To Handle A Hellcat (Southern Sanctuary Book 12)

by Jane Cousins

  Given the crowd of eager ladies pressing up against him, competing for his attention, his bed would be nothing more than a pile of matchsticks very soon.

  And the best thing of all… Darcy didn’t feel a thing. Not angry. Or any weird hot cold shooting so-not-jealous - because she didn’t do jealous - jabs. Huh, she was so back on her game.

  “With the way that lot are downing shots, I’m surprised you put out an SOS, business must be booming.”

  Nico’s caramel eyes flicked to the unconscious blue haired girl slumped over the bar next to Darcy, and then to the few occupied tables around the room. Other than Declan’s harem of party girls, numbers were sparse. Darcy exchanged nods with a couple of the Greats, and one or two Great-Greats having drinks and dinner. As far from the cavorting love-fest as they could get.

  “Pissing off my regular customers is not good for business.”

  “I still don’t get what you expect me to do about it. They’re not breaking any laws. Well.” She glanced down at the unconscious girl at the bar, at the same moment brushing her hair out of her eyes for the umpteenth time. She couldn’t blame Nico for putting the air-conditioner on high in an attempt to dissipate the noxious perfume cloud. “I suppose public intoxication could be considered a crime, but that’s more of a police matter.”

  “Yeah, right, with their baby sister working here, like the MacKenzie brothers would ever do me any favours. No, what I expect you to do is be yourself.”

  “Excuse me?” Darcy wasn’t sure if she should take offence.

  “All you have to do is turn around and look at them, I’ll even throw in a free drink.”

  “You want me to sit here and look at them?” She was definitely missing something here.

  Nico smiled, it was a disarmingly charming grin. “Exactly. Just sit there and look at them, in your own imitable way. If you could throw in the odd number six glare, and maybe your number nine smile occasionally, then that would just be icing on the cake.”

  Darcy glared at him.

  “No, that’s your number twelve, the one you use for family and friends when you are trying to intimate that you are pissed off but underneath you know that you really love us and could never hurt us.”

  “You’re insane.” More problematic, Nico was right. “Where are you getting this stuff from?”

  “When we first settled here the High Council provided us with an information packet about the town. Including a pamphlet about you. There’s like twenty-five pages on facial expressions alone. And another couple of pages on how to interpret your threats. You know, like when to ignore them. When to duck for cover. When to run for the hills. That kind of thing.”

  Darcy opened her mouth to express her outrage then snapped it shut. Assessing all the conversational threads she knew there was no way she would come out a winner. Her extended magical family were beyond trying, but she loved them, and they, in turn, loved her.

  “So what will you have to drink?” Nico’s grin broadened, knowing he’d won the argument with Darcy, a rare thing, and a moment to be savoured.

  “I’m good.” Darcy didn’t think drinking and watching Declan cavort with a bevy of babes was a good idea. Besides, she’d probably only end up freezing the drink anyway. Turning on her stool, she leaned both elbows back against the bar and did what Nico asked… she looked.

  The first to sense her weighted ice blue serial killer stare were two of the Tree Dryads, as a nasty feeling of impending doom and danger settled between their shoulder blades. They shared a look of concern, normally they would have said an out of control fire was closing in, but this felt worse. They slowly, covertly, began to search for the threat. Their startled fearful gazes settled on Darcy, both dropped eye contact immediately, before chancing another look.

  That glacial artic gaze was locked on them, targeting… hunting them. Surreptitiously the Dryads reached down, gathered their things and scurried, heads down, out of the bar. Fleeing for their lives.

  Darcy reminded herself to add toilet paper to her shopping list, she was getting low.

  A Meadow Maid was the next to feel the portent of danger. Shuddering as an icy spear of warning shot down her spine. She didn’t bother to collect her things, just grabbed her two friends, making a beeline straight for the exit.

  Darcy couldn’t believe even for a nanosecond that she had ever considered that she might have fe… no, not those, that she might have had some sort of physical attraction to Pepe Le Pew. Yikes, to think she let him put his hands on her, kiss her… a surprising ripple of distaste reverberated through her web at the idea of this man sitting across the room ever putting his tongue near her happy place.

