by Michele Hauf
Retrieve the purgatory heart...
A “find and sieze” mission that should have been easy for Retriever Bron Everhart. Except the werewolf had no idea the object would be inside a breathing, beautiful woman. Kizzy Lewis needed the heart to live. But others—even more desperate than Bron’s employers—desired the heart at any cost.
After just one touch, Bron knew he would do anything to protect Kizzy. The only way to truly save her was to journey into Purgatory itself. And for that, he had to hope he could return before she was lost to him forever.
“Are you going to kiss me?” Bron asked.
A sweet burn blushed up her cheeks. She leaned closer. “Can I?”
He turned his gaze onto her. His eyes were 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. Kizzy felt powerless as he leaned even closer. Inches away from contact, the heat of their breaths mingled. “Yes, I do want to.”
Michele Hauf has been writing romance, action-adventure and fantasy stories for more than twenty years. France, musketeers, vampires and faeries usually populate her stories. And if Michele followed the adage “write what you know,” all her stories would have snow in them. Fortunately, she steps beyond her comfort zone and writes about countries and creatures she has never seen. Find her on Facebook, Twitter and at michelehauf.com.
Books by Michele Hauf
Harlequin Nocturne
Her Werewolf Hero
The Saint-Pierre Series
The Dark’s Mistress
Ghost Wolf
Moonlight and Diamonds
The Vampire’s Fall
Enchanted by the Wolf
In the Company of Vampires
Beautiful Danger
The Vampire Hunter
Beyond the Moon
HQN Books
Her Vampire Husband
Seducing the Vampire
A Vampire for Christmas
“Monsters Don’t Do Christmas”
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
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HER WEREWOLF
HERO
Michele Hauf
Dear Readers who secretly wish they were kickass heroines and/or awesome butt-kicking heroes,
Yeah, you. I know you read these stories because it’s fun to take a few hours and imagine yourself standing up to vicious werewolves, swimming with selkies or maybe even catching the seductive wink from a sexy vampire. That’s why I write them. Fantasy is fun. And we love the weird stuff. We don’t ever want to grow up, take the same path twice or become so sensible matched socks sound like a good idea. What’s the fun in that?
So here’s to you, Reader Who Is Not Normal (because weird is cool; normal is lame). You’re my kind of people. And I love writing stories for you. Never stop believing in vampires, faeries, witches, shapeshifters, mermaids, dragons and all the rest. Shout it now (especially if you’re reading this in the library): we rock!
Happy reading!
Michele
This one is for Sam and Dean. Because why not dedicate a book to a couple of fictional hunters? Works for me. And their adventures inspired the cheesy hotels in this story. Fight the faeries! (That has nothing to do with this story, but you all know. Right?)
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Excerpt from Immortal Redeemed by Linda Thomas-Sundstrom
Chapter 1
“Go right in, Mr. Everhart.” The pretty secretary with bright blue eyes gestured over her shoulder with a pen while typing on the keyboard with her other hand.
Bron nodded his thanks and stepped toward the scanner portal positioned before the Director of Acquisitions’ door. He paused on its springy metal threshold, felt the prick of its supernatural scanning mechanism throughout his nervous system and knew the data that showed on the director’s monitor would report he was werewolf, approximately two centuries in age, and did not wear an Acquisitions-issued tracking chip.
He refused to be chipped like a dog. If he ever went missing, then tilt a glass to him at the local pub and warn Beneath he was on his way.
A stream of green light beaming from inside the metal scanner alerted him the scan was complete. Stepping forward activated a sliding steel door, and he entered a dimly lit office. The decor featured dark woods and rusted steel ceiling beams that lent a rustic atmosphere to the room. The director was a vampire, but really? Bron knew they could go out in the sunlight for short periods, and an overcast day generally did not cause them harm.
He wouldn’t ask. He never did. He wasn’t a curious man. He simply acted. Let the shrapnel fall where it will.
Ethan Pierce had an alarmingly bright smile and a scattering of silver within the short brown hair spiking from his scalp. “Everhart! Just return from Romania?”
Bron took a seat on the ultracomfortable leather chair before the director’s desk and propped a combat-booted foot across his opposite knee. “Two days returned and eager to put my hiking boots on again.”
“Excellent. I’ve a new assignment for you.”
The director slid a piece of paper toward Bron. As with most Acquisitions’ dossiers, it featured a small photograph or drawing of the item that required retrieval, and below that were listed details. This one featured what looked like a woodcut drawing of a human heart with a faintly hand-shaped mark across the muscle.
