Panther's Claim (Bitten Point #2) (12 page)

I
f only Cynthia were exaggerating
. Poor Daryl, she’d given him hell for not warning her about the twins in his family, but then again, she’d not truly fully cautioned him about her parents.

Tit for tat, and something they’d have to deal with if they did stay together. She’d have to live with his genetic disposition that might see any fertilized eggs of hers split. He’d have to learn to put up with her parents. The good news was her folks lived hours away.

The bad news was they had no boundaries where she was concerned.

Towel wrapped snugly about her body, she exited the bathroom in a cloud of steam, having enjoyed a little private time with his razor and her legs. She also made sure her garden was pruned.

She was feeling pretty good until she screamed, “Mom, Dad, what are you doing here?”

“We told you we would be back in the morning,” rumbled her father. Dressed in khaki walking shorts and an eye-popping Hawaiian shirt, her father had taken a spot on the couch, his leg in the walking cast stretched before him.

As for Mom, she was dressed in pressed white slacks, a pastel-colored blouse, and hair that defied gravity with its poufy height. “You look a little tired, dear. Long night?”

Given how used to her mother she was, it would take more than a sly innuendo to embarrass Cynthia. “I’m fine, Mother.” If by fine she meant sexually sated, kind of seeing a guy, and wondering if she was pregnant with a pair of tadpoles.

Daryl strolled out of the kitchen area, looking way more relaxed than a man should. “About time you got out of there. My mom’s been waiting to meet you.”

The morning seemed determined to make her blush.

“Your mom? Just let me get dressed and—” Yeah, the universe wasn’t going to grant her the kindness of putting on underwear and a bra before meeting Daryl’s mother.

There was no denying the woman who emerged from the kitchen was Daryl’s mother. It wasn’t just the tanned skin that gave it away, but the same dark gaze and straight nose. But where Daryl’s chin was distinctly male, his mother’s angled into a point, and she was tiny beside her son.

“Cyn, this is my mother, Luisa. Mama, I’d like you to meet Cynthia. She’s um”—he paused and sent her an indecipherable look before shrugging and saying—“my girlfriend.”

Dear God. Had he just publicly announced their status? Too late to take it back now. Her mother had heard and leaned forward in her seat. Some predators smelled blood in the air. Her mother smelled a wedding dress.

Luisa eyed her. “Does she cook?”

The question might not have been directed at her, but Cynthia answered it anyhow. “Yes. I can cook. Bake. As well as balance a checkbook, plan a dinner party for twelve, and wear heels while doing it.” Her mother had insisted Cynthia learn certain skills growing up. Some like culinary creations she did well with. Others that involved needle and thread… Best not spoken of.

“Family is important?”

Her mom got in on the conversation. “Very. My Thea is a good girl. Never any problems with her.”

The two women shared a nod, and Cynthia could already feel the tight strings of a corset as her mother plotted to reproduce the nightmare of her sweet sixteen dress shopping, but on a grander scale.

In that moment, Cynthia totally felt like a coyote and was only missing a sign that said “help” as she tumbled off a cliff.

“Excellent. My Daryl needs a good woman to keep him in line. Don’t forget,
gatito
, we are having dinner on Thursday. Bring your girlfriend.” Daryl’s mother paused at the door. “You and your husband should come, too.”
You
being Cynthia’s mother.

“We’d be delighted.” Her mom beamed, a smile that was entirely too wide and happy. “Since I can see you’re busy here, baby girl, we’ll just take off. Daryl says you’re meeting some friends to look for Aria’s last whereabouts. But we’ll be helping, too. Your father, being a car guy, is going to check out the junkyard just outside of town to see if Aria’s motorcycle is there. Don’t get into too much trouble.”

“How about not any at all,” grumbled her dad as he followed her mom out the door.

With the quiet
snick
of the door engaging, they were once again alone.

Blink. A few breaths.

No one came barging in, and Daryl still stood across the room looking entirely too calm.

Not acceptable. He should be as frazzled as her hair.

She dropped the towel. He spat out coffee.

“Could you warn me if you’re going to do that?”