  Bam. The Sea Nymphs all left, heading for the rear beach exit and the safety of the deep dark ocean waiting beyond. There was kind of a comical bottleneck at the doorway, but Darcy was too busy mentally flagellating herself to appreciate it.

  Had she been ill and hadn’t known it? Yes, she’d been off-balance for a few days. Cold. Hot. Maybe an inner ear infection. There was no other excuse, was there? To think she’d seriously entertained… ideas about Declan Benavidez. Hot, heavy, sexual ideas… with absolutely no feelings involved.

  It was a reality slap in the face for Darcy to realise that like a lot of women she was at the mercy of her hormones. There must have been some sort of freak King-Tide, Moon Eclipse, and Solar Flare combo to affect her.

  Bloody hell, Darcy didn’t like contemplating the idea that she didn’t have every part of herself, mental and physical, locked down, catalogued and primed accordingly to deal with any and all threats. If she didn’t know herself truly, down to the cellular level, then how could she trust herself?

  The blaring air-conditioning whipped the tips of Darcy’s short black bobbed hair back and forth, causing it to tap away at her cheeks like it was morse-code. She blinked, huh, looked like her job here was done. Only Declan remained, with the two Unicorn Maidens clinging to his solid, muscular shoulders.

  Interesting, she should tell Daniel and Aunt Patricia, who kept the Sanctuary creature-feature records updated, it was official, those girls really didn’t have a brain cell to rub between them or the survival instincts of a rock.

  What they did have was long glossy manes of pure white hair, trout pout full lips, and a complete and utter disregard for gravity, in their tiny short-shorts, and tinier cropped tops. Declan’s hands ran over the girls flanks as the trio huddled together, giggling and chatting, he appeared to be testing those curves for structural integrity.

  Crap, this was a public place, El Sleazo, a bit of decorum, please. Huh, new nickname, she’d have to remember that one.

  Declan appeared unconcerned that the party had broken up so abruptly, his violet eyes glittering as he and his two companions stood up. Darcy could tell from their flushed faces and the way the trio had their arms wrapped around each other that they were going to take themselves off for a private party.

  Good, her work here was done. Even better, she felt nary a skerrick of emotion. No Hoth world, ice planet anger. No barrage of fiery heat. Not even a tinge of so-not-jealousy. Huh, she was cured of her fleeting feeli… no, not going there, she meant to say her aberrant hormonal imbalance.

  The trio swayed and tottered in place. Laughing even louder at their own drunkenness, but in a sexy way, so that there was no mistaking they were leaving to go heat up the sheets somewhere.

  Darcy began to turn back to the bar, but her internal web, every instinct she had seized. What the… she found herself watching as a clearly smug looking Declan reached up to push back the hair that had fallen over his eyes, so that he could peer down his companion’s top without being encumbered.

  Darcy’s favourite knife was slicing through the air, punching deeply into Declan’s right clavicle before all the pieces of the puzzle had finished falling in to place.

  The Unicorn Maidens ran screaming, nauseated at the sight of blood. Darcy catalogued that information away even as she, liquid fast, raced across the room, ramm
ing into Declan, shoving him back until he slammed hard against the nearest wall.

  She gripped the handle of the knife, keeping him pinned.

  From the moment she’d reached into her boot for her weapon, she’d been assailed by hard facts that her instincts had been trying to hammer her with but she’d been too blinded by her own foolish aversion to feelings and attachments to recognise.

  Waking up in the cell earlier, that feeling of being disturbed when ever Declan was in her vicinity, gone.

  Then noting his ripped t-shirt and thinking his well-defined abs were nice… nice? No one had ever equated such a wishy washy word for any part of Declan’s anatomy, ever.

  That fear in his eyes, when she’d grabbed him with the laser whip, he hadn’t been acting. He had been afraid of her.

  That look of judgmental distaste flickering across his face when he viewed the smack-down of the two Pagan Priestesses. Never. Working with Hadleigh for so long had pretty much inoculated him when it came to violence.

