To Handle A Hellcat (Southern Sanctuary Book 12)

by Jane Cousins

“He is ours to worship.” Thirty-two Priestesses echoed Rowan, lifting their thumbs to their mouths before pressing that same digit over their hearts.

  Darcy latched onto the spike of glacial anger that shot up her spine. “You abandoned your child, your son, twenty-eight years ago. In my book that eradicates any and all future claims you wish to make on him. If you didn’t care enough to keep him. Then you effectively severed all ties to him. You wasted a trip.”

  “You will not defy me.” Rowan’s voice rang out, alpha, bold and loud. “He is our God. He will be worshipped as such. And he will service his Priestesses. We have come to this tiny smudge of a town to take back what is ours.”

  The edges of Darcy’s lips twisted upwards, her eyes sparkling with genuine amusement. “You can try.”

  Rowan tossed her golden mane, chin tilted up, stance brimming with alpha superiority. “From the moment we entered the town limits every resident who saw us coming hid.” She cast a glance around the empty Town Square pointedly. “Surrender him to us now, and I guarantee you your life.”

  Darcy made a note how Rowan didn’t say she guaranteed her safety, nicely worded, she stored that away for future use.

  Descending the steps slowly, Darcy met and held Rowan’s glare. “You think the locals were hiding from you?” She laughed, knowing it came out a little low and maniacal. She released her inner spider, the gleeful web spinner, the master manipulator, unleashing the binds on her inner sociopath. Letting all she was shine in her eyes, pinning Rowan and everyone of the Pagan Priestesses in place. To a one they turned pale. “They were hiding from me.”

  Many would have started running by now but the Pagan Priestesses were either made of sterner stuff or outright desperate.

  Darcy remained statue still, locked in a staring contest. She could glare all day. Once, a few years ago, winning a staring contest with a gargoyle.

  Rowan’s jaw clenched, her skin beginning to shimmer with white gold fire. Behind her, each of the Pagan Priestesses likewise began to shimmer, their tattoos swirling and dancing on their skin. The white gold magic arced through each of the women, narrowing in on Rowan, who gathered it into a small almost too bright to look at ball of magical energy.

  Darcy’s left eyebrow lifted briefly, as magic shows went, this was kind of onerous.

  Rowan thrust her left hand forward and the ball of magic shot at Darcy. Who made no attempt to avoid or deflect it. She let the white gold ball hit her dead centre in the chest. Heat roared through her. Followed by a wave of something that threatened to engulf and devour her. But it couldn’t seem to get its hooks into Darcy, fizzling and dissipating almost as quickly as it had arrived. That’s what you got when you tried to use emotion based magic on a sociopath… nada.

  Darcy glanced down to double check her boots hadn’t been damaged, nope, everything was good. Looking back up she smiled, teeth and all. “Hmmm, that tickled… do it again.”

  Rowan bared her own teeth.

  They were at an impasse. Darcy was guessing next the knives would come out. Cool, she could use a workout. But then, as if lightning had hit, the mood changed. Darcy could almost see the ripple effect. Suddenly shoulders straightened, breasts were thrust high and proud. A button popping on one too tight waistcoat. Bee stung full lips were licked in excitement and anticipation. Sweat broke out across several brows, causing perfect complexions to glisten and glow. Hair was tossed. And all eyes were suddenly riveted to the top of the staircase.

  Shit, Darcy had witnessed this reaction before, Declan had arrived. Crap, thirty-two bodacious magic babes hot for his body, not to mention his long lost mother coming out of the woodwork, about to raise him to official God status - Declan would soak all the attention up like a sponge.

  And what if Rowan convinced him to leave with them? Hmm, that sharp jolt through her gut was one of anger… for the family. How would she ever explain the news to his Dads? They’d be heart-broken.

  Declan came to a halt besides Darcy, fresh from the shower, the ends of his sunlit wheat coloured hair still damp. His dark violet eyes brimming with warmth, humour, and sensuality. Honestly, the man could be bored senseless and those gorgeous eyes of his still smouldered with wicked wantonness.

  The edges of his mouth lifted in a casual smile, his right dimple popping, the left threatening to follow any moment. Hell, even wearing nothing but shit kicker boots, borrowed jeans and a dark blue t-shirt he looked lickable, bordering on edible.

