by Jane Cousins
It was like Darcy had said the magic word. Sarah’s shoulders relaxed and a genuine smile tilted up the corners of her mouth. “Declan? Such a nice boy. You should bring him Wednesday night, to the birthday dinner.”
Wow, Declan didn’t even have to be in the room to work his mojo on a female of the species. It was aggravating, but also useful, her mother was no longer trying to pin her down for an exact time to the second when she would put in an appearance cot side of the newest family members. “Sure. I can bring Declan.” And he could act as a Sarah-buffer.
Okay, so maybe she wouldn’t ditch him come tomorrow. But surely she could find busy work to keep him out of her hair for the next few days. Send him to the store for office supplies. Maybe get him to polish her desk. It would be worth two more days of his aggravating company just to have her Mother stay off her back during Boyd’s birthday dinner. If Declan proved an effective buffer she might even last long enough to get a slice of birthday cake.
Darcy didn’t think she’d ever said it, or would ever say it again, but thank the Goddess above, for Declan Benavidez and his mystical female enslaving mojo, that even her own mother wasn’t immune to.
Personally, she couldn’t see the attraction. Okay, yes, he was beyond gorgeous. And those violet eyes were admittedly a little dreamy. And of course the man was built, six foot two inches of nothing but lean, hard sculpted muscle. And yes, he could be funny, and he was smart.
But other than all that… what did the man have going for him?
Grrr, Darcy didn’t know why but a weird icy spike of anger shot through her at the thought that tonight Professor Babe would no doubt be finding out, up close and very personal.
Hell, she needed to hurt something or someone. Badly and often. Time to head to the Fitness Centre. There was a punching bag all but calling her name. There usually was after she spent some quality time with her mother.
Yes, she would vent her frustrations out on the bag and while she did so she’d try and come up with an appropriate gift for her brother… oh, and the two babies.
Hmm, maybe she could find something that would work for all three.
Chapter Six
“Urgh.” Declan came awake to a stiletto heel pressing against his jugular.
“What did you do?” Darcy’s tone was so icy a few air particles crystalized and drifted down to settle on his upturned face.
“Urk.” It was surprisingly hard to talk with the heel of a purple thigh-high boot digging into his throat.
Darcy stared down at Declan with clear blue eyes that all but seared him with a full out icy glare. She’d arrived early to work, idly wondering if she would open her office door to find Declan trapped under an avalanche of reading material and instead… instead she’d found this alien space.
All the piles of books, pamphlets, tracts, folders, scrolls and leaflets that had been on the floor and the chairs was gone. The floor to ceiling bookcases were no longer bulging with paraphernalia. Now the books that lined the shelves were all dusted, facing the right way and there was even space available to add more books if required.
And she had furniture. Where had that come from? There was the long brown leather chesterfield that Declan was sprawled out on. And standing against the far wall was a large oak credenza with intricate patterns laid into the highly polished wood. Plus she had a fireplace, who knew. And a view of the Square. Darcy glared at the elaborate narrow windows. Dark green velvet curtains had been tied back, revealing the sparkling freshly cleaned glass. It was so bright in here, it kind of hurt her eyes.
“I repeat.” She pushed her boot down a little harder for emphasis. “What did you do?”
“You asked me to clean your office, remember?”
Darcy continued to loom over him. Glacial gaze promising Declan nothing but icebergs ahead.
“You know.” Violet eyes sparkled, even as Declan struggled for breath. “From this angle, I can see right up your skirt.”
“You… you.” Darcy lifted her boot off his throat and stalked away. It felt beyond weird not to have to sidle past precarious piles of books and documents. Instead she had what felt like acres of plush moss green carpet to roam.
Declan sat up, massaging his throat, pushing his hair back out of his eyes. Honestly, waking up to a flash of Darcy’s purple lace knickers was worth any near death experience. Hmmm, purple knickers, purple thigh-high boots, a purple, black and red plaid mini skirt and a black button up short-sleeve fitted top. Did Darcy always match her underwear to the colour of her boots? Groan, now he was titanium strength rock hard.
