Chapter 7

Chapter7

Baptiste hatedhow aware he was of Daphne.

She smells mighty tasty. Garou knew what it wanted to do.

Not so Baptiste. No sniffing. No looking. Definitely no touching.

His last relationship had ended in tragedy. The obsession caused by a spell had failed as well. He was better off never getting involved with anyone ever again.

Says you.

Yes, says me.He didn’t deserve to be involved with anyone.

So he lay on the bed, facing away from the one holding Daphne. Unable to sleep. How could he when he could hear her breathing?

What was he thinking, agreeing to be her chauffeur?

You wanted to run away from your problems.

More like avoid his uncle and his insistence Baptiste lead the pack as the Garou. Not just his pack, though, all of them. His uncle wanted to make him out to be something he wasn’t. A living god on Earth that would unite all the packs under one rule.

Because he recognizes my greatness.

You’re not a god.

Close enough, Garou countered.

Whatever. Baptiste wasn’t about to start arguing about it again.

Pussy.

Stop quoting Venom.He should have never watched that movie.

Best action film ever. Still waiting to see the sequel.

Never.

Moments like this I wish I’d been born in someone else.

Me too. Because then he’d have never been engaged to Diandra and she wouldn’t have died.

“Stop that,” Daphne suddenly said.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, rolling over.

“I can hear you moping from here and it’s disturbing my rest.”

Hahahaha. She caught you.

“Fuck off, you cannot,” he groused.

“I notice you’re not denying it.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t but I am curious. Why did your uncle arrange a marriage? Were you incapable of finding your own mate?”

Admit he didn’t date much? Never. “They arranged the alliance with Diandra because I am the Garou. They wanted to ensure the Mother of my children came from a good werewolf family. One with a pure bloodline.”

“Who is they?”

“My uncle. The pack. They tried to organize my life. Should have heard them flip when I told them I had joined the Cryptid Authority.”

“You defied them.”

“Yes.”

“But agreed to the marriage?”

That had been the only way to not get tossed from the CA. His uncle had threatened to pull strings if he didn’t agree. “I didn’t mind Diandra. She was nice.”

“You did not love her.”

“I respected her, and in time it might have become something more.”

“Humans are obsessed with love,” she remarked with distinct distaste.

“Not just humans. Haven’t you ever been in love?” He couldn’t have said why he asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

Rather than tell him to fuck off, she took a moment to think about it. “I never met anyone that inspired great affection in me other than the Mother.”

“You’ve never had a lover?” He couldn’t stem his surprise.

At his query, she snorted. “I’ve fornicated, but only because of curiosity and occasional desire.”

“What about children?”

“Perhaps one day I’ll find a suitable specimen to pollinate me and give me saplings but then again, I am not the nurturing type.”

He tried not to react at her strange wording. “Do dryads date outside their kind?”

“There are no males so there is no choice. Now, you should sleep while you can,” she cautioned.

“Night, Psycho.” He couldn’t resist his new nickname for her.

“Good night, beast.”

He remained facing her, eyes closed, and to his surprise slept. At least until Garou shouted, Beware!

Roused suddenly, he rolled out of bed, ready to confront… nothing. He glanced around and saw no reason for Garou to have woken him.

Just as he readied to chastise, something tickled his bare foot. A glance down showed a roach.

Nasty. He flicked it and noticed another on the carpet. Make that several.

It led to him stomping and grimacing at the crunchy squish under his toes. “What the fuck is going on! Where are these bugs coming from?”

“Ignore the vanguard. We should ready for the main attack,” Daphne stated, rising from her bed still fully dressed and with a dagger in each hand.

“What attack? Expecting the queen bug to come?” he asked, only partially sarcastic. He hopped onto his bed to avoid further grossness.

“Yes,” she replied, utterly serious.

“It’s more likely the motel has a problem with its crawlspace.” An explanation even he didn’t believe. The carpet of bugs, literally, writhed unnaturally thick.

“This has to do with my return. As the Mother’s paladin, I am a visible target for those who wish to harm her.”

“Are you saying the bugs are after you?”

“Did I not just say that?” she retorted.

The floor trembled, as did everything in the room not bolted down. He surfed his bed, riding the heaving mattress as the shaking intensified. The lump in the carpet pushed up, shoving aside his bed and almost dumping him in the process. He leaped clear and grimaced as he landed with a crunchy squish.

While he could see despite the gloom, he wondered about Daphne. Since he had the bed closest to the door, it took only two strides—crunch, crunch—to flick on the lights. It didn’t make the wiggling mass of roaches disappear. Pity. Usually, things that liked to attack at night hated light.

The carpet tore open as what pushed from beneath busted into the room.

“It’s the Mother of all cockroaches!” he yelled in surprise.

“Told you,” Daphne muttered as the thing rotated to clack its pincers in her direction.

“Can you keep it distracted while I strip?” He didn’t have much spare clothing.

“Keep your pants on. I’ve got this.”

Before he could reply, her arm with the dagger shot out. And he meant out. It elongated and she slashed with the dagger, the sharp blade shearing part of the pincer, making the bug hiss. The writhing carpet hissed in sympathy.

Daphne launched herself at the bug, vaulting over its head with its antennae to land on its back. She sliced left and right, taking off the wavering filaments, causing the bug to drunkenly lurch.

Smart. She’s confusing its senses.

When the giant roach reared to toss her off, she leaped again, this time landing in front of the bug where she darted in and did a pair of more rapid cuts, shearing some legs.

The bug thrashed in response, its intact pincer waving about frantically while its maxillae wiggled, looking to grab.

They were sliced off next, Daphne’s movements precise and uncanny as parts of her elongated and even twisted, defying bone structure.

She’s magnificent, Garou mooned sappily.

Baptiste would have said deadly. He’d never heard of a dryad fighting. Never knew they could do anything other than turn into a tree. Watching her dance, her limbs swaying lightly as if rocked by a breeze, her hair fluttering, rustling like leaves, her torso bending but not breaking, a tree moving in a storm, she truly rivetted.

And proved violently efficient.

We should mate with her. Can you imagine the children we’d breed?

For a second, he almost agreed. Then came to his senses as her blade, extended on a vine-like limb, punctured one of the giant bug’s eyes.

The thing squealed and hissed and farted something noxious.

“You going to watch or help?” she asked as she spun past him.

“I thought you didn’t need help.”

“I don’t. I just don’t need you whining later that I emasculated you.”

A statement that completely shredded his man card, especially since, despite her request for help, she didn’t need him. She leaped into the air, and as she came down, slammed both daggers into the bug’s head and split it open.

The bug died, spurting some white shit—on him.

When it collapsed, exhaling a stink that watered the eyes, she calmly wiped her blades on her bedspread and sheathed them before saying, “We should go. The smell will get more nauseating as it decomposes.”

He glanced at his gore-spattered clothes and sighed. “Give me a second to wash and change.”

He tossed the comforter over the gooey floor and made himself a path to the washroom where he wiped off as much of the goo as he could. He emerged to find the door to the room open and Daphne missing.

Oh no. She’s gone! Garou howled.

“Calm the fuck down. She’s just outside.”

The night air proved a refreshing delight, and he took several deep breaths before casting a glance at a nonchalant Daphne who leaned against the wall just outside their motel room door.

Before he could ask what the fuck the bug attack was about, a car screeched into the parking lot of the motel and shone a bright light in their faces.

The cavalry—a.k.a. the Cryptid Authority—had arrived.