To Handle A Hellcat (Southern Sanctuary Book 12)

by Jane Cousins

  “Yes, if I win, you sack up, drop the maidenly airs and bang this broad. She’s only getting older and less fertile with every tick of the clock.”

  What a charmer Aengus was. “And what do I get if I win?”

  “What do you want, Lovesick boy?”

  “You, gone. Out of my head. Out of my life, for good. I want a bloodline bound magical mystical restraining order. You, none of your followers or any agent you hire or coerce can come near me or any of my descendants. Oh, and you and et al, none of you are ever allowed to step foot in the Southern Sanctuary again.”

  “Thinking babies and long term, how sweet. Okay, I agree to that.”

  Yes, this was definitely too easy. “What type of wager did you have in mind, exactly?”

  “A kiss.”

  “A kiss? You would be prepared to risk everything… your life, being corporeal again, on a simple kiss?”

  “Yes. I believe I can convince you with nothing more than my lips that you are a slave to desire, just like every other mortal. But if you are able to resist my overtures and fail to… rise to the occasion, then you win the wager.”

  Declan studied those green flickering eyes all but dancing with amusement. Aengus clearly thought he could win the wager. Still, it was a way to finish this once and for all. Declan was more than tempted to agree. “I’ve seen your memories, so I insist the kiss be only on the lips.”

  “Clever clogs. Agreed.”

  “And hands should remain above the waist.”

  “Spoilsport, but fine, agreed.”

  Shit, was he really considering this? “And there needs to be a time limit. I say two minutes.”

  “Ten.”

  “Three minutes.”

  “Nine.”

  “Three.”

  “Fine… three minutes of heaven, just you and me.”

  “And for the last thirty seconds of the kiss, you leave and let Daria take over, her reaction will help to determine the winner.”

  “Seriously, I don’t want to blow my own horn, although currently in this body I don’t have a horn.” Aengus swept a glance of dismay down Daria’s body. “I am the God of Love. You rise to the occasion, I win. I’ll judge.”

  “No, a combination of the two, my physical reaction and Daria’s to the kiss, but we’ll need an outsider to Judge, someone to oversee that no cheating takes place.”

  “Me, cheat? Preposterous. And since it’s my Temple… good luck with finding someone neutral.”

  “I think I have just the candidate. Witnessed?”

  Aengus’s head shot around as a soft cooing emanated from the window sill. A pure white turtledove sat there contemplating them both. Abruptly it bobbed its head. The green flames in Daria’s eyes burned brighter for a moment. Aengus wasn’t a fan of this particular development.

  Declan tried to work out if he had successfully closed all the loop holes or missed anything. Problem was, the juicy carrot, the idea of Aengus out of his head once and for all, was too tempting an idea. If he was successful he would be free, finally.

  If he was successful he could tell Darcy everything, come clean about the mark he’d laid on her twenty years ago. The mark that had saved his soul and given him a life. She would understand, once she had all the facts and the chance to analyse all the variables and options, he was sure of it. Pity she wasn’t here now to ensure this wager covered everything.

  “Agreed?” Aengus held out a soft, manicured hand.

  Declan couldn’t say no to this opportunity. “Agreed.” He reached out and they shook hands. Their pact was witnessed, officially, the air thickened in the room. Crap, he was really going to do this. “Okay, Aengus, lay that lip lock on me.” And Goddess preserve him, may those words never pass his lips ever again.

  Chapter Twenty

  The Temple of Aengus had grown over the years to become a sprawling Estate. Added to in fits and starts, the place had evolved into a vast and elaborate maze. With more than a passing resemblance to Disney World, with its ever changing themes and decorating choices.

  Darcy imagined that once upon a time, way back when, it had started life as a simple hut and maybe a stone altar. Now however it was a confusing rabbit warren of corridors, staircases and connecting wings. Added on to when ever the whim hit.

  So far she’d travelled through rooms decorated in Western cowboy rustic, Victorian England, Hamptons nouveau riche, Mexican taverna and a series of futuristic rooms that she would swear were based on the Star Trek series.

  More disturbing was how each theme had been twisted. Who ever was in charge of decorating didn’t just have a perverse eye, they had a slap you about the head until you begged them to stop - sexual fetish.

