Her Werewolf Hero (5 page)

Bron sighed and tugged out his cell phone. As he scrolled to the dossier files, he considered whether or not he should show her classified Acquisitions information. But then he clicked on the link to the museum, which was on the internet for anyone to access, and handed her his phone.

She scrolled for a while and read the website. “That stuff looks fake. Anyone could have burned a handprint into a book or bucket and called it that. Or Photoshop! You actually believe this stuff?” She handed him back the phone.

“I thought you said you believed in the unbelievable?”

“I do, but I'm not stupid. Check the Snopes website. I'm sure it debunks that museum.”

“All files are fact-checked and verified as genuine before they become an assignment. I have no reason to doubt the validity of the object's value or use.” He tucked the phone away in a pocket. “The tracker led me to you. I've never doubted witch magic before, and I'm not about to begin now.”

She placed a palm over her chest and closed her eyes. With a nod, she seemed to accept his statement. “This is so out of my pay grade. And I don't even have a salary. But I'm willing to listen and learn. To believe.”

“A willingness is more than most can manage.” He hooked a hand over the end of the stake holstered at his hip.

“Do you always carry that stake?”

“Always.”

“I've seen the crossbow you carry. That was cool. What other kinds of weapons do you have? A knife?”

“In the truck I've a bowie knife and a garrote. The crossbow and some other weapons. Why do you ask?”

“I suppose a bowie knife would do nicely to cut out my heart. Just needed to know what I'm dealing with.”

“Kisanthra, I've promised you that I will not cut out your heart.” He cast his gaze toward the window but couldn't see beyond the curtains. How to make her believe him? And why did he care? “My word is always good.”

Except when he had been younger, and ego had ruled his life, and he'd done whatever he'd pleased whenever he'd pleased with whomever he'd pleased.

Hell, this trip down memory lane could prove brutal if he did not strike it from his thoughts right now.

“What makes it a portal?” she asked.

Her curiosity was a good sign. He hoped. While he sensed her fear, it was also balanced with a tremendous dose of curiosity. She should not fear him. And if she were to keep her head about her if any other paranormals came after her, then she would be much easier to protect than a screaming madwoman.

“I've been told such a heart—your heart,” he said, “bears the handprint from a purgatorial soul. Such as is shown in those artifacts from that museum. Someone gripped it and, well, I'm not sure how that can have happened. That's where I lose all sense of rationality with this situation.”

“So you have as much trouble believing as I do?”

The best he could offer was a noncommittal shrug. Because, really? It was pretty far out there. But again, he did not question his missions. Sometimes it was simply better not having all the facts.

She suddenly clasped both hands to her chest. Eyes tracing the bed covers, she winced and shook her head.

He could sense her increased breaths and smell the worry on her. “Kisanthra? What is it?”

She shook her head frantically. “Nothing. I...nothing. I think I just need to sleep this off.” She snuggled down into the sheets. “Right. That's it. Maybe a good night's sleep will see me waking up from this crazy dream. You going to sleep?”

“In a bit. I'm going to stand watch for a while.”

“Fine. Me and my Purgatory Heart will just catch some shut-eye.”

He turned to face her bed, and just when he almost reached to smooth a reassuring hand down her shoulder, he cautioned himself. Not necessary to protect her in that manner. “You're taking this very well.”

“How else should I take it?”

“Not sure. Are you sure you're okay?”

“I'm tired, Bron. I appreciate you looking after me today. And I just want to not talk to anyone right now if that's okay with you.”

“Fine. We'll talk in the morning and decide what next to do.”

“Sure thing.” She pulled the sheet over her head.

Chapter 5

K
izzy pressed her shoulders to the brick wall. A hint of orange on the horizon teased at daylight. Standing in the shadows, she clutched the camera bag to her gut. The T-shirt she wore could have been warmer. She shivered, but not so much from the touch of chill in the air.

A heart that has been grasped by a soul in Purgatory
.

It made too much sense to her. And that is what freaked her out.

And as if the universe wanted to cram that insane punch line into her psyche she'd woken in the dream again this morning. The recurring dream she'd been having since the accident. The one where a werewolf pulled her heart out of her chest. It was vivid and bloody, and she screamed loudly. Just when she thought the beast was going to eat the pulsing organ, she'd startle herself awake, and the dream would never finish.

Thank God for that. She didn't want to know why she'd envisioned a werewolf going after her heart. Could be because of all the creatures she believed in, werewolves scared the crap out of her. It all went back to that camping trip with her father when she'd thought the bear was a werewolf. And she could guess at a few reasons why it was her heart, in particular, that was always at the fore of her dream. Open-heart surgery is not something a person goes through without scars. And she had them. Inside and out.

Wakened by the dream, panting from fright, she'd glanced to Bron, fully clothed and with combat boots still on, sleeping on the bed beside her, and had decided to sneak out. Because the dream of some big, furry paw clutching her heart had never made any sense.

Until now.

Kizzy had woken two days following the open-heart surgery, a result of the car accident. After being rushed to the hospital by the ambulance, she had died on the operating-room table. Dead for six minutes the doctor had reported. They'd had to crack open her chest to massage her heart back to life. He'd also reported, almost as an afterthought, there had been odd scarring on her heart that he'd noticed while inside her chest cavity trying to bring her back to life.