“No.” She didn’t even pretend to think about it. “What was all that about with your mom?” Although she feared she knew.
Looks like my mom isn’t the only matchmaker. We are so screwed.

He shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I came out of the bathroom as my mom was frying the bacon.”

“There’s bacon?” She didn’t quite run to the kitchen, but it was close.

“Then while my mother whipped out some pancakes, your parents just walked in like they owned the place.”

“Yeah, Daddy’s not big on knocking. Or visiting people. He must like you.” She beamed at him, a smile somewhat ruined by her chewing on a strip of pure pork heaven.

She plopped herself onto a bar stool and snagged a pancake with a fork from the platter stacked high with them, smothered it in butter and syrup, then moaned as she ate it, interspersing sweet bites with crunchy, salty bacon.

Fingers snapped in front of her nose. “Are you listening to me?”

“Um, can I lie and say yes?” She batted her lashes and wondered if he would get offended if she stole the last piece of bacon.

Screw it. She wanted it. He could spank her for it later.

Instead of the palm of his hand on her ass, she got a rundown of their battle plan. She straightened in her seat.

“Wes and Caleb are going to check some of the nearby campgrounds for signs of Aria.”

“But Aria doesn’t camp.”

“That may be, but just in case, they’re going to look.”

“And what are we doing?” Although, whatever they did, she doubted it would rival the sex they’d had the previous night.

“We are going to be joined by Constantine to search the three motels in town.”

“Why do we need his help? Wouldn’t it make more sense to split up?”

“Given the attacks on us, not really.”

Good point and a sobering one. While Cynthia was worried about dealing with her matchmaking mother—and now Daryl’s, too—she couldn’t forget that, despite Aria’s call, there was something that smelled in Bitten Point, and it wasn’t the swamp gases.

“Will the motels give us information on Aria? I thought there were some privacy laws against that.”

“Yeah, but nothing a little nudge or a twenty won’t fix, especially if they’re shifters. Once they find out it’s about a missing girl, they’ll cooperate.”

Cooperation was all well and good, but that required something for the desk staff to relate. After hitting the three motels within the town to no avail, they even hit a few on the outskirts. Money did exchange hands a few times, but the answer still remained a big fat negative. No one had seen a petite girl on a motorcycle, or if they had, they lied about it.

“It makes no sense,” Cynthia grumbled, squished against the passenger door of Constantine’s pickup truck because Daryl, for some reason, insisted on taking the middle spot on the bench seat.

Apparently, getting to ride inside the cab was a privilege, as usually the passenger spot was reserved for Princess, Constantine’s dog. Not for this trip. His large-eyed furball currently sat in the big man’s lap.

Having treated her fair share of Chihuahuas as a vet, Cynthia knew they were extremely loyal with the heart of a lion. Seriously, those pipsqueaks feared nothing, and she’d gotten her fair share of nips when giving needles to know.

“Maybe your friend didn’t book a motel for the night but stayed with a friend,” Constantine ventured.

Frustrated at their failure to find anything, Cynthia snapped, “Are you calling her a slut?”

“You tell me.”

Daryl threw out an arm, and she hit it before she could dive across the seat. When it came to Aria, Cynthia was her fiercest defender. In Constantine’s case, he relied on his little dog. Princess peeled back her gums and growled.

Cynthia growled back.

As for Daryl, he tried to turn a chuckle into a cough before saying, “I’m sure that’s not what he meant.”

The big man at the wheel shot her a brief glance. “No, I wasn’t calling her a slut, but asking if Aria might have spent the night with someone is a legitimate question. I mean, we’ve been concentrating on retracing her last steps and finding out more about those creatures who attacked you and have gotten nowhere. So it’s time to change tactics. The best clue we have right now is your missing friend. We need to know more about her time in Bitten Point before that last night in the bar, starting with where the hell she was staying. If none of the hotels and motels remember her, and you’re sure she wouldn’t camp, then where was she sleeping and showering?”

Constantine’s calm logic extinguished the fire in her. Cynthia slumped onto the seat. “Sorry I went all gangster on you. Especially since you’re only trying to help. I don’t know where she was staying, but it is possible she spent the night with a guy. Aria’s a bit of a free spirit.” Aria had learned at a young age to have a live-for-the-moment attitude. She took her pleasures when and where she could.