  Further damning, the evidence here, now. Surrounding himself with a bevy of babes? Since when? He might be a flirt. But he didn’t play the ladies’ man role for public consumption… if at all. There were never rumours of Declan circulating the rapacious family grapevine regarding him and women. Which given the nosiness of her relatives had to mean that Declan was extremely discreet when it came to his love life.

  And it wasn’t just her who had recognised the change. On some level the entire family had to have realised the difference. There was no other explanation as to why a gaggle of her female relatives hadn’t descended to divest Declan of the torn t-shirt he was still wearing.

  Double damning, none of the lipstick colours faintly smudged over his jaw and cheeks were brands or colours belonging to any of her cousins, Aunts, Greats or Great-Greats.

  Still, several of the relatives were slightly concerned by her sudden attack on Declan, shocked murmurs buzzing, increasing the noise in the bar momentarily. Even Darcy, in her role as Special Liaison, wasn’t given special decompensation to just go round casually throwing knives at other family members. Not outside of the practise ring, anyway.

  Darcy fully expected several people to leap to Declan’s defence and attempt to stop her. But the web, which never stopped processing information, fed her all the variables and factors. Several of the family had gripped their table mates as she flew by following the path of her knife aimed at Declan, muttering the word two loudly. Two? They must recognise her scowl number two. The – your breathing offends me, well that stops now – look, and had wisely kept anyone from getting in her way.

  Even more telling, most of the family were sitting still, relaxed, waiting. They had faith in Darcy and her skill set, they knew she wouldn’t just fly off the handle unless the Sanctuary were being threatened.

  “What the fuck, Darcy? Help.” Declan made to push Darcy off.

  “I wouldn’t, if I were you.” Darcy twisted the handle of the knife embedded high in his chest to get his attention. “That pressure you feel against that locked and loaded cock of yours, it isn’t me copping a feel, it’s my trusty Raptor Taser. I don’t know what a jolt of electricity to the junk will do, but I’m more than happy to treat you as a test case.”

  “You’re insane.” Declan looked past Darcy, violet eyes frantically searching the bar for help, but all he saw was curious faces directed their way, with no one looking like they were willing to interfere. “Shit, look, I get you’re jealous… ugh.” Teeth gritted, he hissed in pain as Darcy twisted the knife the other way. “We can be exclusive, if that’s what you want… fuck, stop doing that.” He arched in pain, fresh blood soaking his t-shirt like a large rose blooming.

  “Stop lying.”

  “Darcy, I don’t know what this about, but I-”

  “Lie. Where’s Declan Benavidez?”

  Familiar violet eyes widened in surprise to be replaced by concern. “I’m right here, Darcy.”

  “Lie. You get one more, then we do a test run on the Taser. Where’s Declan? What have you done with him?”

  “I… fuck, what are you doing? What was that?” Declan tried to look down, a quiet electronic buzzing catching his attention, but Darcy was pressed up against him too closely.

  “Just warming it up. Don’t worry, you’ll know when it’s fully charged there’s a little… that’s the beep now. Piece of free advice, good equipment is the real secret to any effective torture situation, don’t let anyone ever tell you different.”

  “Torture? Darcy-”

  Darcy watched him hit the ground hard, spasming as she leant into him. It was important to maintain five seconds of contact when using a Taser gun. A pained cry emerged from the lips of the man writhing on the ground. Darcy knelt down, hand gripping the handle of the knife still embedded deeply in his upper chest. “Look, let’s cut to the chase, shall we? You’re the missing Incubus. You’re a Demon, in the Southern Sanctuary, uninvited, all bets are off.”

  “I was invited.” Demon Declan managed to grit out. “Laws of hospitality apply.”

  “Oh, sorry, no. That contract was for a twenty-four hour client consultation. You Incubus and your fancy terms for paid sex. That expired days ago. Now, you’re just a rogue Demon in my territory, threatening the Southern Sanctuary inhabitants.”

  “I’m not making any threats.”

  Darcy chuffed a sigh. Honestly, a Taser to the nuts and he wasn’t singing, yet. Note to self, a ten second jolt to the junk was required when dealing with future Demons.

