by Jane Cousins
“Ah, just a few more minutes, please.”
“I’m so over this realm, Darcy. Let’s just go home.”
Rowan found herself suddenly on the ground, her blade spinning away across the stone floor, skidding down the steps. It was suddenly obvious that Darcy could have defeated her any time she wished but instead had chosen to play. Gasping, blue eyes blazing with anger and pain, Rowan glared up at them, thin rivulets of blood dripping down her arms, chest and one cheek. “Bitch.”
“You don’t know the half of it. Now, I want you to swear on your life that neither you nor any of your followers will step foot in my realm again… oh, and while we wait for you to mull it over, have you ever considered donating all those lovely long locks to charity?”
“I swear. I swear on my life. Just leave, for fuck’s sake, and never come back.”
“I do like a gracious loser.” Darcy grabbed Declan’s hand and moved to stand in front of the mirror. In the reflection the black gemstone in the ring on her hand began to glow and send out small rippling pulses.
Darcy took a brief moment to look back over her shoulder at the swathe of decimated but all clearly still alive Priestesses. Declan had done a credible job in a timely manner. “Looks like you’ll be getting that status bump after all.”
“Ah, you overwhelm me with your lavish praise and adoration.”
Rowan snorted with derision, spitting for emphasis. “You make me sick. You and your claimed Thrall deserve one another.”
Darcy was already in motion, the tip of her boot touching the rippling mirror surface even as Rowan’s words sunk in and flash, all the pieces of the puzzle came together. Claimed Thrall? Claimed?
From the first moment Rowan had laid eyes on Darcy she had accused her of ruining Declan. Stupid idiot, Darcy had thought she had been referring to the Sanctuary as a whole, but no, Rowan had been able to see the mystical mark on her and knew exactly who had put it there. Claimed! Marked!
The reflection sucked them in like a straw, hurtling them through a dark veil and suddenly they were standing in the open, a bright blue sky overhead, green grass under their feet, the Town Square gazebo only a few feet away.
Darcy dropped Declan’s hand as if it burned, her face pale, clear blue eyes frosty as she stared up at him.
“I can explain, it’s not what you think. I-”
Darcy punched him right in his gorgeous face.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Darcy swished her boots back and forth rapidly. She was passed pissed off, passed seething, and in a whole new strange desolate landscape, where internal volcanoes spewed forth chunks of ice as large as cars sky high.
It had been four days and she was still really… really… not hurt, never hurt, she was apocalyptic angry.
And she was heartily sick of the condemning looks and the judgemental tsking under the breath she received from her relatives everywhere she went.
Honestly, if the family had any idea… any idea at all about how restrained she had been, they would be in awe of her maturity. And she hadn’t just been restrained, she’d been bloody gracious.
Hell, she could have strung that no good, manipulative ratfuck up by his fluttering wheat coloured tousled mane and started hitting him like a piñata with Mr Baton until all the red gooey innards spilled out. Instead, all she had done before stomping away was punch him in the face, breaking his nose, issuing a dire warning that he’d better stay the hell away from her, or she’d flay every inch of skin off his body. See, bloody gracious.
No, she’d attained an even higher level than that, she’d been fucking classy.
She didn’t have to sign off on his Enforcer status, but she had. She didn’t hold grudges. Darcy Montgomery got even or got over the whole thing. So kicking Declan up to Enforcer level, well, a deal was a deal. He’d laid out the Pagan Priestesses and she’d gritted her teeth and dutifully checked the box, signed the document and sent it off to Elijah, effectively bringing the curtain down. So over it… him.
So they’d flirted. Big deal. And they’d fucked. Just because she loathed making mistakes didn’t make her infallible. Despite her magic skill set she’d been blinded by a pair of violet eyes and an ass more tempting than an apple from the Garden of Eden.
Well, she’d bitten that ass, and it turned out to be a piece of poisonous, treacherous fruit.