“The Purgatory Heart,” Ethan explained. “The mission is find and seize. I’ve sent the digital file to your phone, which includes a link to a related article found online. I’m afraid that’s all the printed research we’ve had time to gather, though Archives has provided us further details. We’ve been gauging activity regarding the object for a few days. There’s chatter circulating about it, and while we can’t pin the origin of that chatter, someone or thing very powerful wants it, judging by the universal vibrations that alerted us to the item.”
Universal vibrations. Early in his career as a Retriever for Acquisitions, Bron had learned everything put out a sort of pulse or tone, whether it was animal, vegetable, mineral or man. And thanks to magic, those vibrations could be read, sometimes even tracked.
“Since we don’t have a location or ID on the thing,” Ethan continued, “it seemed right up your alley. You do like a good adventure.”
Always.
&nbs
p; Bron had already opened the file on his phone and tapped the link. He scanned over an article detailing a small museum in Prague. It displayed items that had been touched by souls from Purgatory. An open book featured a blackened handprint burned onto the pages. A rusted tin bucket showed a few fingerprints burned into the metal. A tattered hemp skirt again brandished a burnt handprint. Nothing about a heart, though.
Of course, had the heart been at the museum, the mission would not have been assigned to him. Simply stopping by and stealing an item displayed to the public was generally assigned to newer Retrievers. Not to those who viewed risk as their very lifeblood.
“Purgatory exists?” Bron wondered as he leaned back against the chair. It wasn’t often he sat—he craved movement, always—but the cushy leather chairs in the director’s office enticed him to relax and exhale. It was a rare feeling, and it sometimes made him uncomfortable.
Just thinking about relaxing made him sit up straight.
“Yes, it’s closely related to Daemonia, the Place of All Demons,” the director explained. “Purgatory is the midpoint between good and evil. A balance, if you will. And there is a portal from Daemonia to Purgatory, but not vice versa. Though, I understand there’s not a demon that would purposely make such a trip to Purgatory.”
“No demons eager to torture mortal souls? Sounds surprising.”
“There is torture, but it is a permanent and endless job. The demons you’ll find there are prisoners themselves. They are called Toll Gatherers; they test the purgatants.” The director tapped the paper. “The heart we want to secure and keep from nefarious hands has been gripped by a purgatorial soul and scarred with a handprint. You should recognize that when you find it.”
“Most certainly. What does this purgatorial heart do?”
Most objects Bron—any Retriever—was sent to obtain were usually of a highly volatile and magical nature. If put into the wrong hands? Devastation could occur. Not to mention things like mortal deaths, plagues, zombies and even a Cereberus, if he recalled that bungled snatch correctly.
“Unlike the passage from Daemonia, the heart opens a gateway into Purgatory—that goes both ways. Should Purgatory be breached by an unknown, there is the probability of souls breaking free. The balance between good and evil will be severely tilted toward evil. It’s on the same lines as all hell breaking lose. We’ve deemed the mission Necessary.”
Necessary, but not Critical, as were the top-secret missions. And a find and seize, which was the usual Retriever assignment. Rarely was a mission labeled find and finish.
“No known location?” Bron asked. “Where do I start?”
The director opened his top drawer and pulled out a thin square piece of crystal and set it on top of the dossier. Compelled by the promise of new and interesting technology, Bron leaned forward.
“A tracker,” Ethan provided. “It’s the latest tech addition to our arsenal. Had Crafts and Hexes bespell it. Press it between your thumb and forefinger and say ‘begin.’ Once it’s activated it’ll lead you right to the heart.”
“Siri will be jealous,” Bron said as he took the small but surprisingly hefty piece of crystal. It was about the size of a one-euro piece, and he couldn’t see through it despite its clear composition. He tucked it into his shirt pocket. That’s all he needed to get going. “Just activate and follow, got it.” He stood and nodded. “Appreciate the work, Director.”
“You’re our top Retriever, Everhart. I always go to you first. You’ve never let me down.”
“I don’t intend to start.”
“One thing about the tracker. The witch who bespelled it said the heart was something different than our usual nabs. Picks up soul vibrations or some such. Once you activate the tracker? It’ll lead you to the prize. But it’ll also send out vibrations that communicate with the heart. Anything or anyone who is interested—even those who are not and just want to cause trouble—will also feel the signal.”
“So it’ll be a race,” Bron said, tapping his shirt pocket.
“Yes. Go fully armed. Can’t imagine what creatures would like to get their hands on the key to Purgatory.”
Bron nodded. “Always ready for some action. Thanks, boss.”
* * *
Kizzy Lewis stepped through the dried grass that crunched underfoot along the ditch hugging Highway 2. To her right a faded plastic red ribbon fluttered in the breeze, and a bouquet of plastic geraniums that had been secured to a makeshift wooden cross offered a bright red spot along the stretch of summer-scorched country roadway.
Bright colors. Sad and terrifying memories.