  Declan glanced at Darcy first and then at the group of women standing next to their motorcycles, each of them tricked out in a skin-tight scanty black leather outfit. Declan let his gaze travel over the newcomers for a brief second before returning his attention back to Darcy. “You ready?”

  “Aengus?”

  Declan glanced over at Rowan, the name she’d said catching his attention. Pride glowed fiercely in those pure blue depths. Rowan’s expression slightly stunned, as if she couldn’t bring herself to really believe that she’d played a part in creating such a gorgeous example of manhood. Behind her, the Pagan Priestesses shifted with excitement, to a woman they coveted Declan with lust glazed eyes.

  Declan’s head tilted slightly to the side as he met Rowan’s gaze. If Darcy hadn’t been watching him closely she would have missed it, the moment his sparkling violet eyes darkened, his usual good humour vanishing and a shutter coming down. Guarding his thoughts, his emotions.

  “Declan, this woman claims to be your mother.”

  “Aengus, greetings and blessings from your High Priestess and Followers. May love always find you.”

  Declan didn’t react in the slightest, just turning his head back to focus on Darcy. “So, ready?”

  Okay, Darcy hadn’t been expecting this reaction, or rather lack of reaction from Declan. His long lost mother’s appearance didn’t rate even a blink of his long lush lashes? A bevy of heaving bosomy biker babes ready and waiting to worship him didn’t so much as cause his sensual lips to twist or a dimple to dazzle?

  Declan moved, crowding Darcy, herding her down the remaining few stairs towards her car. Okay, this was unexpected. And the one thing Darcy didn’t like was the unexpected. “Um… maybe-”

  “No.” Declan’s expression was implacable. A frown almost marring his perfect forehead.

  Darcy glanced over to see how the Pagan Priestesses were handling Declan choosing to ignore them. Not well. Rowan looked like she wanted to kill somebody, her gaze fixed on Darcy in particular for some reason. Several bee stung bottom lips were wobbling. But it was the redhead on Rowen’s left… Terra, who looked like she was not prepared to accept defeat.

  Quicker than Darcy could react, or even push Declan out of the way, Terra mouthed three words and tossed what looked like a glimmering bolt of golden light right at him. Shit. Darcy knew there was nothing she could do, it all happened so fast.

  “Terra, no.” Even Rowan looked shocked by the redhead’s sudden attack.

  He had no weapon, it was only the second day of his testing period. But with nothing more than a negligible shrug of his shoulder Declan didn’t just block the bolt of shimmering gold light, he deflected it, right back at the redhead. In a split second it hit her hard, sending her crashing to her knees.

  Darcy expected blood, bone, some kind of injury as the redhead threw her head back crying out, clawing at her own skin. Terra’s face flushed, her eyes locked on Declan, those whiskey coloured orbs blazing with need, want, crushed by a tidal wave of searing rabid desire. A lust spell, multiplied and back-handed casually by Declan.

  Two of the Pagan Priestesses rushed forward to grab hold of Terra, who looked like she was getting ready to strip bare and throw herself forward. Jumbled unintelligible pleas spilling from her mouth.

  Declan didn’t slow down. Kept herding Darcy forward until they were at her car.

  In the driver’s seat she snapped on her seatbelt, glancing over at him. “Dec-”

  “Drive.” Declan’s voice had never sounded so curt, so harsh.


  Darcy revved the engine and pulled away from the kerb, forcing several Pagan Priestesses to move their bikes quick smart or risk damaging their rides. Darcy’s eyes clashed with Rowan’s, and in those pure blue depths she saw a fierce resolve take root. This wasn’t over, by a long shot.

  Darcy did the only thing she could in that moment, she pressed her foot down hard on the accelerator, the car leaping forward as she guided it towards the highway leading to Reverie Valley.

  Shit, who would have thought it. Ten minutes ago he’d just been aggravating Declan Benavidez. Now he was… Aengus, namesake and descendent of a Pagan God, which made him kind of a God. Probably not demi… but definitely lesser God material. And he had a bevy of biker beauties ready and willing to worship his every breathe. So really, just an ordinary Tuesday for Declan, except for the name and status change.