  She didn’t bother to raise her voice, very aware of the avid audience in the room, and her finely tuned auditory senses were informing her that even more family members were sidling silently into the room. Drink and a show, her family were so predictable. “Anyone here feeling threatened?”

  A chorus of cheery yeses and affirmations drifted their way. Darcy found herself grinning, pleased to see Declan Demon take note of that smile and pale dramatically. “Sucks to be you right now, doesn’t it?”

  So the Demon started talking, and talking and talking. But the one thing he didn’t seem to know was what had happened to the real Declan. Shit.

  When Tanner Bright and Gideon MacKenzie arrived to take the Demon into custody, Darcy reclaimed her knife and stood back, watching the show as the local police escorted the Demon from the bar. Her booted foot tapping out a fast impatient rhythm as she sorted through all the information. The Pagan Priestesses could have taken Declan anywhere in the world, or, she tensed as a gentle breeze danced around her head, sending the tips of her hair to batter against her cheeks.

  Declan’s mysterious breeze, that’s what… who, had been trying to get her attention for the last few hours. And there would only be one reason Aos Si wouldn’t be with Declan right now, that was if Declan were somewhere Aos Si was forbidden to go… Tir na nOg. Otherwise known as Pagan Olympus.

  Bloody Hell, the residents of the Sanctuary didn’t revere or even respect the Pagan Gods. There would be no sending in the Alpha Enforcer team… hmm, but there might be a way to get just one person through the veil.

  Darcy socked away favours from the powerful and the devious, never quite sure when she was going to need some outside help to achieve her goals. Looks like it was time to cash in one particular IOU.

  She prayed that Declan would hold on just a little longer. Darcy’s stomach exploded with glacial blistering cold as she was assailed with a myriad of terrible tortures that he might be being subjected to right at this moment.

  No, she pushed away those useless thoughts. A blizzard white out had settled in to blanket her core. She needed to load up with weapons, and change into her favourite boots and micro mini. It was time to go hunting.

  One of the copious mental healthcare professionals Darcy had been dragged to as a small child by her mother - Sarah desperate to understand why her child was so unique, and in search of tools in how to manage said unique child - had diagnosed Darcy as having a Wrath of God complex.

  It was a bol
d diagnosis to saddle a four year old with. And it had peeved her mother off no end to hear it. Especially since it was delivered through a cupboard door the esteemed Doctor had locked himself in.

  As Darcy had tried to explain to her mother, as she was marched to the parking lot, no one but a complete fool gives a child a toy and then takes it away. It might be part of the scientific diagnosis approach, but as far as Darcy could tell, it was just plain mean. And all she had done was express her displeasure.

  But Darcy had never forgotten the snivelling muffled Doctor’s words. Never cross her. And whatever you do, don’t take anything away from her that she considers hers…. It would kick off Darcy’s Wrath of God complex, and vengeance would be hers.

  Well, Declan Benavidez was hers. In the sense that they shared the same family. That he was a sworn, almost Sanctuary Enforcer. Plus, Darcy had gotten used to having him around, annoying her, even getting accustomed to him disturbing her. For some reason when Declan was in close proximity to her the ice cold artic ball of anger that lived at the centre of her web shrunk to a manageable size that didn’t make her soul ache with constant chills or send her spiralling into white zone-out anger bouts as soon as someone nearby coughed without covering their mouth.

  And okay, she didn’t mind the feel of his hands on her. And she still had yet to discover if the man could really kiss, but judging by the way Declan had known how to worship her happy place with his very talented tongue, she was guessing he would kiss like a dark angel. More importantly, he understood her, and wasn’t appalled by her. In fact, he celebrated and encouraged her activities. He made her laugh almost as much as he made her grind her teeth.

  But none of that mattered of course. He was a resident of the Southern Sanctuary, it said so on his driver’s license, right next to the bare chested wind swept photo of him.

  Let’s face it, the man was decorative, without him the Sanctuary would be a dimmer, darker place. And Darcy lived with enough darkness.