Her Werewolf Hero

by Michele Hauf

  “Yes, I suppose. But you must have a home base?”

  He shrugged. “Paris is one of my bases. I own a loft in the sixth. I’ve been there twice this year for less than a week total. This is the first time I’ve been in the States in over a dec—uh, a long time. I also own a tiny apartment in New York but don’t anticipate stopping there unless my return flight has a layover. My missions usually run back-to-back.”

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  He raised a brow as he buttered the last piece of rye toast on his plate.

  “I travel, too,” she offered. “Or I’m just getting into the traveler’s mode. Have been traveling for a couple months and hope to make it a permanent career. My blog has become so popular I need to expand my horizons and take in new places for my photo shoots. It feels right to me. I can’t imagine settling to live in one place for too long now. I’ve been in Thief River Falls a few days, and it already seems like forever. It’s my hometown, but I’ve found I prefer Europe.”

  “You have family here?”

  “Not anymore. My parents moved to Brussels eight years ago, and I had always meant to follow them and then explore the world. But, well...” She sighed and sipped the coffee. “Sometimes relationships get in the way, as well as the lack of money. But no more! Everything changed eight months ago. I’ve prioritized what means the most to me. And that is seeing the world. Now I’m a free soul blowing about on the breeze.”

  “Breezes sometimes turn into hurricanes,” he remarked drily.

  “Really? Because I’ve always thought they were pretty gentle. I wouldn’t mind a stronger wind. I like going to new places. When I’m finished here in Minnesota, I’m on to Romania. I’ve already put in for an apartment. I’ll be shooting pictures for their department of tourism.”

  “Romania is beautiful country. But for a woman alone? You don’t go wandering about in the woods all by yourself, do you? You do take along a friend or guide?”

  She shrugged. “Haven’t had the need or the desire.” Though it was something to consider. She wasn’t worldly-wise yet. And if vampires were real, she should definitely bring along a guide or a protector. Or a vampire slayer. Did they hire out? “I’m careful. Besides, now I know how to fight off a vampire. That should count for something.”

  He smirked, and she wanted to reach across the table and trace her finger over the crinkled lines at the corner of his eye. And stroke his beard. It was thick along the jaw, dark and—now the idea of testing out a kiss from a bearded man popped into her brain. And then she wanted to stand in his arms again and release her worries into his strong hold and fall into him. That hug had been awesome. And much needed.

  “That hit the spot,” he said and pushed his plate to the table’s edge.

  Kizzy startled out of her daydream. Her father had always said her biggest problem was that she was a daydreamer. She had never considered daydreaming a detriment. It had gotten her this far. She hoped to follow the reverie all the way to the end.

  So long as that end didn’t come about because of a missing heart. Plucked out by a werewolf.

  The waitress appeared to retrieve their plates and leave them a fresh pot of coffee.

  “Thanks,” Bron said. “Have you pie?”

  “Cherry, apple and boysenberry,” the waitress supplied cheerfully.

  “How about a thin slice of each?”

  The waitress bristled gleefully and headed off to the kitchen.

  “You must really like pie,” Kizzy said.

  “I do intend to share.”

  “Thanks. That must not come easily to you.”

  “What? Sharing?”

  She nodded.

  “Just because I’m a lone man making my way through the world doesn’t mean I’ve not the capacity to empathize with others. Besides, I have a theory. Pie is a universal means to friendship. And, I’m hoping, an olive branch necessary to make up for the past twelve hours. I didn’t mean to bring all this into your life.”

  “I think that tracking thing was the culprit.”

  “Yes.” He patted his jeans pocket and then pulled the device from his pocket. With a crisp snap, it broke in two in his hand. “Should have done that as soon as I figured out you were the target. Still might have some residual magic attached to it. I’ll ditch it in the garbage bin out back when we leave. Another cup of coffee and then I’ll be fueled up.”

  “Where to next?”

