Her Werewolf Hero

by Michele Hauf

  “I will. I just...want to study them a bit first. I promise you can look at my camera before we part ways. That’s what we’re doing, right? Tonight you’re going to drop me off at my doorstep and run away?”

  He did not run away. But he never stayed beyond need or his welcome.

  “I promised you I would protect you.”

  “How do we know I’m safe?”

  “We’ll play it by ear. But I’ll want to recon the place where you’re staying first. When we arrive, I’ll get a room for the night. Then, once I’ve determined all is clear, you can move back in.”

  He navigated the truck across the highway and into the antique store’s gravel parking lot.

  “You don’t need to get a room,” she said. “You can stay on my couch. It’s comfortable. And you don’t actually want to leave me alone for some big bad creature to come after me, do you? I mean, even if the coast is clear, it might be a good idea to hang around awhile to ensure that. Yes?”

  “All right then. Your place it is. But I don’t mind wasting some time this afternoon.”

  “Yes! Let’s get to the antiquing. I like to look for old cameras, so let me know if you spot any.”

  He followed her into the dank and dark shop, and they spent the afternoon going through the dusty treasures on two levels in the barn. No cameras to be found, but they did have a soft-serve ice cream machine. Kizzy bought a vanilla and shared it with Bron.

  They sat on the truck bed gate, Kizzy finishing the ice cream cone. She’d eaten most of it. Bron wasn’t much for cold treats, but he wasn’t going to refuse when she offered.

  “You should have bought that branding iron,” she said of the iron that had fascinated him. It had a wolf’s head with a bar across the neck. Some kind of cattle brand? Didn’t make sense. But the other option, using it to brand wolves, had made him feel sick. No, it must have been used for decorative purposes. Either way, he wasn’t a collector of things.

  “I thought you said you understood the concept of traveling and living light?” he commented as he jumped down and offered his hand to help her down.

  “That’s why I didn’t buy the iron rooster doorstop. My mom would have loved it. But you’re right. Traveling with stuff? Not cool. We spent a long time in there. The sun is setting.”

  “It’s a few hours’ drive back to Thief River Falls. Let’s get going.” They hopped in the truck cab, and Bron steered them out on to the highway. “With luck, whatever is out there can no longer track the vibrations. I’ll stick around through the night to make sure you’re good to go. I’d like to see your work, actually.”

  “Really?”

  “You said you try for a paranormal atmosphere?”

  “Yes. I’ve managed werewolves out of tree shadows and mermaid tails out of sun shimmering on waves. I’m always drawn toward the scene, and it either happens or it doesn’t. I guess you could say the picture chooses me.”

  “I enjoy playing with all the new devices, though I never find much time to snap a shot of the picturesque places I pass through.”

  “New devices? Are you talking about my camera? Because that so makes you sound like a man from a long-past century. Are you sure you’re not a time traveler?”

  “I know for sure I am not. But I do know some witches are capable of time travel.”

  “Really?” Attention captured, she turned on her seat to face him.

  “I’m going to have to tell you about witches now, aren’t I?” he guessed. It was a better diversion from revealing his knowledge of the centuries. “Here goes everything.”

  They chattered on the drive that took them through small towns that boasted populations of less than three hundred and others that were merely a few businesses along the highway that offered antiques, beer or gas. Bron didn’t speed. He wasn’t in a hurry to return Kizzy to her home.

  “When did you start believing?” he felt compelled to ask. “In the paranormal?”

  “It all started with an outhouse.”

  “Do tell.”

  “I was on a camping trip with my dad. He’d take me out every summer. Gave Mom a little vacation from us. We owned a cabin on Lake Bronson, but it didn’t have an indoor toilet. The path to the outhouse was lighted, so I was never scared to make the trip alone right before I had to go to bed. But one night I heard the howl just as I was stepping out of the outhouse. And I saw eyes. Big, gold eyes. I know it was a werewolf.”

  “Did you now?”

  She nodded, her eyes as wide as he imagined they had been when she’d been little and had heard—most likely—a bear.

  “I never ran so fast in my entire life. I was shaking and screaming when my dad got hold of me. I explained to him the werewolf might be out there. He just laughed and said it was probably a bear.”

  “But you believed otherwise?”

  “I did. I’ve heard bears growl. This was different. It put the hairs up all over my body. Anyway, after that I started my education in all things paranormal. I read every book I could get my hands on. Watched all the late-night movies I could manage without my parents finding out.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Eight.”

  Bron nodded. And then he fell dead serious. Eight. The same age as Isabelle. Had his long-lost Isabelle ever been so afraid? Of course she had. And he had not been there to protect her or even to laugh and tell her the scaries were just something else.

  “But the real catalyst to believing in all things dark and creepy?” Kizzy eyed him and waited for his nod. “I took a picture of a ghost when I was twelve.”

  “I didn’t think ghosts were photogenic.”

  “Oh, it showed on film. I used my mother’s old Polaroid camera we’d found in the attic. It still had a film packet in it, so I rushed downstairs and took a picture of my dad sleeping on the couch. When it developed, there was this orb near his head, and I know it was a ghost. Grandpa had died just a few months earlier.

