Had he actually been telling her he respected her and saw her as an equal in their sparring matches?
She shook her head. If Sam had taught her anything, it was that men twisted words to keep themselves in the right and their partners at a perpetual disadvantage. You need to lose weight could be explained away as I’m only looking out for your health. You’re too loud and argumentative twisted into You’re embarrassing yourself, and I want to make sure my friends respect you the way I do.
Astaroth’s expression held no trace of Sam’s trademark disappointment though. And while Sam had tried to reshape Calladia into his ideal woman—a delicate flower, indeed—Astaroth seemed to want her to be herself, no matter how rude or aggressive that was.
This was too much to process at the moment. Her head was spinning, and she was still on edge from being asked out, nice as Kai had seemed. “Well, here’s a tip,” she said. “In the human plane, we don’t insult people we like.” She paused, recalling how she twitted Mariel for her flights of fancy and how Themmie sometimes called Calladia “Rocky Balboa.” “Or at least, we say it like a joke.” She replayed her words, then hurried to clarify. “Not that you like me, of course. But there are better ways to express respect for your enemies. Or whatever.”
“Noted.” Astaroth fell in beside her. A few awkward moments passed before he spoke again. “So, my warrior queen, where are we going?”
Calladia nearly tripped over her feet. A laugh burst from her. “What did you just call me?”
Astaroth gave her a crooked smile. “I was aiming for a new spin on violent harridan that would express the respect element more.”
Oh, dear. She liked that far better than she ought to. “We’ll keep workshopping it,” she said lightly, despite the racing of her pulse. “And we’re going to the Red Deer, which is that building at the end. Apparently they serve the best lunch in town, in addition to dispensing clues.” Foolish or not, she couldn’t resist poking at him again. “I told you Kai was helpful.”
“Hmm.” Astaroth’s jaw worked. “We’ll see how helpful. I dread to learn what a werewolf considers fine dining.”
Such a snob. With the immediate conflict past and their conversation back in banter mode, Calladia felt better. “I hope whatever you order is vile,” she said.
He gasped. “Your hostility wounds me.”
Calladia bit her lip, fighting the urge to laugh. “Good. You could use some wounding.”
“Is brain damage not enough for you?”
“You’re still speaking, so clearly not.”
Astaroth slapped a hand against his chest. “The warrior queen delivers a mortal blow.”
This time Calladia hid her smile in her hand, pretending to scratch her nose.
The Red Deer turned out to be a hotel/restaurant, with a sign advertising free Wi-Fi and a continental breakfast. A neon red vacancy sign shone in the window. The two-story building had log walls and a pitched roof, and the front door was framed by racks of antlers.
The rustic look continued inside. The lobby was filled with heavy, hand-carved wooden furniture, and tapestries mingled with more antlers on the walls. The stuffed head of a wolf was mounted over the fireplace.
“Are you kidding me?” Calladia asked, staring at the head in outrage. “Themmie would go apeshit if she were here.” Calladia might, too. She’d met Themmie in the Glimmer Falls Environmental Club, and they shared a passion for protecting the local ecosystem. “Maybe wolf poachers would think twice if someone poached their asses,” she grumbled.
A voice sounded from the front desk. “It’s not real, I promise. The antlers are fake, too.”
Calladia didn’t see anyone at first. Then a woman’s figure emerged from the wall, a process like melting in reverse. Her skin was nearly the same shade as the logs, and bark lined her hairline. A dryad—a tree nymph who could merge with wood. She wore a black uniform shirt, and her dark green eyes were wide and extravagantly lashed.
“That’s good to hear,” Calladia said, approaching the desk. “I was about to post something salty on Welp.”
The dryad laughed. “I would be the first to raze this place to the ground if that was real. The local werewolf pack just has an odd sense of humor.” She cocked her head, and a hank of thick black hair slid over her shoulder, brushing the name tag that said bronwyn. “Looking for a room?”
“Lunch, actually.” Calladia tapped her fingers against her thigh, already feeling restless to continue the quest. “And we’re following directions to get to Isobel the life witch. Do you know where she is?”