by Michele Hauf
He did not like to rely on Nightcat, but it seemed his only recourse at the moment.
Squeezing a fist at his side, he gritted his teeth.
“I must have that heart.”
Chapter 9
Kizzy stepped out of the shower and dried off with the thin towel the motel provided. At least it was steamy and warm in here. She’d been shivering when she’d bid Bron good-night and had entered the room right next door to his. She’d needed a room to herself tonight. Not because she feared now having to share a room with a werewolf, but because she required some space to think. And maybe cry. And definitely scream into her pillow.
She brushed her teeth with the corner of a hand towel and wondered if it would be safe to go back to the rental apartment. Where her toothbrush and comb were. Where her clothes were.
Where all the strange creatures in the world might convene if she were still somehow attracting them to her.
What was that about? She had watched Bron destroy that freaky crystal tracker. Could it work when broken? But he didn’t need it anymore. He’d already found the object it had been bespelled to lead him to: her.
“This is all your fault, Keith,” she muttered as she wandered into the room and pulled on the pink T-shirt and her comfy Rock & Republic jeans. The jeans had grass stains on the knees. She craved a change of clothing.
As well, sleeping in clothes sucked. She could keep her jeans off, but she wasn’t willing to risk the sudden need to escape half naked. She hadn’t washed her hair, so she flopped back on the bed, spreading her arms, and closed her eyes to the blinking red neon from the motel sign positioned outside her window.
She was alone, and her world had been upturned. Even more so than it had been following the accident that freezing January night. For then she had been able to cry for reasons that had been tangible and necessary. Reasons she could blame on herself, like guilt and regret. And on Keith. He had swerved into the ditch purposefully. So she had hated him while lying in the hospital recovering from open-heart surgery.
And she had not hated him. Because she hadn’t hated him enough to want him to die. Besides, she didn’t hate people. And she had cared for Keith. Though she’d never really loved him. Not as a possible rest-of-her-life partner. Perhaps in those initial weeks of their relationship their lust had felt like love to her. But that mattered little now because Keith was gone.
And he’d tried to take her with him.
Had her going to the crash site something to do with the things coming after her now? Had she somehow activated the weird vibrations that drew crazy creatures to her? Was her heart giving off those vibrations? Maybe she shouldn’t have returned to the scene of the accident for closure?
She hadn’t gotten the closure she’d sought. But what did that feel like? Would she even know it if it came to her?
Tears streamed from her eyes. But it felt right to let them flow. She wasn’t afraid to cry. Crying released the anxiety and made her feel better. A good cry allowed her to then step beyond and look at the situation from a stronger, braver perspective.
But the situation she now had to face harbored demons and vampires and werewolves. Did she want that?
She had always wanted that before. Photographic proof of the supernatural. Verification that her beliefs were not ridiculous. Something to really write about on her blog that would increase its traffic and her income.
But now? He’s a real werewolf. What had she wished for?
She felt for the camera lying on the bed beside her and, sniffing back the tears, turned it on and scrolled through the shots she’d taken earlier while out in the dark field. There were over a hundred, and 95 percent were black. A few showed dark silhouettes against a blurred gray background with pixilated white blobs of blurred moonlight. One startlingly clear picture featured the werewolf’s head, its maw opened in a howl and a clawed hand slashing through the sky.
Kizzy sat up on the bed. It was a stunning shot. Something she could only dream of creating on her usual shoots by capturing the rare moment with shadows and lighting.
“This is real,” she whispered with fascination.
And the photograph looked genuine. No one who studied this picture could come to the conclusion it was anything but a werewolf. She could make a fortune if she published this shot.
Maybe?
There were more skeptics than believers. Just because she knew the truth didn’t mean photographic evidence would convince the majority of the population. People had become jaded. Most would assume it was an actor in costume. Photoshop. Or both. Although, there were plenty of magazines and online speculation sites that would post the pic, real or not.
Those sites weren’t her style. She’d been published by the National Geographic, for heaven’s sake. A speculative site like Paranormal Possibilities that published pics of the bat boy and squid man would certainly bring her reputation down. A reputation that she was only beginning to build.