  “Perhaps keep driving. With the tracker destroyed, it shouldn’t take long to notice if it’s effective. If we don’t run into anything wanting to rip out your heart today, I’d say you could be safe to return to Thief River Falls.”

  A day didn’t seem like a good bet, but Kizzy wouldn’t argue. Besides, spending the day with this guy would give her time to learn about him. And he about her. Which reminded her...

  “I need to tell you something, Bron. It could be important to your mission. It’s about my heart.”

  The waitress delivered three pie plates and two forks and offered extra ice cream. All they had to do was call for Alice. Bron said they’d be fine and thanked her.

  Kizzy pulled the apple pie toward her, and, sitting up on one folded leg, she leaned over the table and teased at the warm apple slices swimming in cinnamon beneath a crispy crust. “I think I can verify my heart is what you’re seeking. At least, my dreams do.”

  “Dreams?”

  She sighed and set down the fork. “I’ve been having a recurring dream since the surgery. I wake up feeling a pressure in my chest and remember the feel of a hand clutching my heart.”

  Did she need to tell him it was a werewolf clutching her heart? It didn’t matter, did it?

  Bron paused before taking a bite of the cherry pie.

  “The open-heart surgery I had? I was in a car accident eight months ago. It was my boyfriend’s fault. Keith. He uh... No, it was my fault, really. We were arguing.”

  She bowed her head and swallowed. If they hadn’t been arguing, Keith may have never felt compelled to drive them off the road. And he would still be alive. Much as she had wanted to get away from him at the time, she had never wished for his death. For that she would always have regrets. And guilt.

  “I wanted to break it off with him,” she said, swallowing down the lump in her throat, “and had been biding my time for the right moment. We’d dated for six months. He was very possessive. And obsessed with me to the point that I’d find him going through the messages on my cell phone and telling my friends when they were allowed to call me. He didn’t beat me, but he had begun to be verbally abusive. Always saying he’d never let me go, no matter what.”

  “Doesn’t sound very loving.”

  “I think it was his way of expressing love. Loud and in my face. He grew up with an alcoholic father and no mother. I always wondered if that was why he was so possessive.”

  She forked in a slice of pie. It was warm and sweet. But she couldn’t enjoy it, because she had to put it all out there before she chickened out.

  “But anyway, for the last four to six weeks of our relationship, as Keith’s verbal abuse increased, I could only think about how to break it off. I let it go on too long. I should have walked away sooner. I have a tendency to either put things off forever or to just dive in without thought. So I sort of did both.

  “I told him one night when he was driving us home from the casino. Bad idea. It was January and raining, which instantly froze to ice. He got so angry. Accused me of being a whacko. I had shared with him my belief in the paranormal, and he’d always thought it was cute. And he knew about the blog. But he accused me of being a tinfoil-wearing maniac. Then he shouted that if he couldn’t have me, no one could, and he swerved the car off the road while driving eighty miles an hour.”

  Bron blew out a breath and set down his fork. In that moment their eyes met,
and she saw something in the blue depths. Compassion? Understanding? It felt tangible and almost as needed as that warm hug had been. He didn’t say anything, and she was thankful that he didn’t feel the need to reassure her or offer her condolences.

  “I was told he died instantly,” she said, finding her voice didn’t tremble, but it had softened to a whisper. “When I came to in the ditch, I felt as though my chest had deflated, and I couldn’t get out of the car. An ambulance rushed me into the Grand Forks ER, and my heart stopped on the operating-room table. The doctors had to crack open my chest and massage my heart. Brought me back to life after six minutes without a heartbeat.”

  She spread her fingers over her chest, feeling the long scar beneath the thin T-shirt. It would forever remind her of a bad decision. Of how a life had been lost because of her poor timing.