  Darcy was going to have nightmares after seeing the adaptations made to the Captain’s chair in Star Trek land. All this bizarre place was missing was an information booth and a gift shop.

  Each section was divided by large, elaborately decorated closed double doors, guarded by two Pagan Priestesses. Which was good news for Darcy, since she needed the guards, not just to work off her escalating frustration at how long this rescue was taking, but they were the key to getting through the doors.

  See, in Tir na nOg, you couldn’t pick the lock or personally break down a closed door. Access was via invitation only. Darcy had been forced to improvise by throwing the Pagan Priestesses, who did have all access passes, at the doors until they busted wide open. Which was not only practical, as they spilled their guts on exactly where she could locate Declan, it was highly cathartic.

  Only problem was, she was leaving a trail of broken, bleeding bodies and busted doors behind her like some weird bread trail. Anyone stumbling across them would know she was here and what direction she was headed. Two or three Priestesses at a time were easy enough to deal with, but if a whole mob turned up, well, then the situation might prove a little more challenging.

  Thankfully, according to the last sobbing Priestess before she fell unconscious, Darcy was finally in the right place. This section of the vast Estate looked like someone had a real hard on for seventeenth century Versailles. There were a boat load of flickering gold candelabras lining the corridor, along with an array of gilt statues depicting farm girls doing some really kinky things to one another and the occasional farm boy.

  Darcy had to fight the urge to clap her hands over her face and yell – my eyes, my eyes. Now was not the time for fun and games. Who knows what awful state she would find Declan in. Abused. Maimed. Broken. Tortured.

  Just the idea of him being hurt, in pain, it was doing weird things to her. She was blowing cold, then flashing hot. The web would freeze over, the lines crystalizing and jangling, stretching taut, in danger of snapping, urging her to go faster, faster. Then she would blow furnace hot. In a millisecond the icicles would melt and the lines would glow with flickering flames, threatening to incinerate, insisting she beat the truth from her enemies and punish them for interfering in her life, for kidnapping Declan.

  Darcy just wished the web would make up it’s mind. Hot or cold. She needed to lock it down. Get everything under control.

  Finally the last door, behind it she should find Declan. Thankfully she had the second Priestess who’d been guarding access to this section with her. What a lump she was to drag along. But worth it now as she faced this last obstacle.

  Okay. She reached down, grabbing the woman by the throat, heaved, and sent her skull first into the door. There was a loud bang, but the doors didn’t budge, they never did on the first strike.

  Darcy had kind of gotten it down to an art form. The doors in this place were certainly sturdy but no one had ever thought to update the hardware. Major security oversight. Three face plants usually popped the old, outdated locks.

  The doors slammed open with an almost disappointing snick, thankfully the Priestess hit the wood floor with a satisfyingly loud thunk to punctuate Darcy’s dramatic entrance. Phew. Darcy was breathing hard, Aengus liked his women curvy, she was going to be sore come tomorrow
.

  Stepping over the unconscious body, Darcy halted, breath catching in her throat. Okay, she hadn’t been expecting a round of appreciative applause. But at the very least she thought she would get a gasp of shocked but pleased surprise. Maybe even a slow, sexy dimpled smile in welcome.

  Of all the myriad of possible scenarios, walking in to find a perfectly healthy looking Declan snogging Daria Geddes had not been on her list. Daria, who for some reason was dressed liked her, with a bad wig to boot.

  What the… Darcy blinked, maybe she was hallucinating. No. The weird tableau remained. Declan was kissing Daria, and Daria was not just enthusiastically but somewhat aggressively kissing him back.

  More galling, they had to have heard the door burst open and the Pagan Priestess hit the floor, and still… they were locked together at the lips. Darcy’s first instinct was to rip them apart. She decided to keep that in the bank as a last resort and settled upon clearing her throat… loudly.

  Darcy’s gaze narrowed, instead of breaking apart, Declan held up a finger abruptly, as if to indicate that he needed just one more minute. That fucking, no-good, cheating, scum sucking Romeo.

