by Jane Cousins
Time to go get Declan Benavidez. She hadn’t yet worked out why he had chosen to step over lines she had drawn in the metaphorical sand surrounding herself or what he ultimately wanted from her, but she wasn’t done playing with him just yet. No one took her toys away without retribution of an extreme and violent nature.
Wrath of God complex – activate.
Chapter Nineteen
As torture chambers went, Declan had to admit that this one bordered on the plush side. The satin sheets were good quality. The four poster oak bed, carved with an alarmingly abundant number of cavorting big-breasted half-dressed nymphettes, was exceedingly comfortable. Off to his right, tall, wide windows show-cased views of lush green forests in the distance.
There was a burgundy velvet chaise lounge over by one wall. And several heavy ornate oak armoires with more carvings and intricate woodwork lined up against another.
The ceiling was high, bordering on soaring, decorated with a painting depicting a rather explicit orgy. It had amused Declan for a few hours to try and decipher exactly who was doing what to whom. But that had inevitably grown boring and he’d moved on to counting the number of nymphettes carved into the bed.
Yes, considering his whereabouts, his cell was opulent, if one could ignore the fact that it was obviously decorated by some sort of sex addict. Declan knew Aengus’s heavy hand had something to do with it. Every new Vessel switch invariably involved a renovation project. This room clearly occupied the Versailles wing of the Estate.
Of course, a torture chamber wasn’t just about brow beating the occupant with overly explicit artwork. There was also the be-spelled unbreakable gold silk bonds that tied his wrists and ankles to each post of the bed.
And no torture chamber would be complete without the olfactory attack. When Declan had first awoken to find himself tied naked to the bed, the scent of roses and musk had been so thick in the air it had all but coated the back of his throat. Now, a few hours and several uninvited visitors later, the smell of burning flesh was the predominate note.
Declan wasn’t a fan of the smell, but hey, as long as the burning flesh didn’t belong to him, he couldn’t complain.
He’d peppered each of his visitors with questions about Darcy. Worried that she was somewhere on the Temple Estate, locked up in much less salubrious accommodation. But he’d managed to piece together enough accidentally dropped information to know that Darcy was back in the Southern Sanctuary, safe.
He’d also discovered that these idiots actually thought they could replace him with an Incubus wearing his face, believing that no one would notice. Yeah, right, Darcy would no doubt see through that half-assed charade in ten minutes, no, she was a master, he’d say five. Yeah, five minutes, max.
The massive bedroom double doors swung open, Rowan strode in. Here in Tir na nOg the Pagan Priestesses had ditched the biker leather in favour of transparent diaphanous short robes that heavily leant towards the baby-doll nightie end of the religious apparel scale… if such a scale existed. Instead of the leaf green colour worn by the accolades, Rowan’s outfit was white.
“Abomination.”
“Despot.” Maintaining eye contact, because, hey, see-through robes, Declan watched Rowan’s lips purse momentarily with irritation. “What? I just thought we were coming up with cutesy little nicknames for one another.”
Rowan eyed the product of her loins for a few more seconds, perhaps used to cowing her followers with nothing more than a contemptuous glare.
Declan sent her a cheery smile. “I don’t suppose you could crack a window in here?”
Rowan actually surprised him by striding over to a window and sliding it open. “I told them what you were, but they wouldn’t believe me until they tested you for themselves. Now I have four followers in the healer’s room; two with seriously burned hands, one with blistered lips and the last with second degree burns of the pussy.”
Declan shrugged, a little difficult tied to the bed, but he managed it. “What can I say, I’m hot.”
“Abomination.” Rowan growled again, striding back to the bed to stare down at him. “How did the last one happen?”
“She did some sort of complicated twirling jump thing and landed on my bare chest, buck naked.”
Rowan rolled her eyes. “I’d heard that Maris had been perfecting a signature move to impress Aengus.”
“It was unique, I’ll give it that.”