Darcy ignored Declan’s groan, served him right for choosing to sleep on her office couch. And since when did she have an office couch? An office anything, besides one big ass desk.
“Where did all this stuff come from?” Darcy waved her hand at the elaborate baroque fireplace and mantle, the windows, the couch, and the credenza.
“What do you mean, where did it come from? It was always here, just hidden or covered by all your books and crap.”
“Not my crap, thank you very much. The previous Special Liaison left me a little light reading. I’ve been making steady progress over the years. I could barely open the door when I first took the job. You didn’t throw any of it out, did you? Goddess, there was probably some really unique and valuable information in those books and scrolls… I just hadn’t gotten around to finding those particular books yet.” Darcy stormed back across the office, heading for Declan, pointing an accusing finger his way. “How could you just throw it out like that? What gave you the right?”
Declan grabbed Darcy’s finger before she could put one of his eyes out. “Calm down. Nothing is gone. Everything has been scanned, boxed and is now stored at the library, nice and securely tucked away in the vault. If you want to access any of the information you just need to call up the icon on your screen.”
Darcy threw off Declan’s warm hold. “How the hell did you manage to do all this in one night?”
“Well, I had a little help.”
Darcy’s hands came down to rest on her hips. “Oh?”
“I called Aunt Patricia to ask about how I should tackle sorting everything… and things just kind of snowballed from there. She arrived with most of the library staff in tow. Weird lot, they were more than a little excited to get their hands on your ‘back catalogue’.”
Darcy bet they were, the library lot were like vultures when it came to information.
Cold dread suddenly swamped her as Darcy looked around the vast, relatively empty space. “Did you kill… where are…”
“Your pets?”
Darcy’s nose wrinkled automatically. The word pet implied attachment. Something she didn’t do.
“They’re fine. In fact, I don’t think they’ve ever been happier. Ugly little critters.” Declan pointed towards the credenza. “Hard to catch. It took several out of date encyclopaedias. They ate through F and G before I managed to corral them.”
Darcy’s shoulders relaxed. How had she missed the large terrarium containing the book lizards who were forever on the hunt for new words to devour? From the small stacks of chewed up books and the soft cool blue light emanating from the humid depths it seems her ‘not pets’ were very content.
Declan stood, stretching his arms out wide to get rid of a few kinks. “You can’t seriously be upset that I cleaned out all that crap?”
“I’m not.” Darcy pinned him with clear blue eyes that were so icy Declan could have sworn he heard the nearby ocean freeze over. “I’m upset about what you did to my desk.”
Declan frowned and glanced over at the desk. Other than a fresh coat of polish that he had personally applied he couldn’t see the problem. They hadn’t moved it, and no one had dared go through the drawers. It was exactly the same as Darcy had left it.
Darcy read the incomprehension in Declan’s eyes and elaborated. “What are those?”
Declan followed her gaze, there was nothing to see other than two large stacks of paper. “Oh
, those? Well, on the left are speeding fines. You really shouldn’t just crumple them up and leave them lying around you know. And on the right are all your fire code violation certificates. I thought you might want to deal with those personally.”
Darcy stalked over and scooped up the two stacks, sweeping them into the waiting trash receptacle. “Consider them filed.” Releasing a deep breath she trailed a hand over the once more completely pristine, devoid of anything surface of her desk. The tightness in her chest finally loosening.
Declan stared down at the cleared surface of the desk and then back up at Darcy. She was quirky, and damn, if he didn’t love the hell out of her. “Right, so what’s on the agenda for today?” He clapped his hands together.
“I didn’t have any luck with the bank records last night. So I’m headed out to the Water Altar to check it out. You…” Darcy looked around for inspiration. “You can go shopping for office supplies. Pens. Erasers. That kind of thing.” That should keep him out of her hair. And he’d probably pick up some dolly bird in the post-it notes section and spend the rest of the day with her. Grrr, not that Darcy was upset by the thought, but Declan should be doing her bidding, working, getting her office supplies.
