To Wrangle A Witch (Southern Sanctuary Book 3)

To Wrangle a
Witch

Southern
Sanctuary – Book Three

Jane Cousins

Copyright©2014. 
All rights reserved by the author.  Do not copy or re-distribute.

This
is a work of fiction. 

Front
cover design; Fiona Jayde

For
Chris, thanking you for all the years of friendship, support and love.
  
The world is a better place because you’re
in it.
 
I’m totally riding on your
coat-tails into Heaven.
 

Prologue

Locke
Valhalla’s dark blue gaze moved constantly over the crowd searching out the
threat. 

“It’s
a mistake the three of us standing together like this,” Locke muttered under
his breath so only his two brothers, Erik and Fen, could hear.   “Too
obvious a target.”

His
brothers murmured their agreement but remained steadfastly by his side. 
There was safety in numbers after all.

“Is
that..?”  Erik flinched for a moment and then relaxed. “No, it’s okay.”

“We
shouldn’t have come.”  Fen ground out between clenched teeth. “Being out
in the open like this… it’s freaking me out.”

“We’re
all freaked out.”  Locke grimaced, brushing away a smear of sand that
clung to his perfectly pressed cotton trousers.  Goddess he loathed casual
wear, give him an Italian three piece suit to relax in any day of week. 
“We need to present a united front. We can’t afford to show any weakness.”

“You’re
the eldest.”  Fen eyed Locke with sudden keen interest.  “You should
be willing to take one for the team.”

Locke
shuddered at the thought of the dire consequences of such an action.  The
endless screaming.  The accompanying unidentifiable nose-hair searing
smells.  The torturous never ending sleepless nights. The inevitable
mysterious stains, smears and streaks.  It was enough to give him
nightmares, who would volunteer for that reality?  “I swear by the Goddess
if you two give me up
I will make your lives a living hell
.” 

The
air around Erik and Fen thickened threateningly for a moment as the truth of
Locke’s promise sank into their bones.

“Okay
chill.”  Erik held up a pacifying hand. 

“Just
thought I’d float the idea.”  Fen looked unrepentant.  “We need to
come up with a plan and soon. In the last month I’ve had to change my locks
twice, she keeps getting in somehow.”

“Well
at least you can sleep at the station if you want.”  Erik groused,
referring to Fen’s job as a fireman.  “Some of us don’t have that
luxury.  Last week I woke up, walked into my kitchen and there she was …
and she wasn’t alone.” 

All
three brothers shuddered in unison.

“Worse,
I was buck assed naked.”

“How
did you get away?”  Locke queried, horrified by the thought of his own
immaculate and perfectly maintained fortress of peace and solitude being
invaded in such a fashion.

“I
climbed out the bathroom window.”

“We
have trouble.”  Fen interrupted.  “Twelve o’clock.”

Goddess
what fresh horror? 

He
loved her. Goddess help him he really did, but his mother was driving him and
his brothers stark raving mad.  For the last five months she had been
waging a dogged campaign.  Popping up ‘oh so casually’ in any number of
places he and his brothers frequented, invariably with some bewildered – worse,
sometimes eager - potential mother of her grandchildren in tow, for them to
meet. 

Here
he was, thirty-eight years of age, a respected, nay, feared lawyer of
international repute.  A great white shark swimming in the ocean known as
corporate law.  And still... still his mother and her fierce desire for
grandchildren scared the living shit out of him. 

And
the person responsible for creating this perfect storm of a nightmare – opening
his mother’s eyes to see that her three sons were just as capable, if not more
so, of providing her with the grandchildren she hoped, dreamed and yearned for
– was sauntering towards him across the sand, all seven foot three freaking
inches of him, flanked by several of his men, all of whom served the Goddess
Maat as her Elite Warriors.  All tall, ridiculously fit, deadly and worst
of all, they weren’t just Maat’s muscle, they were quick-witted intelligent men
with free will. 

Narrowing
his eyes as the wall of muscle closed in on him Locke refused to flinch, let
alone blink to give any indication he was intimidated.  “These are not the
droids you’re looking for.”  He couldn’t help himself, when he felt threatened
he tended to get snarky. 

Two
of the men flanking Vaughn, the twins - he couldn’t remember their names - both
laughed out loud.

“He’s
funny Vaughn...”

“You
never said he was funny.”  The tawny haired one finished his golden haired
brother’s sentence. 

Yeah
not freaky at all. 

Locke
turned his head to say something snide to his brothers under his breath and
halted, the cowardly bastards had slunk away, leaving him to face the ‘Knights
who say Ni’ on his own.

“Locke.” 
Vaughn smiled at him.

“Vaughn.” 
He kept his tone bland, uninterested, though internally loud strident alarm
bells were ringing. 

“I’m
sure you remember my colleagues… Dash and Flynn.”  Vaughn pointed towards
the twins. “And Rafferty and Nate.”  He gestured to the two men standing
on his right, one with auburn hair, the other with sandy coloured hair and
amber eyes sparkling with amusement.

Locke
held his hands up.  “Just take the money okay… leave the women and
children alone.”

Once
more the twins, Dash and Flynn, laughed.

“Don’t
encourage him.”  Vaughn instructed, his soft tone directly at odds with
his dark golden eyes full of serious intent.

Locke
crossed his arms.  “Where’s Gi…”  The word Gigantore froze on his
lips as Vaughn’s whole body visibly tensed.  “Hadleigh.”  He quickly
substituted.  “Where’s Hadleigh?”

“We’ve
talked about name calling.”  Vaughn chided softly.

