Her Werewolf Hero (10 page)

He tugged out his cell phone and asked Siri to open up Twitter. A few seconds later, the screen brought him to a sign-up page. He didn't have time for this!

Tossing the phone to the bed, he turned and punched the wall beside the door.

“What's wrong?”

He gaped at Kizzy. “You have to ask?”

“We got information from him. The vampire.”

“Yes, but someone is out there broadcasting to others your every move. How is that possible?”

“The vampire may have Tweeted my location, or not.” She glanced over the ashes. “If he had a cell phone on him, it's too late to check now. So everything goes up in ash? Even my cross?”

“Sorry about that. I hope it wasn't a personal keepsake.”

“It was from my grandmother. But after you got vampire gunk on it? I'm good with it being destroyed. That's weird. Takes a lot of heat to burn metal and stuff like cell phones.” She grabbed his phone from the bed. “I have a Twitter account. Let's see if we can find this Nightcat.”

She sat on the bed and started doing that rapid typing, zoning out on the world thing that Bron found so annoying when he went into public places. People had become literal slaves to their electronic devices. He couldn't count the times a person had walked right into him because they'd been enraptured by their tiny screen.

“Come here,” she said, patting the bed beside her. “I found a few Nightcats listed. Two are eggs, but this one is a black cat.”

“Eggs?” He sat next to her and leaned in to look at the screen. She smelled of fear and salted tears and steamy skin.

“If you don't put up a profile picture, then the app gives you an egg,” she explained. “Those are usually people just checking it out and who never get too involved. Yep. Both eggs show no Tweets and no followers. But the black cat has six hundred followers and just as many Tweets. His Tweets are protected, so if I want to follow him he has to approve me. That's probably not wise.”

She looked at him. He noticed the constellation of pale freckles on the tip of her nose. And there, just a smattering of the sweet dots on the bloom of her cheeks.

“Uh...” Bron refocused. “Why isn't it wise?”

“Then he'll know Kizzy Lewis is following him.”

“Right. We want to remain anonymous. Does it list his address?”

“No. Though, let me look through all the Tweets and find the initial one about me. That might give us a clue. If he had witnessed that first time you found me and the harpies coming after me... Do you recall any people in the park that day who seemed out of place? I thought it was just a few mothers and their kids.”

“If someone was following you they would have been stealthy.”

“But not if this was the first time he or she had seen me and the harpies. I mean, they couldn't have known what was to come. Right? And have any of the others been stealthy? I mean, really?”

She had a point. Unless that person had somehow alerted the harpies? No, didn't make sense. Whoever Nightcat was, he or she must have also been following the tracker's vibrations.

“Nightcat?” Bron worked the notion about in his head. “What about a familiar?”

“You mean like an actual cat?”

“Yes, that shifts to human form.”

“Seriously? They exist, too?”

“You should be to the point where you have no doubts about any creature I mention.”

“You're right.” Her sigh indicated she was having more trouble with this than her earlier admission of belief suggested.

“So, a cat-shifting familiar,” she said. “If it had been out—as a cat—it could have witnessed the harpie attack. Here is the orignal post.” She tapped the phone. “‘Creatures of the Night,'” she read the Tweet, “‘find the Purgatory Heart. Werewolf protecting the human who bears it. Caution. Post your positions. First one to the prize wins!'—Oh, that's terrible. But he apparently knew you were a werewolf right from the start.”

“Cats have a thing for recognizing our species. And vice versa.”

“Cats and dogs, eh?”

“We are not dogs,” Bron insisted firmly. “It is a slang term to use that word to describe us.”

“Oh. Sorry. I suppose you're not. It was dogs who descended from wolves, right?”

“Yes, and we werewolves have always been pure wolf.”

Kizzy lay back on the bed, cell phone still in hand as she typed in something. “I've always been afraid of dogs.”

“Why is that?”

“One bit me once. I was eight. It was a Chihuahua.”

He lifted a brow.

“Don't laugh. It scarred me. Not physically, but mentally. I can't be around dogs now. I go to great lengths to walk a wide circle around them. It's not that I hate them. I just don't trust them. I never know if they will snap at me or try to attack.”

“Well, you've survived an attack by a wraith demon and a few vamps. I'd say if something smaller, such as a Chihuahua, comes at you now, you've got that covered.”