  “A few days after I’d been lying in the hospital I finally got to talk to the operating surgeon. He was nice. Cute. He said he’d almost thought he’d lost me. And then he made a weird comment how my heart had been scarred. Almost as if someone had grasped it with their fingers and left behind the impression. Then he jokingly said it hadn’t been him.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded. Her heart beat rapidly now. She didn’t like to retell that night. Because she’d been stupid to have actually stayed with Keith that long. Hadn’t found a better means to break it off with him. Had almost died because of her rash, ill-timed announcement.

  “So you think your boyfriend...?” Bron asked.

  She shrugged. “Maybe? All this just came to me earlier when I was standing outside the motel. I mean, I never thought Purgatory would be open to Keith. He’s not very deserving of anything but Hell.”

  “Has he ever killed, maimed, committed a mortal sin?”

  “I don’t think so. Oh, I’m sure not. His bark was always worse than his bite.”

  “Then who are you to judge where his soul was capable of going upon death?”

  “I’m not judging, I’m—” Angry that Bron seemed to be accusing her of something. Kizzy stared out the window, no longer interested in the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Hadn’t he the capacity to sympathize with her?

  “The ways of the soul are something we can never know,” he offered peacefully. “And I didn’t mean to sound as if I was judging you, Kisanthra. I do think it a possibility that man’s soul clutched your heart in death. You said he’d told you he’d never let you go?”

  She nodded. How creepy to think that her boyfriend had been so obsessed with her that even in death he had tried to possess her?

  “You think it could be Keith’s handprint on my heart? Does that mean we’re still connected somehow? How long does a soul stay in Purgatory? This is even weirder than vampires. It’s freaking me out, Bron.”

  He clasped her hand, and she met his soulful blue eyes. Hero eyes. Eyes that showed more compassion than he was probably comfortable physically showing. And why all of a sudden did she crave that physical connection from him? If she could have leaned across the table and pulled him into a hug, she would have.

  “I don’t think he can cause you any more grief,” he said. “It’s the living creatures who might like to get their hands on an entrance to Purgatory of which you have to be cautious.”

  “That’s so not reassuring.” He smiled and that lightened her heavy heart, and she laughed terribly. “Promise you won’t leave me alone until it’s clear I’m not in danger?”

  He nodded. “I give you my word.”

  “Yes, you’ve said that. But how can I know if your word is good?”

  He pushed the untouched plate of boysenberry pie toward her. “I’ll offer you the last piece as a sign of good will.”

  She chuckled and dug into the rich purple dessert. “Pie does cover a world of aches and pains.”

  “Thanks for telling me about your accident and the relationship with your former lover, Kisanthra. It may indeed provide some help with this mission, though at the moment I’m not sure how.”

  Now she laid her hand over his. “I prefer Kizzy.”

  He winced. “It sounds so...”

  “You’re a little old-fashioned, aren’t you?”

  He shrugged. “Guilty. These young, strange names are too modern for my tastes.”

  “Seriously? You’re not that old.”

  “Yes, but— It’s beautiful. I will give Kizzy a try.”

  “It’s easy. Like fizzy or tizzy or dizzy. Should we see if they have to-go cups, so we can take more coffee with us for the drive?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Off to adventure,” she said. “Do you have an extra stake?”

  His raised his eyebrow and waited for the punch line.

  “I should probably practice my thrust and stab while we’re driving.”

  “I’d expect nothing less from you. I’ll see what I have.”

  Chapter 6

  Bron tossed the broken tracking device into the garbage can outside the gas station. He’d forgotten to throw it at the truck stop, and twenty miles later Kisanthra—Kizzy—had him pull over to use the restroom, so it was a good thing he’d remembered it now.

  An antiques store across the highway beckoned with red flags fluttering at the four corners of the old barn building. Kizzy had said she’d like to check it out. And he’d agreed. He didn’t mind sorting through antiques. It was a kick to recognize the things he’d once used in daily life. And they weren’t in a rush. Unfortunately, they had time to waste as he waited to see what might come after Kizzy.