Not that she held a grudge. She was totally over it. Swish, swish, her candy pink patent leather boots looked good, but she found little comfort in their gleaming surface today. She was just a tad… worried, no, too strong a word… concerned, yeah, that would do. She was a little concerned that she might be a complete and utter failure. How could she trust in her instincts ever again?
How… how had she not twigged that it was Declan who had put the mystical mark on her?
And what made her so fucking special? Her Cousin Locke, the Truth Mage, had made it his business to run a few scans on family members and random tourists when Darcy had first advised him she was magically marked. Nothing. Just her.
So was Declan some insane, secretive, controlling bastard? Was it some kind of payback? Was getting her to sleep with him some elaborate ruse? She’d better not find revenge nude pics on the internet or anything of that calibre, if so, the flaying would definitely start.
Fuck. Fuck. She hated not knowing the answers. Why had he marked her? She supposed she could ask… not so nicely. But she didn’t want to see or talk to Declan, even to torture him, because it… go on, admit it… it hurt too much.
How had she gotten everything so bloody wrong? Her? The talented Spider Mage? How had she not put it together? And why the hell couldn’t she see his motive?
And why the fuck was she letting all this get to her? Because it was, damn it, she’d turned a corner, admitted to herself that by trying to pigeonhole Declan as nothing but a sleazy Romeo, she’d only been trying to protect herself.
And it wasn’t just that she didn’t want to join the bounty of babes crushing on Declan’s buff and shiny packaging. She’d stuffed him determinedly into the Romeo hound-dog category so there would be no chance of her actually respecting or liking him.
And she’d failed on that front as well. Because she did… had liked him. The man was undeniably thoughtful, funny, resourceful and hell, cheerful. Which she found totally annoying but had also kind of gotten used to. Having him be around, all relaxed and happy, it kind of helped to balance out her more extreme tendencies.
Not that there was anything wrong with her approach, but she did tend to stab first and ask questions later. Annoying when you are supposed to be getting information, not so much when someone needed to be dead fast.
So she was over it… him. Glancing at the computer screen, Darcy ground her teeth, not a single item on her to-do list, it was unheard of. Either everyone was too scared to let her loose on a problem, given her slightly snappish attitude over the last four days. Or they were deliberately cutting her out of the equation as some kind of punishment.
As if she needed an official list to keep busy, she had plenty of people and creature-feature clans on her personal shit-list to rain terror and pain down on.
Hmmm, but just who would be deserving of her attention at the moment, given her sudden desire to defenestrate all those who had ever even thought of annoying her?
Decisions. Decisions.
She had finally whittled it down to her top three targets when her locked office door slammed open and her cousin and friend, Hadleigh Valhalla, strode in, two month old Asher strapped to her chest. Tiny arcs of lightning sparked back and forth in Hadleigh’s clear grey eyes.
“What the…” Hadleigh reached up, cupping her hands over Asher’s ears. “…fuck did you do to Declan?”
New motherhood hadn’t changed Hadleigh one iota. Except for perhaps the fact that her already impressive cleavage was, if possible, even more frighteningly impressive. At six foot six, Hadleigh was a bloodthirsty Warrior with a love of beheading her enemies that bordered on patholog
ical. It looked kind of strange seeing her in her normal outfit of snug black trousers, matching long sleeve top and shit-kicker boots with a black baby snugly strapped to her body. Asher’s matching clear grey eyes surveying the room as if he were assessing the dimensions and noting the egress options.
“I’m not a baby expert, but aren’t newborns supposed to be facing inwards, for support or something?”
Hadleigh’s full lips flattened. “He kicks up a fuss if I do that. Vaughn says it’s because he’s afraid he might be smothered by my boobs.”
Yeah, no, Darcy had the distinct feeling that Asher didn’t like having his back to the room. Despite his angelic white blonde wispy curls the kid’s intent gaze was predatory and watchful.
“I didn’t come here today to discuss the kid, I came to find out what the h… heck you did to Declan. I heard on the grapevine you were seen punching him in the face and issuing threats of violence. Was it the Se… S… E… X? Was it that bad?”
