The Keepers: Declan

His smile was pure naughtiness. “Care to find out?”

“I’ll be more woman than you can handle.”

He leaned forward, his lips hovering above hers, electricity pulsing between them. “I dare you to say that again,” he challenged, his undertone way too suggestive – and, in spite of herself, Kate’s eyes raised to meet his.

She saw the moment it changed, the flash of recognition that wiped away his smile. His gaze narrowed to a deep intensity that made her want to wriggle. His frown deepening, he reached up to pull back her hood.

Oh, God. She slapped his hand away. “In your dreams, Bennett. Now get off me!” she snapped, using all her strength to push him away.

As she scrambled to her feet and backed away, he stood, confusion clouding his expression. “Why … why don’t you start by telling me your name?”

“You win our bet and I’ll give it to you.”

“Fair enough. Ready?”

“On the count of three.”

“Fine. One –”

Using a newfound speed that still surprised her, Kate grabbed a nearby lamp and slammed it against his head before bolting for the daggers. With a curse, he lunged for her but she reacted with a brutal kick that sent him crashing against the wall behind him. Wood splintered and glass shattered, drowning out his outrage.

“Who are you?” he demanded, jumping to his feet, this time eyeing her with more caution.

She groped for the rucksack on the floor, grateful for the surge of strength that had recently joined her magical powers. “I bet it’s not every day a woman kicks your ass.”

“Only when she’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

“I just want the daggers.” More now than ever.

“Like hell.”

Archer, the oldest Bennett brother, came skidding to a halt in the doorway.

Kate grabbed a nearby vase and crashed it across Declan’s shoulders. Glass exploded everywhere but this time he anticipated her move and collided with her, the impact leaving her breathless. Rolling on the floor in a struggle of fists and grunts, they fought each other, but Declan was stronger, faster and more experienced. Kate’s lush brown hair worked itself free from her hood, just as Declan got the upper hand, pinning her to the ground.

“Who are you and what the hell do you want?” he growled.

“Get off me!”

Light flooded the room, destroying any last hope of anonymity. The flash of unguarded surprise that registered across Declan’s expression was immediately masked by fury. “Kate?” he growled, narrowed eyes searing into her.

Archer darted forward, another Bennett brother with too much muscle, strength, and attitude for her liking. “You’re a woman?”

Taking advantage of their surprise, Kate broke free and shoved Declan with such strength that he collided with the coffee table behind him. She sprang to her feet, swung around, and lunged for the last dagger.

Archer was there in an instant. As he reached out, she whirled around, plunging the dagger into his shoulder. He gaped at her, green eyes rounded in surprise. She gasped, horror ripping through her at what she’d done.

Oh, God.

“What the hell’s going on here?” The youngest brother and their witch rushed into the room.

Kate felt a cocktail of energy brewing inside her, a whirl of sensations she struggled to control.

Before anyone could react, the room started to tremble, everything rattling and screeching in an eerie display of witching powers.

Powers magnified in a way Kate had never experienced before.

Cupboard doors burst open, glass shattered, books flew across the room, and light bulbs exploded.

Overwhelmed, she gulped air and reached for control, steadying the flow of energy.

And just like that, everything fell silent.

Sienna and her Keepers squinted through the dark at the chaos she’d created, and Kate took that brief, golden moment to grab the rucksack containing two of the three daggers. Mind racing, heart pounding, she scanned for the nearest exit.

And bolted.

CHAPTER THREE (#u29a99197-83e3-5ee1-aaa6-bfdf6684414a)

Three days later

New Orleans, USA

With a coffee clasped in cold hands, Kate made her way through the cobblestone streets of the French Quarter in New Orleans. A city of night owls meant that early morning walks were peaceful, most of the tourists still asleep. Restaurants, antique shops, art galleries, coffee shops and boutiques lined the streets. It wouldn’t be long before the tourists and locals were back for another whirl of celebrations.

It was good to be back. The last time she’d been here was three months ago when she’d met Declan for a mind-blowing night that had almost derailed her plans. For Declan, she’d been a distraction from the tortured memories of his sister’s death. Someone who’d shared his need to push away the real world and indulge in decadent pastimes.

For Kate, he’d been her target, her goal, and she’d almost lost sight of that during their brief time together. It had been so easy to lose herself and enjoy some fun. That night, Declan had wiped away the nagging worry that bore in her gut constantly, reminding her that she was marked. He’d given her a glimpse of what it felt like to have someone strong and powerful as her ally.

Only, they could never be allies. Not after she’d snuck out of his room after midnight, taking his enchanted key with her. How much he remembered of their night together was anyone’s guess, given the endless shots of whiskey.

And the herbs.

But she remembered.

With his boyish charm, cheeky smile, and blue eyes that frequently danced with mischief, the man had made her quiver all over.

A shiver ran down her spine which had nothing to do with the cool morning air. The image of his furious expression came to mind, sparking an inward cringe. He’d recognised her - knew she’d crossed him; stolen from him. Twice.

And something told her he wasn’t about to let this go.

He’d set chase with a vengeance. She’d eventually shrugged him off but couldn’t resist the constant urge to check over her shoulder.

Kate sipped her coffee and grimaced at the harsh taste, her stomach flipping. Ignoring the adrenaline-fuelled queasiness that was becoming her constant companion, she tossed the empty container in a nearby bin and glanced around to ensure no one was tailing her – an action that had become second nature. She crossed the street and headed to the store on the corner.

Magic and Mirrors was small and enchanting. It belonged to Hazel, an old friend of her mother’s who’d befriended Kate shortly after her death. Their grief over the loss of a woman they’d both loved gave them companionship. Hazel had become a surrogate mother, taking care of the smallest details at a time when all Kate knew was heartache and fear. In the months following the accident, Hazel had encouraged frequent visits to New Orleans. Needing space from home and its painful memories, Kate had accepted – and without her mother’s influence, their friendship had blossomed.

Her stomach rolled, as it always did with memories of her mother.