Rowan’s eyes travelled down Declan’s frame, over the wheat blonde hair, gorgeous sculpted face, muscular chest and chiselled abs, to the satin sheet thrown carelessly over his lower half. “It was lucky I insisted those that stripped you down wear gloves, though it might have been a quicker way to prove my point if I’d just let them lay their hands on you back on the Earth Plane. Never mind… you’re here now and that’s all that counts.”
“And so far you have four fails on the board, give it up, Rowan. I can’t be hexed, be-spelled or coerced into sleeping with any of your dopey minions. Aengus’s reign of terror stops with me.”
The edges of Rowan’s lips quirked upwards. “All it takes is one little sperm and one little egg to create a new, more pliable Vessel.”
“Yeah, good luck with that. You know the only way for Aengus to be passed on is via the old-fashioned method, and I’m not now, nor will I ever be, up for that job.”
“My Priestesses may be unable to touch your tainted skin but there are other ways. Aengus has been planning your downfall for a very long time.”
“Tainted? That’s lovely.”
“You’d prefer virginal?”
“I’d prefer honourable, principled, meritorious and downright heroic.”
“And in the end, all that foolish self restraint and celibacy will be for naught.”
“I can’t be hexed, be-spelled and love drugs are wasted on me. Give it up. Untie me.”
Rowan shook her head slowly, her lips pressing together in irritation. “Aengus has been plotting your comeuppance for a long time. That was only the first wave, he still has his trump card to play, I wouldn’t get too cocky, if I were you.”
“We could do a deal, you and I. Let me go. You’ll never hear from me again and you can continue on as High Muckety Muck Muck Priestess. And if you want, I’ll help you find a way to disappear Aengus for good. He’s well past his used by date. You’ve had twenty-eight years of peace and quiet. You know him, he never stops yapping, never stops with the childish games and manipulations. You can’t possibly want him back here. Wouldn’t you prefer one of those wonderful absentee Gods? What do you say?”
Rowan’s lips lifted back and a snarl emerge from between gritted teeth. “He’s been back less than a day and he’s found fault with everything and everyone. The grounds are too wild and overgrown. The flower arrangements too uptight and prissy. He doesn’t like the shade of rouge his Priestesses are using to highlight their nipples. He says the birds are too loud. And he wants to see the accounting books for the period during his absence. And he’s not even corporeal yet, just flitting from one accolade to the next and touching himself… herself a lot. It’s disturbing and must stop.”
“Face it, Rowan, your God is a prick.”
Rowan straightened her shoulders, lifting her chin. “My God, as you say. Who has my pledge of obedience, respect and devotion.”
“He’s a capricious bastard, he’d kill you in a red-hot second if he thought it might some how be advantageous to him.”
“This isn’t about me, this is about you. You chose badly when you denied Aengus his rightful Vessel.”
“Well excuse me, I happened to be using it at the time, Lady.”
“He blames me for this debacle. Thinks there was something wrong with me that I passed on to you that made you so stubborn and fanciful, with your ridiculous notions of true love. Yet he was the one who planted the idea of leaving this Plane in my dreams. He wanted an adventure. A change from the continual cycle of being raised here in luxury amongst his most devoted. All this time I’ve been
waiting for you… him, to come waltzing back to Tir na nOg with tales of sowing his wild oats and all but drowning in Earthly riches heaped upon him by the adoring masses. Instead… instead, I’m sent tormenting dreams. Come find me. Come save me. And what happens when I finally do track him down… what thanks do I get?” Rowan strode back and forth beside the bed, running her fingers in frustration through her long blonde hair.
“Oh, boo-hoo.” Declan rolled his eyes. “You really can’t expect me to sympathise.”
Rowan shot him a look filled with hatred and disdain. “Growing up, all I wanted was the ability… the power to control my life.”
“Then you shouldn’t have sold your ass to the God of Love.”
Rowan shook her head. “No. You don’t know what it is like living on a Plane where the Gods walk among us. They like the old ways. Think of the Dark Ages, but add medicine and a lot of gilt. I did the only thing I could to get away from the hell hole I grew up in. I was one of eight children, the youngest. My father a baker. Yet there never seemed to be enough food to feed us all. Or blankets to keep us warm in winter. And by the time my flood of brothers and sisters had finished with them, the clothes that were handed down to me were all but threadbare. You have no idea what it is to be powerless in this realm. When I was chosen to serve in the Temple of Aengus, I wept in gratitude. We are gifted with a long life, living in this safe, luxurious Palace where little is demanded of us, except that we love and obey our God.”