  Shit, an actual descendent of a God. Well, she hoped he didn’t expect her to bow, scrape, or give a rat’s ass. “You can kiss my tight ass if you think this changes anything.” She growled out from between clenched teeth.

  There was a slight pause and then Declan laughed, husky and low. Darcy fought that stupid Pavlov response he evoked to laugh too. Aggravating man… God. Shit. What did it mean? What would it change? And why was he just sitting there, looking relaxed and cheerful once more? Fucking hell.

  “How long have you known?” Darcy cast him a glare to end all glares, and Declan actually momentarily looked disconcerted by her question and even a tad wary. Finally, the man was showing some common sense.

  “How long have I known what?”

  “How long have you known you fell somewhere on the God pay-scale? That you are the descendent of a Pagan God?”

  Declan visibly relaxed, so much for that flirtation with common sense. “Oh, that. All my life, from the moment I became self-aware.”

  Oh, that? Casual as you please. But he’d been worried there for a moment, was there something to discover about Declan more startling, more shocking than the fact that he was a lesser God? Although the Pagan Priestesses didn’t look upon Declan as if he were lesser anything… they were willing to call him God and worship him as such. Well, some women were obviously just really, really desperate.

  Darcy loathed secrets. No, that wasn’t right, she only loathed secrets when she wasn’t included in the inner circle. She’d always thought Declan was nothing more than he seemed; bright, loyal, dedicated, fair, overly cheerful and blessed beyond all other men in the looks department. A babe magnet but without the lechery or the constant need to crow about his conquests.

  But suddenly he was a blooded Deity. Suddenly he had secrets. Suddenly she didn’t seem to know him at all. And Darcy was loathed to admit it, but for the first time since she had found out that she had been mystically marked, she was rattled.

  Things were going on in the Sanctuary, with Declan, and it was her job to get to the bottom of it. She took a deep breath, calling on all her courage, her will-power. As much as she wanted to avoid it, there was no getting around it. Pity he was family, there would be no pulling out her handcuffs and taser, interrogating the information she needed out of him.

  No, she’d have to just suck it up and go down the disgustingly polite path. Damn, this was a day for firsts, she was about to voluntarily instigate a conversation with Pepe Le Pew, henceforth to be known as Aengus, God of… yeah, one more question she’d have ask him politely… nicely… fuck.

  Chapter Seven

  Polite, casual conversations really weren’t Darcy’s forte. But even she knew enough to stay away from the God topic for the moment. It was too big, too vast. It had too many far reaching ramifications that she may or may not be able to control. And damn it, she was all about control.

  She’d start small. “So, that was your mother?”

  “So it would seem.”

  “You’re not curious about her at all? What she’s been doing all these years? Why she abandoned… left you in the Southern Sanctuary when you were a baby?”

  “Nope.”

  “Really? Come on. You don’t want to ask Rowan about who your Dad… I mean, who your biological father is?”

  “Rowan? Is that her name?” Declan crossed one leg over the other, settling back further in his seat. “And no, I genuinely have no curiosity about her, my biological father, or why she is here, now.” There was a finality in his tone that rang with resounding truth.

  Darcy opened her mouth and snapped it closed. Okay, one topic shut down. “There was some mention of them wanting to worship you. The Pagan Priestesses, I mean.”

  “The triple-b gang?”

  Darcy snorted. “Double-d’s is more like it.”

  “Yeah?” Declan shrugged casually. “Didn’t really notice.”

  “And you call yourself an Enforcer?”

  “I’ll have you know I am a great Enforcer, or I will be once you sign on the dotted line at the end of this assignment.”

  “How can you say that when you didn’t even notice that every single one of those biker babes was stacked?” And with the slightest encouragement would have jumped Declan in a red-hot second.

  “You’re talking about body shape, I was more focused on the details.”

  Yeah, she bet he was. “Details, huh? So if I was to ask you to describe Terra, how would you go about it?”

  “Which one was Terra?”

  “The redhead.”