But was it so wrong to sidetrack once in a while to a few speculation venues? Her own blog speculated with the use of clever camera angles and her own designs on interpreting mythology.
With a sigh, she turned off the camera and set it aside. Now that her fascination for the otherworldly had been proven real, she wasn’t sure she was so fascinated by the topic anymore. Sitting in the passenger seat earlier, listening to Bron’s explanation had intrigued her. And it had frightened her.
I was born this way.
How amazing to imagine growing up as Bron had, as a werewolf, and not knowing anything else. Humans must seem the creatures to him. He hadn’t elaborated on the full-moon situation, but she was curious. What means did he employ to not shift to werewolf on the night preceding and following the full moon? Would she see him in werewolf form again? She wasn’t sure she wanted to. Because it was a short trip from fascination to horror.
And while she’d initially marked him as closed and protective, she now knew why. Certainly he would continue to protect his identity and not give her any more information than necessary.
Because he was only here to grab the heart and report back to Acquisitions on a job well done. And he could fulfill that task. He need only shift into that monstrous werewolf form and shove his claws into her chest and be done with the mission. What had he called it? Find and seize.
Kizzy curled up on her side, protectively pressing her fists against her breasts. She had no means to fight off a werewolf. How to fight a werewolf? Was the thing about silver true? She should do an online search for werewolf-killing techniques.
She shook her head and squeezed her eyes tight. “No.” She didn’t want to kill anyone or anything. Not even a werewolf.
But could she continue to trust Bron?
More tears fell onto the threadbare polyester bedspread. She’d never been so lucky in love to find a man who had wanted to treat her with respect and to protect her. To truly care about her. Yet Bron had shown signs of just such intent. In a moment of silliness and curiosity, she had kissed him. And he had kissed her back as if it was the only thing in the world to him and that it was what he’d wanted to do.
She’d kissed a werewolf.
Kizzy didn’t know whether to be thrilled or to puke. That kiss had been a weird, surprise checkmark in the “things to do in life” column. And the really disturbing thing? Not only had she photographed a paranormal creature, but she just might lose her heart to one.
In a manner other than having it ripped from her chest.
* * *
Bron paced the floor before the bed. He wasn’t tired. He wouldn’t sleep tonight. He couldn’t. She was in the next room. He’d heard the shower running. And now he could hear her crying softly. His hearing and other senses were turned up to twelve. He could turn them down when in crowds, but right now he didn’t want to miss a thing about her.
Her weeping tugged at his insides. She’d been through a lot. Monsters were after her. And he’d handled the whole werewolf-reveal thing incorrectly. Poor woman.
Finally, he had to sit on the bed and bow his head, covering his ears with his hands. He’d known getting involved with a human woman was a mistake.
Why? Because she’s human or because she’s simply a woman who appeals to you?
And that was it, wasn’t it? She appealed to him. Human or otherwise. When she’d kissed him, he’d pulled her closer and had deepened the kiss. It had felt great. And at the time he hadn’t been thinking “back off, human woman.” Only that she’d smelled awesome. And he wanted to stand close to her. And as well, she possessed amazing emotional strength. That quality right there attracted in ways he couldn’t even fathom.
When the knock sounded not thirty feet away, he knew it had been at Kizzy’s door. He stood up, tilting his head to home in on a conversation. But all he heard was the door slam and Kizzy’s muffled cry of his name.
He dashed outside and kicked in her door. She struggled with a man he immediately scented as vampire. The thing smelled strongly of blood, and when the asshole turned to see who had come in, Bron saw blood drooling down his chin.
What the hell? Was he too late?
“Did he bite you?”
“Not yet!” Kizzy yelled. She slapped at the creature’s face as he tried to wrangle her wrist. “Get him off me!”
Bron grabbed the disgusting thing by the back of its leather jacket and flung it against the wall. Skinny, its eyes were hidden behind a slash of greasy brown hair. The vampire grinned. The blood on its chin was dried. The front of his ripped T-shirt was bloodied, as well. Did the idiot have no sense of personal hygiene? What an awful thing for Kizzy to have to see.