“So you follow him, at the cost of what? Your soul perhaps. You whored yourself out to a self-absorbed narcissist, knowing by doing so that if you were chosen to create the Vessel you would be sentencing your own child to death. For what? So you could play lead skank of a Love God’s harem for forty years? That is until Aengus grows tired of his Vessel and wants a new toy with slightly broader shoulders, or a bigger dick. Then it will be time for him to select a new High Priestess to breed. Your destined to be cast aside, a forgotten favourite. But you knew all that when you went to his bed, just like all the others.”
Rowan shook her head. “I don’t know why I’m wasting my time on you…” She laughed softly but she didn’t sound amused. “Why I’m even bothering explaining myself…” She shook herself abruptly and gazed into Declan’s violet eyes for a brief moment. “You have my mother’s eyes, it’s almost a pity come this evening they will be gone.” She straightened her shoulders, a regal mask settling over her features. “May love find you in the next life, thank you for your service.” As she passed by the bed she reached over and loosened the gold silk cord tying Declan’s right wrist to the bed. “Aengus requested you be free for the next… round.”
“Wait… Rowan… fuck.” Declan strained at the loosened cord. “Shit.” He pulled harder, muscles, tendons, threatening to snap. Abruptly it gave. Moving quickly he untied himself, wrapped the sheet around his lower half and headed for the double doors. Damn, locked tight. The window though. He stuck his head out the one Rowan had left open. Goddess, that was a long way down. The ground was a good eighty feet below and the mortar was slick with no hand holds.
Crap, satin sheets would be too slippery to try to use as a rope. And the silken cords he’d been tied up with were too short. Free, but not free. It was frustrating. He headed for the armoires, maybe they would contain the answer.
Five minutes later Declan was pacing the bedroom dressed in navy silk pyjama bottoms, the only thing useful he could find in the vast closets. And now he had nothing else to do but pace, wait and wonder. The first stirring of worry beginning to nibble at him. Rowan seemed very confident that Aengus’s ultra secret back up plan was going to be successful.
What could that diabolical, devious, bastard God have up his sleeve? Four followers had come and gone in a rush, clutching their various blistered and burned body parts. Four tries, four fails. Just whom did Aengus consider his sure thing big gun?
If he could anticipate, if he could plan… but no, all he could do was wait, pacing a room that on every surface, including the ceiling, hammered home that it’s main purpose was for sex.
Twenty, maybe twenty-five minutes had past by since Rowan had left. With no warning the double doors swung open silently, only the click clack of high heels alerting Declan that he had a visitor.
“Daria?” Surprise. Shock. Then he saw the green fire flickering in what should have been brown eyes. “Aengus.”
Head back, shoulders straight, Daria strutted forward. Merciful Lady. Daria had never strutted like that in her life, this was all Aengus.
“Vessel.”
“You appear to have a new stylist.” From a long, long, way away, and if you squinted your eyes, you might just mistake Daria in her current get up for Darcy.
“You like?” Daria’s lips pulled back in a smug grin while she performed a coy little curtesy.
“Not really.”
“Oh, colour me sad.” The grin continued to stretch Daria’s features strangely. Reaching up, Aengus patted the short black bobbed wig on Daria’s head before smoothing down the dark grey plaid mini skirt with burgundy checks. “I know Daria’s a little taller, and the thighs… admittedly a little chunkier than my inspiration, but I think she… we pull it off.”
A tight burgundy sweater, and thigh high patent leather burgundy boots with dark grey pull up stockings with burgundy coloured bows completed the outfit. Daria was a little broader than Darcy in most places, and several inches taller. And her face was round, instead of triangular and despite the careful application of liner and gloss, her lips could never be described as cupid bow or full.