  Seriously? She called in a favour from a Lightning God to get to this wild realm where Pagan Gods ruled. Smashed her way through twenty barriers, requiring her to play Pagan Priestess bowling. Only to walk into an incredibly sumptuous bedroom, fit for a King, and Declan was actually insisting that he needed more time because he hadn’t finished kissing her distant cousin.

  Bloody Hell. Darcy saw nothing but blizzard white for a moment, before a sheet of blistering red took over. A wall of glacial ice smashed up against a roaring tidal heat blast. The two met and mingled.

  Surprisingly, the web didn’t implode, it hardened, the lines and threads suddenly feeling titanium taut and strong. Information zipped through the network faster than it ever had before, data flooding in, but the suddenly reinforced web was more than capable of handling the tsunami. Assessments laid out in less than a heart beat. Options categorised and rated in a quarter of a micro-second.

  Daria’s half closed eyes, glimmered with green flickering flames. Her out of character physical aggressiveness. Aengus! Declan locking lips with Aengus? Willingly? Some kind of contest? A wager? The turtledove on the window sill, watching the kissing duo intently. Some kind of referee? Shit, Declan was battling for his life, his soul. And in true Romeo style, it all came down to a kiss.

  Crap, what else could Darcy do but have Declan’s back. She certainly didn’t have the necessary skill set to fight this battle for him. She stomped back over to the open doorway, there was nothing in here she could drag over to barricade the doors closed. Damn, with no other choice she took up guard duty. Come on, come on, how long did it take to settle a kissing contest with the God of Love? She hated to think, just prayed they’d hurry up and finish before Priestess reinforcements descended upon their location.

  * * *

  Declan almost came undone when Darcy tromped over an unconscious Pagan Priestess and strode into the room. By his counting they were at the one minute, twenty second mark and all had been going reasonably well.

  Aengus had laid several overtly aggressive moves on him already. Eating at Declan’s lips like he was trying to chew them off. Rubbing sweater clad breasts against his bare chest. A thigh thrust between his legs to press up against his cock. And then adding a sly tongue to dart in and out of his mouth.

  He might be the God of Love, and knew everything there was to know about sex, but Aengus was no where near as skilled on the wooing, foreplay part of the equation as he thought he was.

  That was ego for you. One that Declan had been counting on. Aengus equated sex with love. Had long forgotten how special it could be to just simply hold the hand of the person you love. Press your lips gently against theirs and do nothing more than kiss. With no expectations. No other agenda but to feel their lips against your own.

  But now Darcy was here. Declan was attuned to her too closely. Fuck, had Aengus arranged this? The timing couldn’t be worse. He wouldn’t put it past the devious bastard to set this up. Declan willed his cock to stay flaccid. Not an easy command given Darcy was in a fifty foot radius.

  Think of evil, bad things. Dealing with Hadleigh’s never ending whining while she was still technically on maternity leave. Sentencing a child of his effectively to death if he lost this wager. Good. Yes, things below his waist were the personification of disinterested.

  Fuck, he winced as Daria’s lips mashed harder against his. Aengus was getting worried. Time was ticking down. Too many sycophants over too many centuries had been feeding that massive ego. Telling Aengus he was the greatest lover. The most handsome. The most skilled.

  Declan could only be grateful that the God never showed the slightest interest in understanding the bond that meld couples attained in the Southern Sanctuary. How a simple look, exchanged between two people in love could ignite libidos so hot that anyone caught in the vicinity was uncomfortably affected.

  Aengus had long forgotten what love in its purest form was. It wasn’t blind devotion, or orchestrated orgies. None of Aengus’s skills were helping him when it came to the matter of a simple kiss. The turtledove cooed the two minute thirty second warning and Aengus had no choice but to let Daria move into the driver’s seat of her frontal lobe.

  Daria Geddes had long dreamed, long fantasized about kissing Declan Benavidez. And doing a lot more to that gorgeous honed physique. For years she’d had a crush on the man. But over the last twelve months that had changed to an obsession. Every night in her dreams he came to her, his eyes flickering with green flames, kissing, touching, tasting and taunting her. Leaving her writhing with need. Until she was all but pleading with him, willing to do anything he asked. Yes, yes, yes!