“No need.” Declan strode across the plush carpet, past the baroque fireplace, on the other side of which was a large heavy looking oak door. He swung it open with a flourish and Darcy glimpsed shelves stacked with every imaginable stationary item in existence. Heavens, she had a stationary closet. Huh, and to think she’d been stealing pens from the bank all these years.
Um, damn, and there went her excuse to ditch Declan for the day. Frantically she tried to come up with some other inane activity, but she wasn’t good with inane, it really wasn’t in her wheelhouse.
“Why don’t I grab a shower and a change of clothes upstairs?” Declan knew Elijah wouldn’t mind him making use of the Enforcer office facilities. “And then we can head out to the Water Altar together. Maybe grab some breakfast along the way?”
Darcy nodded quickly. “Sounds like a plan.” Which was in no way agreement. She watched Declan leave, and then waited five minutes, which she figured should be long enough for him to get upstairs, get undressed and get in the shower.
Nope, not thinking about Declan naked.
Way too many women spent their time thinking about that topic, she refused to join their ranks. Water darkening those wheat coloured locks. Liquid running in rivulets, carving paths down over all that alabaster flesh; his solid chest, rock hard abs, tight ass, toned strong legs.
That train of thought abruptly ending as Darcy felt the Sanctuary grid flex slightly. A gate had opened between this plane and another. Outsiders were coming, uninvited, in force.
Good, she totally felt like killing someone, she could only pray that they required her particular brand of diplomacy.
She tapped her desk and the computer screen popped up. Hmmm, no updates from Maureen. Nothing from the Enforcers. Damn, how was she going to go diplomatic on anyone’s ass when she didn’t know who and she didn’t know where. Then she heard it. Engines. Motorcycles. Lots of them. The sound getting closer, louder.
Striding out of her office, Darcy found herself smiling in anticipation. She’d felt antsy for the last day or so. Fidgety. A little off balance. She had tossed and turned for almost ten minutes last night, it was unheard of.
It was wrong, but she prayed for mayhem, chaos and mischief. Doubled down and prayed that the situation would require that she, the Special Liaison, would be required to bring down the full weight of her office on some bad guys.
Leaving the corridor, Darcy entered the marble foyer, the growl of motorcycles reverberating up through her legs and into her chest. Outside she inhaled deeply, the scent of roses and springtime flowers drifting across from the Town Square. That scent quickly dissipating to be replaced by exhaust fumes and… that was weird, she could smell wine and myrrh.
They roared into the Square. Ten… twenty… Darcy did a quick mental count, thirty-three of them. A mystical number. Two magical wolfhounds loping along in their midst. More wolf than hound. Flickering green fire swirled sinuously around the wolfhounds long legs and muscular bodies like living vines.
The entourage circled the Square, it looked casual but Darcy sensed purpose. And was unsurprised when the leather-clad bikie gang came to a halt in front of her building.
Darcy took up a casual position, leaning against Slaughter, one of the stone lion statues that stood guard half way up the steps outside of her building. Under her breath she murmured calming thoughts to the statue.
With interest she watched as thirty-three bikers in unison dismounted, standing by their bikes, ready, radiating strength and confidence. They reached up, at exactly the same time, unbuckled their helmets and pulled them off. Heads tossed back, long swathes of glossy long locks in an array of colours cascading down over bodacious bosoms, and bared, muscular shoulders, falling to caress tiny waists.
Darcy wondered how many times they’d had to practise that manoeuvre. As first impressions went, it packed a whammy. She was guessing any male of the species witnessing such a spectacle would be nothing but a mindless puddle of drool by now.
Wow, she finally got a good look at the invading force. It was like a tramp stamp convention had met and mixed with a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit model shoot and thrown in a few Victoria’s Secret Angels, just to take the va-va-voom element into the stratosphere.
“Are you in charge?” A blonde bombshell front and centre spoke up.