  “My mother grabbed the photo. And get this, I swear I saw her sniff back a tear, but then she tossed it in the garbage and said I was being ridiculous. Ghosts were nonsense. Later that night, I snuck down to the kitchen and claimed the photo from the garbage can. I stuck it in my copy of Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. I think that book got sold at the rummage sale before my parents moved to Brussels. I should have saved it.”

  “You know those odd orbs of light are a common occurrence on photographs,” Bron said.

  “I know that. Could be dust or the play of sunlight. But this was different. And I simply knew it was a ghost. You know, like when you get a visceral feeling of what is real or right?”

  “Intuition.”

  “Exactly! And ever since, I’ve been fascinated with the paranormal. I was actually convinced one of the boys in my twelfth-grade English class was a werewolf. Not one of my finer moments. I sat behind him. He was so hairy and always scratching the back of his neck. Yuck.”

  “You don’t like a man with hair?”

  “Not all over his hands and arms and neck. It was thick and black. I knew he was a werewolf. The most evil of them all. I actually followed him on the night of a full moon during a kegger out in the woods. It was a bust. He was just another stoner looking to score some drugs beneath the bridge.”

  Bron rubbed his beard. “So no on the hair, eh?”

  “I like beards. I learned that when I kissed you.” She winked at him. “But werewolves? They freak me out.”

  “Huh.” Not great. And all because of a hairy boy and an outhouse adventure in the dark?

  “So I know you believe in the paranormal, Bron. I mean, holy Hannah, you’re armed and prepared to take out all sorts of creatures. How did you get involved with all things woo-woo and become a Retriever?”

  “It’s a long story. I was in a weird place with my life. Drifting. M
et a guy in a tavern—er, bar—who needed assistance finding an Egyptian lycanthropy totem.”

  “More werewolves,” she chimed in.

  “Right. It started with that mission, and I’ve been doing it ever since. It feeds my desire for constant movement and exploring new places.”

  “We’re a lot alike in those matters. I can’t stay in one place too long now. I’m always searching.”

  “For vampires?”

  “Been there, done that. I think I’ll try something a bit tamer next time, like faeries.”

  “Faeries are the nastiest of the nasty. I’d steer clear of them.”

  “Really? But they seem so...”

  “Fluttery and magical?”

  She nodded.

  “The realm of Faery is dangerous and mysterious, and—I don’t know a lot about the sidhe, but what I do is that I’d rather take on a whole tribe of vampires than one angry faery.”

  “Wow. That’s fascinating. I wish I could bombard you with questions, but—can you pull over?”

  “There’s nothing out here.” Darkness had fallen during the drive. Bron took in the nearly full moon in the sky to his right. It glowed like a warning beacon that demanded his attention. When she hooked the camera around her neck, he asked, “You’re going to take some pictures?”

  “No, I need to pee. I shouldn’t have had all the free water from that vintage water carafe back at the antique store. Seriously. Pull over now.”

  He did so and shifted into Park. Kizzy stepped out and, before walking off, turned to Bron and said, “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “For not laughing when I told you about the werewolf I heard when I was a kid.”

  He shrugged. “Kids know things.”

  “They do.” Her smile beamed, and she turned and took off.

  With the camera swinging about her neck, she hopped through the long grasses edging the road. The ditch was low and the land was dry, so he didn’t suspect she’d have to splash through water. Darkness thickened the air, and while he could still see her shadow, he turned his head to scan the moonlit horizon, giving her privacy.

  He’d told her about time traveling witches and that he knew witches divided themselves into the Dark and the Light. They’d spent hours talking about all things witchy, so he hadn’t needed to venture on to any other creatures like vampires or demons. Or werewolves. No, he’d not laughed. But it might have been wiser if he had.

  He itched his neck and glanced at the moon. Four days out for the full moon. He normally had an innate sense of the lunar calendar, but his focus had been altered. He was off his game due to the surprise of finding the heart in the least expected place. No way could it be classified find-and-seize now.

  The other option, a find-and-finish mission, was not something he had ever balked at accepting. He had no compunctions regarding pulling the trigger or dragging a blade across a pulsing carotid if it meant protecting mankind from evil.

  Once, he’d had to gut a vicious berserker and pull out an ancient chakra power totem it had swallowed to keep it from changing into an undefeatable killing machine. He hadn’t blinked an eye to end the berserker’s life. It would have murdered so many with such power at its command.

  Kizzy wouldn’t harm a bug. She was an innocent in possession of a powerful talisman. And she had no intention of using it to harm others. She did not deserve death simply to offer up the prize.

  But would someone else reach in and grab her heart? The thought made him shiver. He squeezed the steering wheel in an attempt to stave off memories of the innocent eight-year-old. A child harmed by the ignorance of others.

  A scream raised the hairs on the back of his neck, and he reacted. Jumping out of the driver’s side, Bron raced down the ditch, through the knee-high grasses and into the darkness. He smelled the intruder now and cursed himself for not paying attention while sitting in the truck. As he raced through the night, the scent of sulfur bled into his being.

  Demon.