What the hell? How did Hadleigh know… of course, the bloody Sanctuary grapevine. Faster than a speeding bullet. More meddlesome than a mother-in-law. Someone must have read their body language. Or maybe one of the psychics had gotten a flash. Grrr, talk about an invasion of privacy.
Wait, why had Hadleigh gone there? Asking if it had been bad? The sex had been about the only thing in this whole debacle that Darcy could truly cling to with the knowledge they had come together with no secrets. Instead they’d been equal partners, passion sizzling, both wanting. No, sex was not the issue here.
Hadleigh smoothed down Asher’s wispy blonde hair absently. “Look, you know as well as I do that the first time can be… challenging. You need to make allowances for that.”
Darcy shook her head slightly, confused. Sure, sometimes it took a new couple a while to click when it came to heating up the sheets, but why was Hadleigh harping on it. “Look…”
“Goddess, when I think back on my first time.” Hadleigh visibly winced. “And it’s not like he couldn’t have picked any number of practise partners before you… so that has to mean something, right?”
Whoa. Bloody hell. Was Hadleigh implying what she thought she was… “Are you saying that Declan was a vir-”
Hadleigh clamped her hands over Asher’s ears quickly, cutting Darcy off. “As the snow. You had to know that.”
“That… er, no, look the Se… S… E… X was good, great… I can’t believe I’m having this discussion without a drink in my hand. Or having it at all.” Declan had been a virgin? Seriously? And she was discussing this with her cousin? “We done?”
“No, we’re not done. If it wasn’t the… you know, what the hell is going on?”
“What does he say happened?”
“He snapped at me and told me to mind my own fu… bleeping business. He’s volunteered for triple shifts. Is never home. And when he is, he looks like the walking dead, kind of blank and snarling. So I’m only going ask this once, Darcy, what did you do to him?”
“Why is this on me? I punch a lot of people. And I issue more threats than the Chief does speeding fines.”
Hadleigh pushed back a couple of short red curls, releasing a long irritated sigh. “I didn’t want to do this.” She reached to the side and began unbuckling the snugly.
“You’re going to resort to physical violence?” Damn, things were lower than low when a man was getting between cousins.
“What? No.” Hadleigh looked genuinely surprised, still in the process of unhooking the baby contraption from her chest. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She slid Asher out of the carrier, walked forward and handed him unceremoniously to Darcy. Placing the baby snugly down on the desk next to her. “In case you want to go anywhere.”
Darcy held Asher out awkwardly, his tiny legs kicking in the air. She was suddenly more afraid than if someone had just handed her a nuclear warhead with less than three minutes on the countdown clock. That she could have diffused, this… this was much, much more terrifying. More so when Hadleigh turned to leave.
“Wait… I’ll talk.” She thrust Asher out towards Hadleigh. She couldn’t swear but there seemed to be real amusement lurking in those clear grey eyes as the baby hung in the air, unperturbed to be used as a torture device. “Here, take him back.”
“Nah-huh, start talking first.”
Darcy bit her lip. Crap, she wasn’t much for spilling her guts and sharing confidences. She didn’t even know where or how to start. As she wavered, Asher’s face began to crumble, his tiny chest shuddered, water welled in his eyes, he opened his mouth, just beginning to emit a loud wah… oh shit, oh shit. “Declan was the one who marked me, okay?”
Thankfully Asher didn’t commit to the howl, if anything, he suddenly looked rather happy and more than a little smug. Bloody hell, she’d just been played by a two-month old, it was kind of humbling.
“Declan was the one who marked you?” Hadleigh was clearly shocked. “Fu… fudge. I… why did he mark you?”
“The why of it doesn’t matter. He. Marked. Me.”
Hadleigh strode forward, taking Asher back, snuggling the baby to her chest, absently bouncing him gently up and down. Darcy hoped the kid wasn’t scared of heights, that was a long way to be dropped on one’s head.
“You don’t know why, do you? Aren’t you insanely curious? And when did he do it?”
Darcy rubbed at her aching jaw, unclenching her teeth. “I don’t want to talk about this. The only thing I’m interested in is whether it can be removed.” Silence stretched between them, Darcy’s eyes growing narrower and narrower. “Well?”