This is where she and Keith had veered off the road on an icy January night. The yellow VW Bug Keith had been driving had soared over the concrete culvert and landed thirty feet below in the shallow stream that bisected two farmers’ potato fields. A mass of field stones and boulders had been piled up over the years, dug from the ground to prevent damage to farm equipment. The VW had hit the boulders grill first. Keith had flown over the steering wheel and through the windshield. Kizzy, wearing her seat belt, had been pinned inside the small vehicle.
Lifting her camera, which she wore around her neck on a leather strap, she exhaled and sniffed back the tears that had started the moment she’d stepped onto the roadside. Aiming, she clicked snapshots of the boulders. Not a trace of the car remained, yet yellow paint scrapes still marked some of the rocks.
This return to the scene of the accident had felt necessary. A means to finally push that horrible night into the past and lock the door? More like revisit it to confirm her nightmares were real. Eight months had passed since that devastating evening when her emotions had gotten the better of her and she’d spoken what she had been feeling for weeks. That their relationship was over. And she’d wanted out.
Keith had taken it hard, as he always took any criticism or suggestion that went against his designs on the world. She hadn’t realized how controlling he was until four months into their six-month relationship. He’d insisted she move in with him, so he would always know where she was.
The roads had been glare ice that January evening, following a rainstorm that had begun halfway home from a trip to the casino. She’d asked Keith to drive slower, to even pull over and wait it out. But he was not a man she could tell what to do.
“He didn’t deserve death,” she whispered. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to say something like “because he was a good man.”
Keith Munson had never raised a hand to her, though he had wielded his words cruelly. He hadn’t known how to treat her the way she expected to be treated. So she forgave him for that. And she would not think ill of the dead.
Now the terror of that moment when the car had taken flight and soared off the road returned to her with thunderous, thumping heartbeats. The sound of her screams, muffled in her memory, resounded much louder now. She clutched her camera against those crazy heartbeats. Hopes to stand back and observe the scene as a bystander, to take pictures, perhaps even go over the photos in detail after she’d processed them, had led her here.
And, yes, she sought closure. To take one final look, then walk away. And maybe the nightmares would stop.
She checked the view screen. In the past half hour, she’d taken well over a hundred photos. She’d return to the apartment in Thief River Falls and look them over.
In the past few months, Kizzy had grown accustomed to living on the road. Her soul demanded the movement and the unsure yet wondrous discovery of the new and even the familiar. Her Minnesota hometown, Thief River Falls—tucked close to the North Dakota border and a couple hours south of Canada—had felt like a place to stay and relax a bit before returning overseas to Romania for her next photography adventure. Europe had been her home since the accident. Her parents had been living there for nearly a decade, and the extra bedroom had been waiting for her as soon as the
doctor had signed off on her feeling well enough to travel.
She’d rented the apartment here for a week. Not because she’d been homesick and had thought to catch up with friends. A week had simply been the best deal. And okay, she’d visited a few relatives and friends the first two days she’d been in town.
Kizzy headed back to her rental car, which she’d parked off the road, the wheels hugging the grassy ditch. Another hour would bring twilight, and she wanted to stop by the city park to end the day. She remembered how the setting sun would highlight the gorgeous northern pines in the forest edging the park and wanted to capture that light on film.
And maybe, she might discover a creature or two.
Her photography captured the otherworldly. Or at least, her idea of what could be something different, perhaps even paranormal. A creature or monster that had only been imagined on the page or in movies. She liked to play with shadow and light in an attempt to make others question their own reality. That was what art was about to her.
But her quest to capture myth and legend went deeper than that. Because those creatures did exist. She knew it. They just had to.
She’d been a believer since a young age. And her blog, Other Wonders, was wildly successful, her fan base being those with paranormal interests, as well as artists and creatives. The blog was five years old, and she boasted half a million subscribers with millions of hits yearly. The money she made by monetizing that blog funded her travel.
She’d snagged a few freelance jobs after a prospective employer had viewed her online galleries, including a photo shoot for National Geographic last year. It had been a dark, moody piece, and she’d framed silhouettes of trees and rocky outcrops to suggest dragon heads peering out from their lairs. They’d used it for a medieval piece. It hadn’t paid much, but it had been the catalyst to rocket her online stats.
Her next trip was to Romania. She’d managed to win a sponsorship from the Romanian tourism board to cover half her expenses. They’d been impressed by the Nat Geo feature. All she had to do was provide the board with scenic photos and grant them all rights to use. The Romanian forests promised to offer unique photography moments. And who knew? Maybe she’d catch a vampire hanging out at a dilapidated castle. Or a ghost? At the very least, she’d try to capture the essence of the otherworldly. It’s what she did. It was what she was compelled to do.