He slapped a hand to the stake in the holster—but, no, he recalled what she had suggested earlier. Talk before slaying.
“Come here,” he said, motioning Kizzy to approach as he kept the vamp in eyesight. She came over cautiously. He grabbed the gold chain about her neck, tearing the cross off. “Get back!”
She obeyed. And the vampire lunged. Bron caught it across the chest with a forearm and slammed it against the wall. Wielding the tiny gold cross before it, he was pleased when the creature flinched.
“That’s right, this one is baptized,” Bron said.
“What does that mean?” Kizzy asked.
“Holy objects will give it a nasty burn.” He taunted the vamp with the cross. The gold symbol was no more than an inch high, but the creature pressed its head against the wall and shook it in fear. “A burn that will never heal. If I press this to its forehead it’ll eat all the way through skull and brain. Slowly.”
“Dude! Get that thing away from me.”
“Who the hell are you, and what are you doing entering a lady’s room looking like some kind of horror-show freak? Ever hear of a napkin?”
“I was snacking down the street on a nice plump number, and I felt the vibrations. She puts out a powerful draw. Just like I read online.”
“Online?” Losing her fear, Kizzy walked up behind Bron. “What does he mean by that?”
The vampire slid left along the wall. Bron punched a fist into the Sheetrock, denting it in next to the vamp’s ear. “Going somewhere?”
“What do you want, man? You want her heart? Take it. I probably wouldn’t be able to sell it for much anyway. Just let me out of here, okay?”
Bron was so close to pressing the cross to the idiot’s skin, but he had to keep his cool until he could get information from the longtooth. “How do you know about her heart? What’s happening online?”
“We all know about it. Least, you do if you follow the Nightcat. He’s been Tweeting about it since you found her in the park the other day.”
“Tweeting?” Bron asked.
“Dude, seriously? Come into the twenty-first century.”
Bron pressed the cross to the vampire’s forehead, and it screamed, so he slammed his other hand over its mouth. It tried to bite his fingers, but he pressed hard. A little more force and he’d break off fangs.
“Twitter is a social media,” Kizzy said over his shoulder.
“I know that,” Bron snapped. “I just think it sounds like an excuse. Something he’s making up.”
“Let him talk. Is Nightcat the person’s Twitter handle?” Kizzy asked.
The vampire nodded from behind Bron’s hand.
“How does he know about me?”
“Tweets,” the vamp mumbled, so Bron moved his hand to smash his cheek and hold him firmly against the wall while allowing him to talk. “Those that see you pass through their town Tweet about it. We know you’re driving a black Ford F150 with rental plates. Some have posted pics. That’s how we know what you look like. We’ve been following you through Nightcat’s Tweets for two days.”
“This is insanity.” Bron pressed his fist hard into the vamp’s face. “Where is this Nightcat?”
The vampire shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”
“What was the initial Tweet?” Kizzy asked. “He must have seen something at the park here in town to know to Tweet about it.”
“Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. You got a phone. Check it out yourself.”
Bron punched the vampire in the jaw. It howled and grasped its bleeding mouth. He was too loud. And the cross wound on his forehead reeked of burnt flesh. He slapped his hand to his thigh holster and pulled out the heavy wooden weapon. Bron staked the vamp, and it ashed in a pile at his feet. He turned to find Kizzy standing there with her camera and a hopeful look on her face. Really?
Yes, she was that kind of strange but wondrous woman.
He sighed and shook his head. “Fine, take the pic. But you know I’m going to destroy that camera when all is said and done.”
“Then you’ll owe me a couple thousand dollars to replace it.”
“I’m good with that.”
While she snapped away at the pile of ash, Bron closed the door and paced along the side of the bed. He knew about Twitter and Facebook. Much as he had to have the latest in technology and could never pass up the newest iPhone, he’d never had a use for social media.
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.
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br /> “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.