“Except you said she wouldn’t have hooked up with a guy without telling you.” Daryl grabbed her hand and held it, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“She never has before. But what other explanation is there? She had to stay somewhere.” Cynthia could have kicked herself for not knowing. It just never came up in their previous chats, and for some reason, while Aria might have pinged the night at the bar with her phone, she never checked off a hotel or motel. Only foolish single women traveling alone would give out those kinds of details.

“We are fucking idiots,” exclaimed Constantine with a snap of his fingers. “What about the bed and breakfast by Sal’s place? The one past those orchards.”

“Bedbug Bites?” Daryl said. “I thought the broad running that place shut it down.”

The skin on Cynthia’s body crawled at the thought of nighttime critters munching away. “Hold on, Bedbug Bites? What the heck kind of name is that for a B&B? Who would stay there?”

“Not humans,” Daryl replied with a grin. “I told you the town had its methods of keeping them away. But a shifter would know the truth and realize it was a friendly joint for our kind.”

“If that’s the case, then why didn’t we check this place out?” she asked.

“Because it closed down years ago to the public after Mrs. Jones’ son went missing during the first round of monster appearances.”

“If it’s no longer open, then what makes you think Aria might have stayed there?”

“Because it might not be as closed as we thought,” Constantine answered. “Veronica, the lady that owns the place, might not be publicly advertising she’s open, yet for someone who is supposed to be living there alone, she gets a lot of groceries delivered.”

It begged the question of, “And how do you know this?”

“My brother’s mate. Renny used to work at the grocery store and was the one bagging the items for delivery. She thought it was weird, but none of her business.”

Weird indeed, enough that they had to check it out.

The drive to this last-ditch effort took them down a lonely side road, one with deep ruts that had her bouncing since Cynthia couldn’t find the oh-poop handle on the door. Don’t mock her strong language. Being gangster didn’t mean she could resort to the fouler words others used. Her mother’s voice was too strong for that.
“Don’t make me get the soap.”
Shudder.

The second time she flailed for purchase and accidently squashed Daryl in his manparts, he grunted, but then put a stop to her unintentional damage. He dragged her onto his lap and anchored his arms around her. They still bounced, but now she could claim it was rather fun, given her proximity to a certain hottie.

“Where is this place? The ninth circle of Hell?” she grumbled as she almost bit her tongue when they hit a pothole determined to suck in the truck.

“It’s right on the edge of the swamp,” Daryl replied. “All this land belongs to Veronica Jones. Her husband’s family got it generations ago, over fifty acres, if I remember correctly.”

Fifty acres of untamed jungle, given the foliage encroached upon the road. If she heard any banjos, she might start begging to turn around. Damn her ex-boyfriend for making her watch
Deliverance
and
The Hills Have Eyes
.

One moment they were looking lost and about to become meat-fodder in a horror movie and the next they emerged onto a paved, cobblestone drive that wound around a grassy circle with a stone bird bath in the middle.

The chill and uneasiness in Cynthia’s bones didn’t leave at the sight of the grand plantation home, the likes of which weren’t often seen in these parts.

Tall columns graced the front and flanked the wide single step up to the pair of carved wooden front doors.

The pale siding had seen whiter days, the green and black hue of time and mildew doing its best to recolor them. Windows gaped upon the drive, their reflective surface showing the green foliage of the wilderness that surrounded the cultivated parts of this space.

As they stepped from the truck, Daryl doing so with one arm around her waist, holding her aloft as he slid them out, she couldn’t help but smell the lushness of the greenery.

And the acrid stench of… “Dogman was here!”

No mistaking the nose-wrinkling smell of wet dog in dire need of a bath. Just like there was no mistaking Aria’s bike tucked under a tarp off to the side of the drive.

Cynthia pushed out of Daryl’s arms and ran to the familiar black cover with the patches they’d crazy-glued to repair tears. She dropped to her knees and lifted it to peer under. A red frame with hand-painted white daisies met her view. “Aria’s here. We found her.”