But seriously? Keith, who had died instantly following the impact of car to boulders, would have never gone to Purgatory. That man had been destined for Hell. And she knew Keith had not been a werewolf, so that part of the dream must be a crazy manifestation of her beliefs. What better way to illustrate the horrors she'd survived than by inserting a wild creature into it?

“Or maybe I'm going crazy?” Guilt clung to her, because she had survived while Keith had not. She'd never wished that for him. Not even when he'd berated her into tears.

She wanted to run. To her left stood the truck stop. To her right, a stretch of highway that led to the North Dakota border. Running wouldn't get her far. And it could perhaps even land her in a vampire's toothy embrace.

Could a bloodthirsty bite be considered an embrace? Why did everyone always romanticize the vampire? She'd looked into that creature's eyes last night and had seen the hunger for her blood. And he'd smelled like rotting blood. There had been nothing whatsoever romantic about the lustful craving in his eyes, either.

Of course, she wasn't stupid and knew it was the
idea
of immortality that attracted those who romanticized the creature. Because, really? Edward was just too damn old for Bella, and Dracula had been a sadist.

Kizzy had almost lost her life at the beginning of the year, and she said blessings for every morning she woke. But to live forever? She imagined it would get tiresome. Yet she couldn't help a small thrill at now knowing her beliefs were real. Verified. Vampires really existed! And so did harpies.

And what other sorts of creatures would sense the weird vibrations she apparently gave out as a beacon and come to rip out her heart? Why was Purgatory such a seemingly popular vacation spot for the lifestyles of the weird and otherworldly?

Bending forward and gripping the backs of her calves to stretch out her back muscles—the motel bed had been lumpy—she vacillated over whether it would be wise to come clean to Bron with what she knew about her heart or to just cut her losses and run.

Could she trust the man? She wanted to. But she didn't know much about him. He'd suddenly
appeared
in her life. And sure, he was handsome and stirred up thoughts of romance and heroes. She was a woman. She'd have to be dead not to be attracted to him. But he worked for some weird organization that—well, for as strange as it sounded, it also fascinated her. Acquisitions? A Retriever who searched for magical artifacts? How cool was that?

But she'd never claim any talent at picking the right guy, the one who was trustworthy and normal. Someone who wouldn't laugh at her beliefs. Would she ever find the right one? She wasn't in a hurry, but she didn't like to waste her time on the less-than hopefuls.

After Kizzy's first dramatic breakup as a teenager with the guy who had given her her first kiss and her first third-base feel, her mother had hugged her teary daughter to her chest and said something about finding the right man. One day when she least expected it, she'd turn around, and there he would stand.

“No,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Don't be seduced by the strange and wondrous, Kizzy. You don't need a man. Take care of yourself. You're the only one who can do that.”

* * *

Bron woke on the bed, coming instantly alert and looking about the room. He'd heard something. Or was it the odd scent he noted? Smelled like...stale mattress. This place was nowhere near worth the forty-nine dollars he'd laid out for it. A tile above the toilet had fallen off when he'd been in there earlier. And the sink's rust stains... It should be condemned.

He rubbed his temple, easing away the lingering remnants of sleep. He must have been more tired than he'd thought. He hadn't expected to fall asleep. Of course, a flight across the ocean from Berlin, topped by an evening chasing harpies and vampires, could be the reason for exhaustion.

A beam of morning sun teased behind the faded curtains, and he glanced to the bed next to his. It was empty.

She had fled him once again. “Damn!”

Grabbing the truck keys on the nightstand, he mustered a small blessing she hadn't the forethought to steal his vehicle. He hooked a hand in the canvas duffel in which he carried all his life's possessions and rushed through the door.

Two steps out onto the tarmac, and he sniffed the air to determine which way she had gone. To the right.

And there she stood, not ten feet away. Against the brick wall. Offering him a small smile and a shrug. “I didn't run off.”

Dropping the duffel bag where he stood, he then stalked up and gripped her by the shoulders. Relief surprised him, but he didn't question it. “I thought you had. Kisanthra, I can't protect you if you keep running away from me.”

And then he did something he would have never done had he taken a moment to think it through.

Bron pulled her into his embrace and wrapped his arms across her back. She sighed against his chest, tucking her head against him, and he remembered how easy it could be to hug a woman and simply let her warmth melt against his own. To recognize the shape of her and welcome her curves and softness. And to brace his arms about her a bit more tightly than a friendly hug allowed.

Because he'd thought he'd lost her. And he wasn't done protecting her. Bad things were after her. She needed him.

That was his story, and he was sticking to it.

“I wasn't running away,” she said against his shoulder. “I was just thinking about heading into the truck stop to buy us candy bars for breakfast. Bron?”

He still held her. Inhaled the sweetness of her skin. And what was that about? He didn't hold women like this. Did he still have to fear what involvement with a human could mean to him? He shouldn't. It
had
been a long time ago. And she smelled so good. Like candied peaches. But his dislike for human women had become an ingrained belief. And besides, it was easier hooking up with paranormals. He got a lot less questions from them.