“How would I know that?”
“He lives at your place, eats your food, washes his torn t-shirts in your laundry… you should know.”
Hadleigh frowned. “Are you okay? You’re not making sense.”
Darcy reared back slightly. Fuck, it was true, when she let herself think about it, talk about it, she was barely logical and beyond rattled. How could she trust herself, her instincts ever again? And why the hell did she feel not just bereft, but fucking betrayed?
“Besides, I told you, I rarely catch a glimpse of him these days, what with all the shifts he’s volunteered for. I know he sneaks in to catch up with Asher occasionally.”
For some reason Darcy found herself looking at the baby, expecting him to share what he and his good buddy Declan discussed. Lightning arced through the baby’s clear grey eyes, shit, even the infant was giving her the stink eye over this matter, and she was the victim here.
Wait, what? Victim? Her, Darcy Montgomery, a victim? That was it. That was completely fucking it. Hopping off her desk, Darcy pulled herself to her full height and then looked up… and up a little more at her very tall cousin. “This subject is closed.”
“Darcy, be reasonable… okay, okay, don’t give me that look, I mean, think this through. You’re clearly angry. Declan is obviously upset. I just think maybe the two of you should talk.”
Darcy reared back as if Hadleigh had hit her. “Talk? You, think we should talk? If you were in my shoes he’d be nothing but a charred headless corpse, but you expect me to talk to him? No, fu-” Now Hadleigh’s eyes blazed with lightning flashes. “…Fudging way.”
Hadleigh issued a deep sigh. “Fine. I’m going, but I’m not happy. You are going to have fix this, eventually, you know that, right? You live in the same town. Essentially work for the same employer. Share the same friends and family. You won’t be able to avoid it or him forever. Case in point, the get together this Sunday to celebrate the opening of the new jungle gym at the park. You are coming, right?”
“Depends on work commitments.” Given the way the family were behaving lately Darcy didn’t think it would be a prudent idea to attend. On the other hand, the majority of Maat’s Warriors were not fans of Declan, so maybe she could join their we hate Declan club.
Darcy fleetingly thought about asking Hadleigh if she sensed something magical was up with Asher. But watching Hadleigh so comfortable with him, she decided not to rock
that boat just yet. Not until she could pin down Great-Aunt Rebecca, the family Sanctuary Grid expert and get some answers.
Huh, now there was the perfect assignment for her. Nothing to do with Declan. Enforcers. Or violence. Because the way she was feeling right now, well, she wasn’t sure she trusted herself to keep within acceptable smack down levels.
And okay, yes, working with family promised to be annoying and frustrating, but there was her sister, Nell, to consider. She deserved an early warning if there was a chance the ball of sunshine gestating in her was going to spring forth and potentially be able to end the world with a mistimed hiccup, or a temper tantrum because the baby was hungry.
Yeah, sounded like a solid plan that would keep her well away from any of the Enforcers. Not that she was avoiding Declan, she just had no interest in seeing him. Unless she was allowed to wring his neck and make him remove the mystical mark. And at this current moment, she didn’t think she would be able to stop squeezing if she got her hands on him. So best not to track Declan down and insist until she was less… rattled.
Which judging by the way she felt might be some time later this century… at the very least the next. Stupid feelings, that was the problem with them, once you acknowledged their existence they wouldn’t go away.
Grrr, well, she was Darcy Montgomery, she would just stuff them all deep deep down and let her anger suffocate them. And if that didn’t work then she would track down a violet-eyed, lying, scheming piece of Man Candy and suffocate him.
Double grrr, and things low in her body heated and melted at the idea of laying hands on him, stupid hormones, if only she could snuff them out of existence.
Work, that’s what she needed. A mission, a target, she was the Special - Goddess damn - Liaison for heaven’s sake, and she’d better start acting like it… or given the current woeful state of her instincts, fake it like hell. No one, least of all her family, could find out that she was suffering from a bout of feelings… she’d never hear the end of it.
* * *
