Pat is a decent-sized man in real life. Tied to a chair with rotted nylon rope in his mouth, he looks downright small. Marcus stands by, patiently waiting until we are in the narrow repair building. With the sounds of the regatta happening around us and waves crashing against the mooring points, we have utter privacy. Charlotte rubs his ear and whispers something that has the werewolf’s lips part.
“Do you-” She starts to ask.
“I’ve got this.” Delphini pulls Charlotte into a final hug. “We’ll get brunch soon.”
More whispers are exchanged, but I don’t catch them. Pat is trying to move his chair now that the big bad wolf has turned his back. I yank the man’s head back by his hair and force him to stay there.
He keeps fighting, but I am much, much stronger. As he wriggles around and mumbles bullshit through the rope as the other two leave, I watch Delphini. She bounces on the balls of her feet and rolls her neck, psyching herself up for this easy kill. This isn’t like invading an orcish community or tracking a human fur trapper. They have exertion and hunting. This kill is served on a silver platter to my human.
She has to summon the power, the rage, to call forth Love on the spot. There is no warm-up battle, nothing to spark the anger but herself.
It’s a wonder to watch her transform. Her fists clench, her nostrils flare as her breathing becomes heavier. She truly is a goddess that I would have happily worshipped. As I would give up my life for Love, I would also for her. When she looks at me again, the fury in her gaze heats my pussy. My body and mind are finally reacting as one when I look at myomphalos. The craving for her that I possess is a beacon, not a distraction.
When she is ready, Delphini pulls the rope from Lovette’s mouth.
“You fucking bi-”
My free hand slaps hard over his mouth and my skin crawls from the mix of saliva and chill that runs up my arm. If the tentacles that run the length of my insides could curl up any tighter, they would.
“Think before you fucking speak to her again,” I sneer.
He nods, face turning red the longer I press my palm into his teeth. I push a little harder, squeezing his jaw to make sure my message is clear before I let go again.
“You are fucking dead, you stupid-” He shouts.
Delphini strikes. Her fist collides with the centre of his face and she draws back with a hiss, shaking her hand while Lovette blinks and moves his nose about.
“That looks so much easier in movies,” she whines.
“Solid hit, though,” I compliment her. “But we can work on strength training another time. Actually, you know who is really good at this kind of combat?”
“Aoife?”
“Cookie,” I say. “Not ‘cause of her massive hands. A long time ago, she used to do some underground fighting for extra cash.”
“Oh my god,” Pat groans. “Typical fucking women, you won’t fucking shut up.”
“And it doesn’t seem like you will either, dickhead.” Delphini scowls before presenting her hand to me. I pull a switchblade knife from under my sweater and hand it to her. Pat’s face doesn’t move an inch as she flicks it open. “What did you do with my money?”
“Fuck. You.”
Seconds before it hits, I slap my hand over his mouth again. Delphini sinks the blade into his spread thigh and Lovette screams. His arms jerk in the restraints, but they hold tight. Sweat beads across his forehead as his body begins to shake. She waits until he’s stopped groaning to speak again.
“What did you do with the hundred grand, Pattie?” She asks again.
“Slots and hookers, Atlantic City,” he answers, chest heaving. He refuses to look down at his skewered leg. “Look, if you want it back, I’ll find it somehow, okay? Did Johnny tell you I was working today?”
I look at Delphini, it must be the dead guy. She understands this as well, because she smirks.
“You assaulted me for a wild fucking weekend?” she asks. “You ruined my life for that?”
Her voice raises in pitch, in volume. My hand twists harder in his hair when I know what he’s done. That haunting picture surfaces in my thoughts, his hands on her body. My chest tightens, tentacles pressing against my unitard to get at this fuck. To hurt him for hurting my human. The anger in me swells and swells until I have ripped the chunk of hair out. Pat squeals as the new bald spot appears on his head, blood trickling from the place where my fingernails dug in too hard.
“Did you hire that guy to watch me?” she asks next.
“No, that little bitch Miles did. I just gave him the details after that coke whore of his went missing. After the pictures got taken, I was done with those two.”
“Hey,” I say, grabbing his neck. “You want another dagger to the leg, maybe one a bit higher? Stop insulting such a fine profession.”
