Darcy was pretty sure that Adelaide would be beyond flattered to have her car stolen… borrowed, in the name of love. Her family were wonderfully weird like that.
Pulling on the handbrake, Darcy exited Nell’s jeep and headed for her front door, mentally sorting through her wardrobe choices. Okay, okay, even she knew she was procrastinating regarding thinking about what she would say to Declan when she tracked him down. It was just that talking to him was going to require her to express her feelings… and that level of core deep exposure, it made her queasy just thinking about it.
She was so much better with physical displays. And just because all those displays were historically anger based didn’t mean she couldn’t tap into other emotions when she needed to.
The threads twanged, Darcy slowed, information zipping back and forth across the web. It wasn’t unheard of for Darcy to find presents on her doorstep. More often than not though they were threat-based. A bomb. A declaration of war. Another dire warning from the Scottish Genealogical Council insisting she cease and desist wearing any plaid micro minis that had Royal affiliations.
But this gift, was clearly a gift. The frothy pink bow announced that pretty effectively.
Darcy scooped the knuckle dusters up, admiring them. Wow, graphene, the strongest material in the world, and normally the dullest. But this set had been coated with some kind of paint that made them all but invisible, except for the faintest sheen of silver glitter. Cool, fashionable, they’d work with all her outfits, very discreet, and best of all, totally useful when it came to getting her point across with the Sanctuary’s sturdier allies and enemies. No more bruised knuckles for her when she was dealing with hard headed gnomes or giants.
There was no card attached, but she recognised the pink bow, it came from her own gift wrapping room. Someone had broken into her house, stolen some ribbon and left a present for her on the doorstep.
It didn’t exactly scream mortal enemy behaviour. Those types tended to run out of the bushes, waving swords around. So boring, been there done that over a dozen times.
This was much more unexpected, intriguing and more telling, since only one person had recently displayed an interest in her gift wrapping room… Declan.
The front door was ajar slightly, no alarms sounding. Seriously, given her extreme levels of security he really did have an aptitude for breaking and entering. It just made her love him more. Crap, she was a goner.
Darcy found herself smoothing down her hair, and double checking her boots were scuff free and shiny. Her stomach rolled, not sure if she was feeling queasy or excited.
Part of her still wanted to bolt at the idea of loving Declan. Men, relationships, they could get complicated, and you weren’t supposed to solve personal problems with violence. That one woman’s magazine she’d read in a dentist’s waiting room had been very clear on that point.
But she remembered the look in Great-Aunt Alma’s eyes when she talked about being lonely. Declan got her. And more importantly he supported her. Understanding that in her role, threats and some times violence, were too often demanded of her in order to head off much more dire consequences.
Of course the magazine article hadn’t said anything about not tying up your man and torturing and teasing him with promises, taunts and maybe the occasional velvet whip in order to get your way. Darcy liked the idea of torturing Declan a lot. Places low in her body melted and hummed in anticipation.
The threads shimmered, a hundred possibilities zipping through the web lightning fast, inundating her, making her feel a little breathless and over-heated as her favourite fantasy of what she might find inside floated to the top of the list… Declan, naked, wrapped in nothing but a pink ribbon just like the knuckle dusters.
Damn it, the only thing ruining the fantasy was the knowledge that they were going to have to talk first. Crap, time to be a grown up.
Pushing open the front door, Darcy had to stifle a laugh. Instead of sprinkling rose petals down the corridor for her to follow, Declan had laid a trail of wicked sharp throwing stars. They glittered and sparkled as they caught the beams of sun streaming in via the skylights.
Darcy’s inner web pulsed and the boundaries began to push outwards even further. Damn, she liked that he’d come after her. That he wasn’t afraid of her. Whatever the hell was going on, Declan was prepared to fight… her for her.
As Darcy made her way along the corridor, moving deeper into the house, she had to give the man points for knowing her. Liking how the hooked barbed Manji Shuriken transitioned into the arrowed sided Juji type of throwing star, then to the Happo. By the time she reached the wide entrance to the open-planned living room there was a mixture of Harigate and Bo Shuriken strewn across the floor.
A bouquet of deadly throwing instruments if you will. So cool, and so very her. Damn it, the man really did get her.
But if that was the case, why the hell had he marked her? Lied to her? He knew about her control issues. Knew she hated secrets.
Darcy didn’t need the six rare diablo perfectly balanced throwing daggers laid out on the floor at her feet in the shape of an arrow to narrow down the whereabouts of her target. Declan had pushed back the folding doors and was standing on her wide deck, leaning back on the railing, ignoring the view, his violet gaze fixed on her. Her traitor bridesmaid dress, supposed to be on guard duty, was rubbing itself back and forth against Declan’s ankle, like it was a damn cat. Useless thing.
He looked good, a little tired but good. Aos Si swirled about him, tousling his hair lightly and moulding his dark grey coloured t-shirt to his lean, muscular frame. Elation and anticipation thrummed through the web, coalescing in her core, firing her blood. Determinedly Darcy stamped that out, she wanted answers. And they’d better be bloody good answers or they’d be finding out how Declan survived a fall off her balcony.