“Maybe.” She smiled, but it quickly dropped. “I just don't want to get too close to anything with snapping teeth and four legs. Oh. Sorry.” She sat up and set the phone aside. “I didn't mean...”

“I know what you meant. And again I'm not a dog.”

“No, you're not.” She clasped his hand. “Thank you for saving me, Bron. Again. From yet another vampire. Maybe I should start carrying a stake?”

“Wouldn't hurt. I can make one for you using that coffee table below the window. It's seen better days. Might be a mercy to borrow the legs. Why don't you stay in my room tonight, and I'll stand guard outside? We'll have to pay for this door. I broke the lock mechanism when I kicked it in.”

“I'll grab my stuff and be right over.”

“I'll wait,” he said. “Outside.”

She nodded, and he heard her intake of breath. A nervous inhale.

Yeah? So he wasn't so pleased to be guarding someone who wouldn't admit she placed him in the same category as dogs.

Before leaving, he turned the table upside down and broke off all four legs. They were cheap pine and about a foot long. He'd have points carved into them in no time.

Chapter 10

K
izzy woke and yawned, then realized she'd crawled onto the bed last night without pulling the sheets over her. She remembered Bron standing by the door, looking out the window, keeping guard as he'd whittled away at the table legs with a bowie knife. His profile had been tall and fierce, a warrior.

A werewolf. Whom, remarkably, she trusted and was thankful to have on her side.

Now he lay next to her, his arms across his chest, eyes closed and breathing imperceptible. Must have decided the night watch could be done while lying down. He probably had supersensitive hearing and a sharp sense of smell. If anyone had approached the motel door last night, he would have been up and on them before they'd even had a chance to touch the knob.

Carefully, she moved up onto her elbow and stretched her hand closer to his face. Slowly. She didn't want to wake him. But she couldn't resist the curiosity that had shaped her very being since a young age.

Landing her fingers on his beard, she stroked it. It was short and well-groomed for someone who claimed to constantly travel the world. A few shades lighter than the dark hair on his head. Perhaps from sun or even a long life? She wondered how old he was. Were werewolves immortal? She couldn't imagine what immortality would actually be like, but she wanted to know everything about him.

A heavy exhale through his nose, and without opening his eyes, Bron asked, “What are you doing?”

She wasn't surprised he'd been awake. And she didn't flinch away from the touch. “Your beard is soft. I like touching it. I couldn't not touch it.”

He smirked but didn't open his eyes and didn't move, so she stroked along his jaw and up where the hairs were shorter. She avoided his mustache, though her fascination lured her gaze to mark a few hairs that curled over his upper lip, escaping from the neat trim that emphasized his mouth. She really wanted to touch his mouth. Not with her fingers, but instead with her lips.

“Kizzy?”

“What?” she sighed out.

“Are you going to kiss me?”

A sweet burn blushed up her cheeks. She leaned closer, and now she did dare a soft tap to his lower lip. “Can I?”

He turned his gaze on to her. Clear and true blue. Had he loved others who had fallen into wonder over his eyes in the brightness of morning?

“Knowing what you now know about me, do you still want to?”

That he was a werewolf. That he'd kept that a secret because he hadn't thought she'd need to know—she could excuse him for that. That he wanted her heart, literally, in his hand.

Damn her, but she'd always chosen the wrong man. She didn't seem to have the instinctual radar that would lure her toward Mr. Right. Something about Bron agitated her compass arrow, though. It neither swung toward the wrong nor toward the right, it simply coaxed her to move forward.

Kizzy leaned closer. Inches away from contact, the heat of their breaths mingled. “Yes, I do want to.”

He closed his eyes and smiled.

She lowered her mouth to his and tested his heat against hers. The tickle of his mustache tempted her to dash her tongue over his top lip. Tiny hairs pricked teasingly at her skin. Warmth suffused her senses as the tender contact thrilled through her system. Shiver bumps coursed her arms.

The pressure of his hand finding her hip urged her to make the kiss firmer. She closed her eyes and sank into him. His solid, broad chest was the perfect place to land. The world fell away. Gone were the vicious creatures that wanted to rip out her heart. Only this man remained, who also wanted to put his hand on her heart. If he succeeded, he would be the second man who had done so. But the first she wanted to see try.