  His eyes tracked the sky, seeking any sort of flying creature that may have had a bead on the tracker, broken or otherwise. He didn’t know how witch magic worked, but the fact it had led him to her meant it was so powerful that it probably could still function even after the crystal device had been broken.

  Could he take her home and walk away? He didn’t think it was going to be that easy. And that wasn’t any kind of emotional thing. He just had no way of knowing she could be safe.

  Her dead boyfriend had actually clutched her heart from Purgatory while she lay dead on the operating-room table. How bizarre was that? But he believed her. She’d had dreams. Had said the doctor had remarked on the weird scarring he’d noticed on her heart.

  No doubt about it, Kisanthra Lewis owned the Purgatory Heart.

  He checked his cell phone. No calls from the director. He wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to him again so soon. Good, bad or ugly.

  Much as an afternoon of antiquing sounded like a ridiculous detour, it would keep him close to Kizzy and perhaps take her mind off the situation.

  He checked to see if his phone could access the internet—he could do more research on the Purgatory Heart while wasting time here—but no luck. He shoved the phone in a cargo pocket on his pants leg.

  From behind, Bron felt a woman’s hands embrace him about the stomach, and she leaned in to give him a generous hug. He squeezed her forearms in reply, simply reacting.

  But when she bounced around in front of him and put her arms around his neck, he knew what was coming. And he didn’t have time to stop it.

  Kizzy tilted up on to her toes and kissed him. Her fingers spread along his jaw, brushing his beard—yet she faltered and their lips lost connection. A giggle, and she returned for more.

  An awkward first kiss, but Bron didn’t push her away. Some crazy part of him wanted her to find her footing. To stay at his mouth. So he wrapped an arm across her back and spread the fingers of his other hand through her long, thick hair that felt clean and soft and like something he could get lost in and anchor himself to.

  The second attempt at a kiss was sweeter and longer. She moaned into his mouth, and the vibrations hummed against his teeth. She tasted like coffee and boysenberries. Her chest hugged his, and the subtle we
ight of her unbound breasts felt good against him.

  He had the sudden thought that beneath the shirt and flesh and bone beat a heart that had been touched by something other. Something that had once been cruel to her and hadn’t the desire to let her go even in death. No man should ever be cruel to a woman, whether such treatment be manifested with bruises or words.

  And yet, Bron had once been cruel to a woman. Had committed an unforgivable act against her.

  He stopped the kiss, their lips close and his eyes opening to seek hers.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  He shook his head, unwilling to detail the thoughts that threatened to crush the good feeling coursing through his system. A visceral sort of sensual adventure. Instead he asked, “Why did you do that?”

  She shrugged and stepped back, shoving her hands in her jeans’ back pockets, which lifted her breasts as she teasingly swayed side to side. “I wanted to know what it was like to kiss a man with a beard.”

  Really? So she came out with it just like that? That was a new one to him. But he sensed her total honesty. “Glad to have obliged. I’ll drive across the highway and park at the antique shop.”

  She followed his path to the truck and grabbed him by the sleeve. “Are you really glad?”

  “Sure.”

  “Or do you think I stepped over the line?”

  “No. I like a kiss from a beautiful woman any day.”

  “I could kiss you again, if you’re interested.”

  He stopped at the passenger door and opened it for her. Her eyes twinkled in the sunlight, and she must have put on some ChapStick because her lips were so soft. Sure, he’d take another kiss. But then again, what was he thinking? This was a mission, not a date. And she and her crazy heart could never be compatible with his closed heart.

  “There’s something going on in there,” she said as she twirled a finger near his temple. “Deep thoughts?”

  “Possibly too deep. Get in, Kizzy.”

  He closed the door behind her and walked around the front of the truck. Inside the cab, she played with her camera, and when she aimed the lens at him, he put up a palm to block the shot. “I’ll want to know you’ve erased the shots of the harpies. And the vampire, if you got pics of that.”