  Kizzy’s breaths homed him on to her position. She ran toward the dark line of a nearby forest. Not an easy place to escape the creature that pursued her.

  Shit. He didn’t have any weapons on him, save the wooden stake at his hip. That wouldn’t kill a demon. And he rarely packed salt, a sure means to slow a demon down, even kill it. And while he’d often thought he should learn some demonic expulsion spells, he’d never taken the time. Hand-to-hand combat was out of the question—not in his human form.

  There was only one way to defeat this creature. It was unavoidable. An option he rarely utilized unless he knew he’d need the strength and endurance to defeat a powerful opponent. He just prayed the darkness would conceal his secret from the woman who was far too curious about paranormal breeds for his well-being.

  Chapter 7

  Whatever was chasing her was ugly. And it smelled like rotten eggs. Daring a glance over her shoulder, Kizzy got a look at its face in the brief second it dashed through a beam of moonlight. What the—? It was missing its lower jaw.

  She screamed again and tripped on a clod of dirt, going down hard and landing on her forearms. Thank goodness her camera was secure on the strap about her neck.

  Something scratched her shoulder. Hot blood oozed from her skin. She felt the thing hovering over her, its sulfurous breath wilting the air. And just when she had Bron’s name on her tongue to scream, the growling and drooling creature above her was lifted away and tossed through the air.

  And in its place stood something bigger, hairier and wilder. It had a face like a wolf, and its furred body resembled a man who ate steroids like candy. At its hands were long claws. And she caught a glimpse of a tail whipping wildly behind the thing.

  With a chest-expanding inhale, the wolf creature let out a long and wicked howl.

  “Shit, a werewolf.” Kizzy crawled across the ground, her hands finding purchase in the long ribbony grass. The forest she’d fled toward was close. But on second thought... “Nope. Never lose a werewolf in there.”

  But the expected attack did not happen. Instead the wolf stomped away and into a run, meeting the approaching creature missing half its face in a body slam. They battled, growling and clawing and snarling. The clash of their claws sounded like swords meeting in battle.

  And Kizzy realized that maybe the werewolf was trying to protect her. Or was it fighting off the other thing so it could have her all to itself? Where had it come from? Since when was the upper Midwest so fraught with paranormal creatures? All her life she’d hoped to capture one on film, with no luck, and now...

  Now!

  Where was Bron? Still waiting for her in the truck? He must have heard her scream. If not, by now he should be worried that her dash into the ditch to pee was taking an inordinately long time. She could see the distant headlights from the truck up on the road and hadn’t realized she’d run so far from it. When one was being pursued by the otherworldly, apparently they grew wings themselves.

  Remarkably, the camera still hung around her neck. In a moment of clarity, she pulled off the lens cap and adjusted the flash and shutter speed by feeling the buttons along the left side of the camera. The creatures battled one another not forty feet away from her. They were silhouetted by moonlight that crept through the forest’s latticework of branches. She snapped shot after shot. Likely nothing would appear on film with the terrible light and the frenetic action, but she couldn’t let this opportunity pass.

  Pushing up to stand, she noticed the tweak at her shoulder and only then remembered she’d been injured. It didn’t hurt, but she felt blood soak her torn shirt to her skin.

  No time to bother with assessing her life-or-death status. She hadn’t fainted. And she’d already cheated death once. What was more important was getting as many shots of the werewolf and that thing. She lifted the camera, took aim...r />
  With one grand sweep of its deadly paw the hulking werewolf took off the creature’s head. The sky about the headless body darkened as a black mist curdled the air. It was smoking out or turning to dust or ash, much like a vampire.

  The monstrous werewolf swayed its head toward Kizzy. Predatory gold eyes narrowed, targeting her face. It was probably scenting her with its black, leathery nose, placed at the end of a stretch of jaw. Its maw opened to reveal dangerous, sharp teeth she would not like to feel sink into her flesh.

  “Shit.” She dropped the camera to let it dangle from the strap.

  If she ran, the werewolf would run faster. But if she stayed put, she became a blinking sign advertising a free meal. The beast would snatch her with those wicked claws. And tear her to bits. Her bones tossed aside. Her heart likely kept for the prize it apparently was.

  She clutched her throat, her muscles stiffening with fright. What to do? Either way, she wasn’t going to survive long.

  The decision was made for her. The werewolf suddenly took off toward the forest. Whew! Kizzy’s breath chugged in her throat. And not sure if the other creature could function without a head or in its current smoky/ash state, she decided to get the hell out of there herself.

  She raced toward the truck, and finally her shoes landed on the loose gravel that edged the tarmac highway. Slamming her palms against the warm metal hood, only then did she dare let out a shout. It was a cry of relief, of letting out the fear tightly coiled in her veins. Of triumph, as well. She had gotten away. All in one piece. Heart still intact.

  Heartbeats thundering, she said blessings for the fact her heart did still beat. She’d come back to life on the operating room table. She’d not died tonight. She was more resilient than she’d ever thought possible.

  Then she remembered she had not been alone.

  “Bron?” She peered inside the truck cab. No one inside. Maybe he had gone in search of her. Certainly he would have after hearing the two creatures battling. “Oh, no.”