  “The strawberry blonde redhead with the tiger tattoo on her left breast and the scar under her right eye? The dark redhead with the Maori inked armbands and chipped front tooth? Or do you mean the redhead with the beauty mark on her left cheek and the Latin tramp stamp that roughly translates as – I come first, last and always – though the spelling on come was kind of unique. And then there was-”

  “I’m talking about the one who tried to whammy you with that lust spell, but okay, okay, I get it. Hell, you’re like some kind of savant.” Darcy should have known better, of course he’d neatly catalogued all those women in nothing more than an instant. The man had years of practise under his belt. Sifting through bodacious babes, a descendant of a God in search of Goddess level perfection. It all made sense now.

  “No, not a savant. I’m an Enforcer, trained to observe details and distinguishing marks. Trust me, when you are working with Hadleigh and she’s in a beheading mood, it pays to be one-hundred percent certain that you’ve tracked down and identified the right bad guy before Hadleigh steps up to do her thing.”

  Okay, she had to give him points there. She would have heard if Hadleigh had been running around accidently lopping off the heads of misidentified bad guys. Declan obviously knew his stuff.

  Whilst they’d been - gag - chatting, Darcy’s busy brain had been wading through all the data and information she had gathered during her encounter with the newcomers. Pagans? Aengus? God? Gold magic that equated to love and lust? There was only one possible explanation. “You’re descended from the fucking God of Love?”

  Declan’s perfect nose wrinkled for a split second in distaste. “Not ‘The’ God of Love. And it’s no big deal. I’m hardly unique. There are a butt load of lusty deities and their offspring running around. Aphrodite, Eros, Hathor, Aine, Yue-Lao, Turan, Kama, Freyr, Venus, Ziva and a whole bunch of others who proudly fly the red-satin sheet flag.”

  He didn’t elaborate on how crazy villainous the lot of them were generally renown for being. Love, it was an emotion that became twisted and distorted far too easily. Declan wasn’t particularly proud of his heritage. If anything, it had been a burden from day one.

  Hmm, no big deal, he said. “Yeah, I suppose. But to find out you’re a descendent of Aengus?” Named after him, no less. “That must be pretty daunting?” And explained so much. The looks. The attentive birds. The even more attentive women that all but threw themselves prostrate at his feet. Bloody Gods and their bloody offspring.

  Declan bit the inside of his cheek, his situation was a lot more complicated than that, but now was not the time for spilling
his guts to Darcy. If she found out the truth right at this moment she might feel compelled to hand him over to the Pagan Priestesses and be well rid of his messy, fucked up existence.

  “I don’t define myself by my heritage. What I’ve done, what I will do with my life, that’s what matters.”

  Darcy wrinkled her nose in distaste at the noble rhetoric. “Quoting the Enforcer handbook? Somehow I don’t think that will deter your mother, or her minions, from trying to change your mind.”

  “Why do you say that? I thought I was pretty convincing when I made it clear I didn’t want anything to do with them.”

  Darcy’s gaze flicked to the rear view mirror. “We have a tail, two of them, about a mile and half back. They’ve had us under surveillance from the moment we left the Square.”

  “Just ignore them.” Declan advised. “They’ll get the message sooner or later.”

  Darcy clamped her teeth together. Declan hadn’t seen that fierce, possessive, determined look in Rowan’s eyes as they drove away. There would be no ignoring the Pagan Priestesses, but Darcy chose to let Declan cling to his momentary delusion.

  Declan might be casually lounging in her passenger seat but she sensed his underlying tension. There was a curt edge to his words she was unused to. And his dimples had all but gone into hibernation. His sensual lips were mashed together, creating a flat line. And the hand he had splayed out flat on his muscular thigh, the little finger was tapping against the worn denim in time she was guessing with his agitated heartbeat.

  It shocked Darcy to her glacial core that she had to resist the temptation to reach out and lay a calming hand over his. Her? Calming?

  Darcy might find Declan’s relentless cheery attitude beyond aggravating, and attempt at every turn to slap that happy-go-lucky smile off his face. But it was completely unacceptable for a bunch of black clad Pagan worshipping biker bunnies to roar into the Sanctuary and disturb even a mote of sand, let alone turn Declan introspective and a little… sad.

  Darcy did the only thing she could, she pressed her foot flat to the floor, the car leaping forward with a roar. She was crap at small talk, but she was the Galactic Queen when it came to distracting somebody.