Locke
wanted to roll his eyes.  His baby sister was six foot six in height, like
she needed defending.  His head still rang in memory at the number of
times as an infant she’d nailed him with a rattle to the skull.  Then
there were the dreaded toddler years when she’d graduated to plastic
cutlery.  To this day he wore his hair long at the front to cover the
scars on his forehead. 

He
loved his sister, he really did.  Even if she was their father’s
favourite.  Had been from the moment the squirming infant with the tufts
of red hair had gummed down on Gunther’s fingers minutes after being born and
managed to draw blood, much to their father’s delight.

With
pupils that flashed forked lightning, long red hair and muscles stacked on
muscles their father was the son of Odin, a warrior of Valhalla and one gruff
bastard.  Yet he’d taken one look at the squirming new arrival with the
big grey eyes and blood smeared mouth, shouldered his three sons out the way
and declared to his wife Lucy.  “Now this is a warrior of Valhalla.”

Locke
had been as jealous as hell growing up at the attention Gunther had paid
Hadleigh.  They were always together; training, sparring, fighting, running,
jumping, duelling and wrestling.  Not that Gunther ignored his sons
exactly; he taught them all to defend themselves, to fight.  But he
recognised that none of them had the spark, the desire, the thirst or the fire
to be a warrior that his daughter so obviously did. 

So
the teasing of Hadleigh had started early, sparked initially by jealousy,
providing a reason for the three brothers to bond.  Entering his teenage
years Locke had come to be secretly grateful to Hadleigh for following in their
father’s footsteps.  If not for her, he, as first born, might have been
required to step up.  He shuddered at the thought, the never ending
rigorous training, the injuries, the gore… the ugly practical clothes. 

By
that late stage though the damage had been done, Hadleigh had become a favoured
and convenient target for their teasing, unable to physically retaliate (thank
the Goddess for the warrior code of conduct) there had been little Hadleigh
could do to defend herself against her relentless teasing obnoxious older
brothers. 

Then
Vaughn came along and ruined everything, leaping to Hadleigh’s defence,
manipulating their mother, winning over their father for Goddess sake. 
And whilst Locke might appreciate the irony, it didn’t mean he approved of
Vaughn’s tactics, diverting their mother’s attention to her three sons instead
of where it had been nicely focused for years, on Hadleigh.  You’d think
now Vaughn and Hadleigh were married that their mother would shift her
attention back to ‘a sure thing’.  But his mother had gob smacked them all
by leaving Hadleigh alone to enjoy ‘the honeymoon’ stage of her new
marriage.  Instead she’d redoubled her efforts to find mates for her sons,
so they could be just as ‘happy and content’ as their sister. 

It
was kind of darkly ironic that these days he used Hadleigh’s presence as a
shield against Vaughn.  “I haven’t seen Hadleigh… if that’s who you’re
looking for.”

“No,
you’re the one we wanted to talk to,” Vaughn confirmed.  “We need your
help.”

“Whatever
it is, categorically, unequivocally - No!”

“There’s
a life at stake.”  Vaughn’s tone was still soft but now held an edge of
steel.

“Hadleigh?” 
Locke leapt to the logical conclusion; why else would Vaughn be requesting his
help unless his sister’s life was in danger.

“No
not Hadleigh.  A friend… a good friend to the team is in trouble.”

“And
the seven warriors of Maat can’t deal with the situation themselves?” 
Locke was unconvinced. These men had been around for over a hundred years
seeking out chaos and injustice, righting wrongs and being generally
kick-ass.  And here they were asking for his help?

“We
need someone with your unique skillset.”  Nate spoke up. 

“Sharp
dresser?”  Locke queried wryly.

“Lawyer.” 
Rafe responded flatly.

“That
and your unique… powers.”  Vaughn added.

Locke’s
attention shot to his brother-in-law.  “What do you know of my magic?”

“Enough
to know that you’re our best, possibly our only hope of rescuing Serena.”

Locke’s
gut tightened, he was being set up, he was sure of it.
 
“I’m sorry that your friend is in trouble but my
schedule is pretty jammed packed at the moment.  Maybe if you made an
appointment with my office.”

“We’re
under a time constraint.”  Vaughn’s jaw was clenching and
unclenching.  “It’s taken us almost six months to find her.  They could
move her at any time.  We need someone to go in and get her ASAFP.”

“And
that someone would be me?”  Locke was beyond dubious and bordering on
thinking this all might be some elaborate practical joke. 

“I’m
prepared to negotiate.”  Vaughn growled out in low tones.

“There’s
not enough money in the world.”

“I
was talking about your mother.”

Locke
hesitated.  Perhaps this wasn’t a joke after all, but still why would he
do this man any favours?  Vaughn might be family now but surely that
didn’t make his problems any concern of Locke’s.  “I don’t need your help
to manage my mother thank you very much.” 

There
went that bargaining chip.  Vaughn had no cards left to play.

“What
about your father then?  How impressed would he be to hear that a woman’s
life hangs in the balance and one of his sons is failing to step up to help?”

“You…
low… bastard.”  Locke glared daggers.

“Just
a very desperate one.”  Vaughn acknowledged, seemingly with real regret in
his eyes.

Locke
huffed out a harsh breath.  “When do you want to do this?”

“Now!” 
Rafe urged.

“After
the wedding.”  Vaughn countermanded.

“There’s
a wedding?”  Dash looked around confused.

“You
really thought this was just a beach party?”  Vaughn shook his head in
wonder at his men.  How could they be so oblivious?

“Who’s
getting married?”  Flynn frowned.

“Duh!” 
It was Locke who rolled his eyes. “Anyone with half a brain can see that your
man Drum is marrying my cousin Nell.”

Somewhere
in Vaughn a small ball of red hot tension began to dissipate.  Maybe sending
Locke Valhalla in to rescue Serena wasn’t going to be a complete disaster after
all.