  For a split second as she came back to consciousness she assumed she was sleeping. But Declan’s body was heated against her own. There was a cold draft blowing across the backs of her bare thighs. And his lips were pliant under hers. Her fingers dug into his all too solid flesh. Yes. A dream come true.

  Daria had no idea what was going on. But she liked it. Except as her hands travelled upwards, caressing hard sculpted muscles, instead of his bare flesh feeling like sun-kissed velvet under her touch, it felt like nothing more than cool, hard marble.

  And Declan’s lips against hers? She’d been sure they would be soft, but dreamy, drugging her with passion, overwhelming her with desire. Causing her stomach to roil with need and her sex to cream. Except, though his lips were admittedly soft, and the kissing was perfectly… nice, she was feeling distinctly… underwhelmed. Her stomach felt nothing but a slight pang of hunger. And her sex was still on the cool setting. What the….?

  A bird trilled somewhere close by and Daria was faintly relieved when Declan reached up, grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her back gently, unlocking his lips from hers. Unconsciously she reached up and wiped the remaining traces of him away from her lips with the back of her hand. It hadn’t been a bad kiss, as kisses go, it had just been… wrong.

  “Let’s not ever do that again.” She found herself saying.

  Declan grinned, dazzling her with dimples, but no accompanying spike of desire hit her. Funny, she had the feeling that the kiss they’d shared had just inoculated her against Declan’s insanely obvious charms. She felt at once bereft and a surprising measure of relief.

  “Agreed.” Declan felt a rush of pure joy. He’d won, he’d done it. He could feel that space that Aengus normally inhabited shrink and then dissipate. For the first time in his lifetime, he was alone in his head. He’d beaten Aengus.

  “Hey, why am I wearing this silly skirt?” Daria was staring down in horror, attempting and failing to pull the hemline down to a more respectable length. Her other hand coming up to grab at the short hair she could feel brushing her cheek. “And a wig? Why am I dressed like Darcy?”

  “Yes, I was wondering that.” Darcy shot over her shoulder, sending Daria a low level glare. The wo
man was obviously dazed and confused, there was no point in taking any anger out on her. “It’s almost enough to make me re-think my styling choices.”

  “Don’t you dare.” Declan commanded.

  Darcy took strange comfort in how vehement Declan sounded. “So, you through locking lips? Did you win? Can we get out of here?” Darcy’s questions were hurried, she could hear the stomp of approaching feet.

  “Yes. Yes. And fuck, yes.”

  Declan sounded so pleased with himself she had to laugh. Striding over, Darcy automatically assessed his well-being. Some rope marks on his wrists, but they were fading fast. Other than that, he looked fine. She was surprised that she had to tamp down on the urge to reach out and caress him, not to confirm he was the real deal, she knew that, his scent teased her senses, his violet eyes had her gut churning, sending up both ice and red-hot sparks. He disturbed her… this was definitely the one and only Declan Benavidez.

  Daria took a few steps back, there was a territorial air about Darcy, she had the feeling that she might have just gotten a lucky, rare, free pass when it came to trespassing. Declan and Darcy? Wow, she would not have seen that coming.

  “Good, let’s go.” Darcy pointed the ring she had borrowed from Raijin, God of Lightning, at the long mirror of the nearest armoire. “Company’s coming, we need to leave.” In the mirror version of Darcy, the black stone of the ring began to pulse, getting brighter and brighter, tiny ripples flowing in concentric circles out towards the edges of the mirror. It was slower than Darcy had hoped. “What happened to Aengus?” She enquired, palming her longest knife from her boot and staring back towards the doorway. Lots of people were coming, closing in on this wing fast.

  Declan gestured for Daria to get closer to the armoire. “Who knows. He’s incorporeal and is shit out of luck now.”

  Declan had barely finished his sentence when the turtledove gave a loud, piercing shriek and flew right at him, claws aimed for Declan’s face, green flames flickering in its eyes. Damn, cheating bastard. Aengus may have been kicked out of his head by the powers reinforcing their pact, and forbidden to use any of his followers or agents to harm Declan. But by using a dumb creature, it appears he had found a loophole.