Declan had to silently admit that Daria didn’t look bad, it was just wrong, so not her style. Not that Daria had much of a style. She always seemed to be copying others, case in point the red curly wig she’d worn for a number of years when she mistakenly believed Hadleigh was her competition for Declan’s affections.
He guessed it hadn’t been hard for Aengus to confuse and confound Daria until she accidentally gave him permission to come on in. The God was devious and persistent. Daria, with her crush on him, wouldn’t have stood much of a chance.
Over the years Declan had kept his distance from Daria, being polite, but always acting cool and remote. The woman though could not seem to take the hint. But since she never did anything overt, like turn up in his bed naked. Or chase him down the street. He’d kind of settled on just ignoring her.
Declan moved to lean against the nearest armoire. “You can’t possibly think that Daria is going to be my downfall? And you seriously want her as your next High Priestess?”
“Want? Not particularly. And I doubt Rowan will allow her to survive long after she delivers the next Divine Vessel. But that’s not my concern. Let’s just say I consider Daria convenient. A wonderfully malleable mind. Good child bearing hips. She’s taken no oaths to me, so can lay her eager little hands on that pure body of yours.” Daria chuckled deeply, clearly Aengus was amused. “I’m a Pagan God, I can’t tell you how much this whole virgin sacrifice thing is tickling my metaphorical funny bone. It’s a rather delicious irony.”
“Sorry to piss all over your parade, Aengus, but you seriously think I’m going to do the deed with Daria?”
“You should see the fantasies she’s built up over the years featuring your gorgeous body. Getting her juices going will not be a problem. And as for you, with me in Daria’s driver’s seat… please, the Karma Sutra would only be volume one in my illustrated ninety-six book series if I could ever be bothered to write down everything I know when it comes to the art of sex.”
Sex? Funny how Aengus never spoke of love. Declan shuddered. “You in the driver’s seat? Okay, I’m not sure if you have crazy micro-management issues or are just a sick fuck. But no way, no matter what tricks you call upon am I having sex with Daria… you. No.”
Daria’s lips pursed into a coquettish little smile. Eyelashes fluttered, green eyes glowing as Daria skipped forward, the hem of her short skirt flapping up. Resting a hand on Declan’s bare
chest, Daria stared up at him, Aengus’s intelligence burning in those flaming depths. “Oh, what are you, the noble, righteous goody-goody Enforcer, going to do to stop me? You won’t hurt this body.” Daria’s fingers trailed down Declan’s chest to tweak his nipples. “She’s nothing but an innocent by-stander in this.”
Declan jumped sideways, teeth clenched, a ripple of distaste racing through him. Capturing Daria’s wrists he held them easily. “Your move, Dickhead.”
Aengus didn’t bother to struggle in Declan’s hold, instead hauling back a sharp pointed boot and kicking him hard.
“Shit.” Declan staggered slightly, grappling with Daria’s body as she moulded it close to his, rubbing against him. Hell, he couldn’t hurt her, his training, all his instincts made that impossible. Hmm, but he could… a squeal of surprise emerged from Daria’s lips as he hauled her across the room and threw her on the bed. Following closely behind, he grabbed the silken ropes and wrapped them around her wrists first and then around her ankles. “Checkmate.”
Aengus affected a giggle, the sound a little too high pitched for Daria’s vocal chords. The silken ropes abruptly disintegrated. “Magic is a wonderful thing, isn’t it?”
Declan had backed away from the bed, watching warily as Aengus scrambled off of it.
“Are we having fun yet?” Aengus stalked after Declan.
“You get that you’ve gone a little insane, right? There’s capricious and manipulative and then there’s you. Breeding babies like livestock. Jumping from body to body on inane whims. Fathering yourself, even if remotely, over and over again… I think it has twisted and distorted you.”
“Blah, blah, blah, lots of judgemental sickening honourable blather. I tell you what, Vessel, I propose a wager.”
Declan froze. He had studied Aengus over the years just as the God had made a study of him right back. This proposed wager, mentioned so casually, so off-hand, it screamed trap. No doubt it was where Aengus had been trying to manoeuvre him all along. Transparent, manipulative shit. “I’ll bite, a wager you say?”
