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“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.
