Rougarou Quotes

“Sometimes we're born into situations, he'd said. We have to decide if we're gonna be a part of it or if we're gonna put an end to it.”
― Suzanne Johnson, Christmas in Dogtown

“Anyway, being afraid of a human being is nothing. We're here for such a short period of time, so what does it matter, scared, not scared; what matters is that we last. That's why the blue lotus is so important."
"Why?"
"In legends, immortals are attracted to its scent. Vampires, werewolves, that sort of thing. That's why the ancient Egyptians called it the scent of immortality."
I took Levon's card out of my pocket and rotated the Magician between my fingers. Magical words for good or bad.
"Gabriel told me that you painted werewolves."
"I have painted the odd rougarou from time to time."
"But you don't believe in them?"
"I believe in immortality in whatever form it takes. Paintings, books, music, werewolves. They're all the same- the desire to last forever. In my opinion, every artist is a vampire or a werewolf, or a thief. All we want is to live on and on through the work we do and we'll take whatever we can from the people unlucky enough to be around us- their stories, pieces of their selves, their very souls if they'll let us, which they so often do with surprising ease- in order to reach our creative goals. How is that different from a vampire?”
― Margot Berwin, Scent of Darkness

“You tell a soul or even God Hisself what you seen when the rougarou changes , or even that you met one, and a year ain’t passed, you’re liable to change to one yourself.”
― Samuel Snoek-Brown, Hagridden

“By 8:30 the sky was dark red, as if we were driving toward a bayou on Mars.
"They call it a bloodscent," said Roger. "When the sky turns that color insects and animals come out in droves, especially the ones that lust after the smell of blood. The mosquitoes, the biting flies, chiggers, gnats, gators, and wolverines and wolves- rougarous, they call them around here.”
― Margot Berwin, Scent of Darkness

“Reacting instantly, with a speed born of ingrained instinct and protective love, Declan felt the familiar surge of power coursing through his veins. Skin rippled, bones shifted, and in the blink of an eye, he stood as a magnificent black wolf, fur the color of midnight absorbing the faint light. He lowered his head, a low growl rumbling in his chest, and faced the attacker. He was a shield, a wall of muscle and teeth, ready to defend himself and Elara from the deranged Rougarou, whatever dark force had twisted it into this horrifying parody of its former self. The air crackled with tension, the calm of the bayou replaced by the imminent threat of a brutal and desperate fight.”
― Alexis Marie LaRue, Under The Blood Moon