Turning onto his side, he slid his hand up her back and eased her against his body. She hooked a knee over his leg, the rough canvas fabric of one of his pants pockets melding into her inner thigh. His tongue dashed against hers. Sweet taste of playful discovery. His hair glided within her fingers. Thrill tickles shivered across her breasts, tightening her nipples. His heartbeats pulsed a steady dance against hers. A timpani of desire.

She could lose herself in him. Strip away her clothing and inhale his heat into her skin. Melt with him. Because he was powerful and handsome. Protective and commanding. Easy, but not too open. His kisses were not forceful; they were a presence she could not deny. Bron's kiss showed her he would take what he wanted yet return with equal measure.

He was a man. Nothing about him seemed remotely animal-like in form, not his structure, his muscles or his kiss. And she wasn't sure why it mattered, but it did. Because she had seen him adorned with fur and fangs. With a tail and claws and a wolfish head. And she was kissing that very same creature right now.

Kizzy abruptly stopped the kiss. The image of the wild creature taking off the demon's head in the field attacked with such sharpness that she bit her lower lip. Bron's eyes searched hers. Questions. Worries.
Knowing
. His thumb stroked her jaw as he waited for her to show him some sign it was okay to resume their connection. But she didn't react.

And then he closed his eyes and rolled to his back. “I've seen that look before.”

“What look?”

He sat and shrugged his hands over his hair and stretched back his shoulders. “Does it matter? We should be on the move. We have to find that Nightcat person.”

“Bron, I—”

But he stood and strode toward the bathroom, closing the door behind him in a manner to end the conversation. And Kizzy buried her face against the pillow. She'd screwed up. It had been fleeting, but he'd sensed her sudden aversion. She shouldn't have recalled what he'd looked like in werewolf form. She couldn't imagine being intimate with him in such a shape. So it had disturbed her. Yet that form had also fascinated her.

“Sorry,” she whispered, more to herself than him.

* * *

Kizzy went online and grabbed herself a new email address:
vampchick71
, and had to smirk that she was likely the seventy-first person with that handle. How many were real vampires? Because would a real vampire use such a handle? Seemed too obvious for a creature whose very survival must rely on living under the radar.

Either way, it was now her online disguise. She filled out the details to open a new Twitter account, and after following a few vampires and werewolves, the TV shows
Supernatural
,
Witches of East End
—canceled far too early—and
Orphan Black
, and some paranormal romance and horror authors, she figured she'd laid ample cover to then follow Nightcat.

Bron took a long shower, and finally, the bathroom door opened and he strode out. He wore a different T-shirt, the same cargo pants, and sat on the end of the bed to put on his boots. “You ready to leave?”

“Yes. Let's get going.” She sensed his need for distance. And to not talk. But she wanted to make things right between them. Though, a “sorry” felt wrong and not enough. So, she'd just have to try harder. “You want me to drive?”

“I got a couple hours' sleep. I'm good.” Boots on, he collected the wooden stakes from the windowsill and grabbed his duffel bag. “How about we drive through McDonalds for breakfast?”

He really wanted to get rid of her now. She was surprised he even offered breakfast. Why not just drive her into town and drop her off?

Kizzy sighed as she stepped outside and followed him to the truck. “Whatever you want.” But when she climbed into the cab it just came out. “Did I do something wrong? Was the kiss that bad?”

The engine revved, and Bron navigated the truck out of the parking lot and onto the road that led into the retail strip edging the town. “Bad is not a word to describe kissing you,” he finally said.

She wiggled on the seat, pleased with that answer.

“But I know you think I'm a monster like all the rest of the things that have been chasing you.”

“No, I—”

He caught her hesitation and shook his head as he adjusted the radio volume up higher. She'd have to shout now to hold a conversation, so she kept quiet. She'd almost said something like “Well, what makes you different than the other monsters?” Good call to stop that question from falling out.

Because what defined a monster? Something that killed other things? Hunters killed for food. Murderers killed for sick sport. She'd watched Bron kill in defense to save her ass. But at the time she'd seen it as two monsters battling one another.

A monster had always been anything that didn't look human to her.

She really needed to reconsider that definition.

Leaning back and sinking her spine into the seat, she put her feet, sans shoes, up on the dashboard. Bron cast her a dirty look. She pulled her feet down and crossed her legs on the seat. He'd stuffed the stakes in the center console, so she plucked one out and managed a decent baton twirl with it. Another side glance from the stoic werewolf.