Bron abruptly pulled out of the hug and ran his fingers back through his hair, then scruffed his beard. “Right. Breakfast. There's got to be some place that'll sell us eggs and bacon instead a candy bar. Doesn't the truck stop have a diner?”

“Yes. And I love bacon. I just don't have any more than a couple dollars on me, so a candy bar was all I could hope for.” She tapped the front of his shirt, and her smile beamed at him. “You don't have to worry about me running off. I thought about it but changed my mind. I know I'm safe with you until we get this all figured out.”

“You're a smart woman.”

“I am. But allow me some fumbling in this new world I've just been tossed into. Vampires and harpies? Much as I've always believed in mythical creatures, I'm going to have to fire up a new set of brain neurons to accept it all.”

“Good enough. Let's go eat. My treat.”

* * *

Kisanthra secured a table for them inside the diner that, on the front door in big white vinyl-cling letters, had advertised the Man Plate, featuring two kinds of sausage, bacon, ham and steak. Bron's stomach was ready for the challenge. He told her he'd meet her inside after a quick phone call.

This time the director took his call.

“What do you mean the heart isn't attainable?” Ethan Pierce asked.

“It's in a person,” Bron said. “A young human woman who is staying in a small Minnesota town.”

“I see. You're in the States? Tough luck.”

“You had no idea the heart was intact?”

“Of course not, Everhart. I wouldn't have sent you off on the mission knowing such a detail.”

“So, the mission is off?” he asked.

“I'll have to look into it,” the director said. “Stand by until I can get back to you. Affirmative?”

“Yes.” Bron hung up before his disappointment would register with an argument.

Wasn't as if he could walk away from Kisanthra now anyway. She needed a guard. An armed guard. And he'd have to do it without falling into a nonsense hug again.

Standing so close to her, feeling her body relax against his had felt damned good. But he didn't like the hope that brief contact had stirred in his gut. Because it had been a lie. It was simply good to hold a woman, of any kind or species. He and his monkish lifestyle tended to go too long without satisfying his physical needs.

And then things happened.

He looked to the sky. The sun was high. The moon last night had been waxing. More than half full.

He spoke to the phone, “Siri, when's the next full moon?”

She replied with the date, which was four days away.

He couldn't remain on this mission much longer without risking a shit-storm of questions from the insatiably curious Kisanthra Lewis.

* * *

Kizzy popped a straw into the orange juice she'd ordered for Bron when he sat across from her in the cherry-vinyl booth. “I ordered you the Man Plate. Same for me. I can seriously put down any and all breakfast meat.”

“Coffee?”

“It's coming. I'm going to guess you're a no-cream kind of guy. Am I right?”

“Black as the devil's ass is how I prefer it.”

“Okay, now I have that image in my mind.” She sipped her juice. “Was that call business?”

“It was.”

“About me?”

He conceded with a nod. He wasn't going to give her too much information, but she'd angle for as much as she could manage from him. Because she was a woman in peril. Figuratively, of course. Because while she appreciated him wanting to protect her, she sensed rescue would only come by standing up for herself and being smart. And that meant learning as much as she could about the situation.

“Have you been given instructions on how to obtain the heart?” she asked.

“Kisanthra.”

“Please, Bron, I'm curious, and I have a right to know. Me, being the owner of the sought-after object.”

He exhaled, and, pulling the straw from the juice and setting it aside, he then swallowed half of it before speaking. “We had no idea the heart was intact. I've alerted the Director of Acquisitions, and now I'm waiting for further instructions. No doubt the mission will be canceled.”

“I certainly hope so. I mean, I may have avoided the vampire's bite last night, because, you know, immortality? Not interested. But I do have a long life ahead of me. Plan to live to one hundred. I'm expecting that birthday card from the president. And I sure hope she's a cool president.”

Bron chuckled. “So do I. We could use a woman POTUS. But vampires can't give you immortality from a quick bite.”

“Really? But I thought—well, of course, movies and books are fiction. So how does it happen?”

He rubbed his temple and winced.

“Face it, Bron, you're stuck with someone who is open to the paranormal and whose middle name may very well have been Curious instead of Ginelle. I have questions. Lots of questions.”

“Yes, but I don't think it's the best conversation for a public place.”

She glanced around. They were the only couple in the diner, sitting at the end of a line of booths that paralleled the front windows. At the counter sat an old man gobbling up his eggs with Tabasco sauce, earphones stuffed into his ears. If he could hear them she'd be surprised.

“Right. Wouldn't want to tell this big empty place about vampires.”

The coffee arrived, along with their breakfast. Kizzy made quick work of the over easy eggs and followed with bacon, sausage and ham—she gave her steak to Bron—while he seemed to inhale his plate of meat but in a way that seemed elegant and mannered. He was interesting to watch, and she did it casually, over her juice or while glancing out the window. His eyes were so blue she felt certain they were not real. Like something enhanced by Photoshop for a romance-novel cover. And his tousled hair seemed styled that way, purposely bed rumpled. It gave her ideas. And, man, those ideas were sexy.