“I speak for the Sanctuary.” Darcy kept her body language relaxed and untroubled. Mentally though she was busy cataloguing details, running potential scenarios and just for good measure, idly considering how she would go about decimating the thirty-three newcomers.
It took only two point four milliseconds to work out an optimal approach that would see the streets bathed with blood. All biker babes dead under three minutes.
Unfortunately, the High Council had specifically requested she refrain from bathing the streets in blood. Particularly during the warmer months, the stink tended to adversely affect tourism numbers.
Darcy directed her attention back to the blonde woman who’d spoken. Not just their spokeswoman, their Leader. She was older than the others. Not that she looked a day over thirty but it was there in her stance, and in the way her pure blue eyes radiated both knowledge and superiority. This woman didn’t lack for confidence as she thrust out her chest, her double-d’s straining at the small black leather waistcoat she wore.
“I’m Darcy, Special Liaison. And just whom might I be addressing?”
The blonde tossed her golden mane of hair, red threads running through it, all but catching fire as the sun shone down. “I am Rowan, Leader of the Pagan Priestesses.” The two humongous wolfhounds, green fire continuing to flicker over their fur, moved to sit on either side of her.
Darcy made sure she looked particularly unimpressed. “Welcome to the Sanctuary, Rowan… et al.”
Rowan’s pure blue eyes narrowed slightly, she wasn’t used to anything less than shock and awe when she announced who she was, that was clear.
“It’s a little early for the bars to be open. But given all those black leather bikini tops I spy, maybe you’re here for the beach. In that case, head two blocks that way.” Darcy waved a hand negligently in the air.
The Pagan Priestesses weren’t happy with her attitude. Backs straightened, tattooed arms flexed, bosoms in tiny black leather bikini tops or scanty waistcoats heaved. Tight, toned buttocks in black leather painted on pants tensed.
Rowan held up a hand and the en masse posturing ceased instantaneously.
Darcy was a master manipulator, she read micro-expressions with ease. The redhead standing on Rowan’s left was champing at the bit to depose her. It was there in the way her whiskey-brown eyes blazed with furious heat. And the umber haired tattooed temptress on Rowan’s right was likewise straining under the sting of Rowan’s leadership. The mature blonde ha
d contenders nipping at her heels. Darcy stored that information away for use at a later date.
“Terra.” Rowan looked to the redhead. “Aife.” Addressing the umber haired minx, giving them both cool warning looks before returning her attention to Darcy. “We have come.” Rowan paused for effect, her throaty voice echoing around the empty Town Square. “For our God.”
Darcy waited three beats, she could do dramatic pauses too. “You lost a God? That seems rather careless of you. Well, no one has reported stumbling over a lost God. I suppose I could check the lost and found box, if you’d like?”
Rowan’s eyes blazed with blue sparks, the muscles in her throat tightening.
“Can you describe him? Tell me his last known whereabouts? I’ll issue a BOLO. We’ll track that sucker down in no time.”
“I left him here twenty-seven years and fifty-one weeks ago. On the steps of that building.” Rowan pointed towards the gothic looming High Council Building across the square. “He was two days old at the time. He was my son.”
Oh, shit, no. Darcy’s stomach felt like it was filling up with acid. She had a nasty, really nasty idea of who they were talking about. One week shy of twenty-eight years? A baby, left on the steps of the High Council Building? It could only be one man that Rowan was referring to.
Crap, all this time, all these years she’d accused him of being a Lurve God in jest, when according to this lot he genuinely had God blood running in his veins.
Darcy opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Speechless? Her?
Rowan’s bodacious muscular frame tensed. Behind her, the entire Pagan Priestess gang appeared to hold their breath in anticipation. “You know of whom I speak? Bring him out. Return him to us.”
Darcy straightened, no longer feeling casual at all. “Simmer down, Sister. You don’t get to ride into my Town and start issuing orders.”
“I return to claim what is mine, no more. Hand him over, now.”