So, he was going to give her the silent treatment? She was so over that high school idiocy.

Kizzy turned down the radio and twisted to face him, stake propped on her knee. “Tell me what it was like when you met your first human. I mean, it had to have been weird.”

He cast her a glance. Back to the road. The big yellow McDonald's sign loomed just ahead. Then another glance. He should know her well enough by now that questions were
de rigueur. “It was weird. And I didn't know how to act around one, even though we are exactly alike when I am in
were
form.”

“Were form? Were means human, right?”

“Yes.”

“I'm sorry,” she offered. “Give me some leeway while I'm learning about you. Okay?”

“Why bother? You'll be home soon enough.”

“Are you going to kick me to the curb and not look back? What about making sure no one is after me? What about my heart? You can't go back to the Acqusitions place without it, can you?”

“You think I'd actually rip your heart from your chest?” He shook his head in disdain.

“How else would you get it? But could you kill me first?”

“Kizzy,” he said through a tight jaw.

“What? I'm flying solo here. I don't know what to think anymore. I thought you kind of liked me.” She tapped her chest with the stake. “I mean, I like you, Bron. And more than because you said you'd protect me, and you've saved my life. I want to understand you so I can continue to like you.”

“Werewolves and humans...” He shook his head. “It's complicated.”

“Why? You just said you're exactly like us most of the time.”

“Most of the time.” He rapped his thumb on the steering wheel. His jaw tightened. He blew out a frustrated breath. “You pulled away from me this morning when we were kissing. Can you tell me it wasn't because you were disgusted remembering me in my werewolf form?”

“No. Yes. Maybe? Bron, I had a moment where I realized I was kissing a werewolf. That kind of freaked me out. Because, really? I told you about the outhouse scare. So, yeah, I reacted. But I'm over it now. You're cool. And I don't expect to ever kiss you when you're all wolfed out, so there is that.”

“There is that,” he said sharply.

“What's your problem? I'm the one making the monumental effort to understand and accept. And yet you remain closed and uninterested in any sort of sharing.”

“The kind of sharing you're interested in is—Kizzy, when a werewolf takes a mate, they bond for life.”

“That sounds kind of romantic. How long is a werewolf lifetime?”

“We can live three or four centuries.”

She whistled. “Cool. That must be—hmm, kind of tough, when I think about it. Do you have a driver's license? How old does it say you are?”

“Acquisitions secures new documents such as driver's licenses and passports for me when I need them. It is a challenge existing for so long in a society that likes to document every damn bit of information about a person.”

“I get that. I suppose you have to change your identity every so often?”

“Not so extreme as that. But I change up my birth location and sometimes middle names. I let the experts take care of the details.”

“That's a good thing to have. Someone watching your back.”

He pulled into the McDonald's parking lot, which was packed. It was close to the breakfast rush.

“So you and the human thing,” she said. “Is that why you're playing it cool with me? I'm not looking for happily-ever-after. I just like you. Can't a girl like a guy without committing? I mean, the dating scene has evolved over the years. You are aware that in the twenty-first century the meaning of friendship can be defined in so many ways?”

“I am aware of the changing social mores. People have friends with benefits, they hook up, they have sex without commitment. I understand all that and am glad society has advanced over the decades. And I like you, too, Kizzy. But humans are— Very well, if you must know, I swore off relationships with human women a long time ago.”

“What's a long time ago?”

He thought about it a few seconds, then said, “1860.”

“Wow.” Another spin of the stake and she caught it smartly. “What's wrong with human women? And don't tell me you've been a monk since then?”

“My work comes first. Always. But sex is necessary to a man's sanity, if not his emotional health. When I feel the, uh...urge, I find others who can serve my needs.”

“Paranormals?”

He nodded.

Kizzy tilted her head against the cab glass behind her. She knew that werewolves were creatures ruled by the moon. Or so the myths told. But now that she was sitting next to an actual werewolf, it was her opportunity to set the record straight. “Is that a full-moon thing? And what is bonding?”

He exhaled, and she saw his fingers flinch toward the radio.

“No, we're going to do this,” she said, turning the radio completely off. “The line for the drive-through is long. We've got time. And I've got questions. You're stuck with me, like it or not. If you answer my questions, I'll let you kiss me again.”