by Michele Hauf
Bron returned from back in the bedroom. “Nothing. But I don’t think we should stay long. You check Twitter again?”
“Doing it right now. There’s food and drink in the fridge. Help yourself.” Though they’d just eaten, she could never not offer hospitality. One did not grow up in Minnesota without getting the “nice” label attached to them.
Bron stood before the windows, searching the area. Ribbons of gray dashed the sky. It was still early in the afternoon, and it hadn’t rained yet.
Nightcat’s Twitter stream hadn’t posted anything new since yesterday morning. Last post stated no known location for the Purgatory Heart.
Kizzy sneered at the cell phone. She hated being referred to as an object. Although they weren’t exactly referring to her, but rather, just her heart. A heart not in her body.
Did it have to be out of her body to provide the gateway to Purgatory? Maybe it could function intact?
Panic caused her to say quickly, “I really want to keep my heart.” She met Bron’s curious lift of brow. “I don’t want to die. I especially don’t want anyone to rip out my heart. There’s got to be some way to make this all stop.”
“Hey.” He wrapped his arms around her and snuggled her against his lean, hard body.
The hug felt great, and she hadn’t realized she’d missed feeling the beat of his heart against hers so much. It had only been a few hours since they’d been in the motel making love. She needed him again. Around her. Inside her. Within her. He satisfied a craving she never knew she could have. One for such intimacy that, she felt, without it, it wouldn’t matter if she no longer had her heart. She didn’t want to need it, but damn her, she did.
“I’m not going to let anything hurt you,” he said and kissed the crown of her head. “You can keep possession of your weird handprinted heart. I’ll make sure no one has any reason to want it.”
“And how will you do that? Why does someone want to go to Purgatory?”
“If there’s a soul bringer involved, it could be for any reason. Nothing on Twitter?”
“No. Do you think it’s safe to take a shower? I crave the water pressure and changing into my comfortable jeans.”
“Go for it. I’d join you but I should keep an eye open for...you know.”
“You really think it’s dangerous?”
“I don’t know. Go.” He kissed her quickly. “Do you have a laptop? I might go online and do some research on the soul bringer.”
She pointed to the laptop sitting on the counter near a cereal box. “Beer’s in the fridge. Give me a leisurely half an hour, and then I’ll be back, refreshed and in my own clothes.”
“Take your time!” he called as she sailed down the hallway to the bedroom.
Stripping off the bargain clothing, she decided she didn’t ever want to wear the seven-dollar jeans again, so after they’d been washed she’d donate them. In the bathroom she turned on the shower to warm it up, then tugged out the little refillable bottle of orange-scented body wash she always tucked in her travel bag. That would give the werewolf’s senses something to devour.
* * *
While the shower pattered, Bron found a beer in the fridge, thankful it was a dark Belgian ale, and tilted back half in one swallow. That hit the spot. He’d never have pegged Kizzy for a beer fan. Maybe she might like to try the authentic craft brews in Germany, and he might like taking her around to try them.
Did that imply a date in the future? The concept of dating wasn’t even on his radar. But spending more time with Kizzy was alluring. Of course, he didn’t have the time for it. Not when he was gallivanting across the world. Though, she did seem open to travel.
She’d come here from Brussels. Europe must be her home base. But she must have traveled to her hometown for a reason. Friends? The site of the accident? He guessed she wasn’t as ready to begin the carefree traveler’s life as she thought.
The street she stayed on was a main road just a few blocks down from the central shops and city buildings. He didn’t see anything in the sky or notice any suspicious individuals walking the sidewalk below, but he sat on the foot-wide windowsill anyway and kept a casual watch as he dragged the laptop onto his lap.
First line of business? He typed in Kizzy’s name, and her blog scrolled on to the screen. “Other Wonders,” he muttered the blog title. The header was a shocking picture that he initially took for faery wings silhouetted by a pink-and-violet sunset.
He squinted and tilted the screen back for a better view. Wow. That really was some fabulous photography. She’d captured the intricate veins of a tree leaf, made virtually clear from the backlighting. It really did look like a faery wing, because it didn’t resemble a butterfly or dragonfly. And a swish of blond that simulated faery hair must be some kind of moss hanging in the tree.
The top post was titled, “Sunny Outlook.” The pictures were of bright yellow flowers he had no name for, yet they could be daisies or sunflowers. Set between the long green flowers’ stems were a pair of eyes. Gold eyes that looked ready to pounce.
Or were those eyes? He tilted the screen again and studied the photo closely. Could be some kind of dried seed pods making up the eyes, but they looked so realistic. Like an animal or creature that lurked in myth and legend.
Yet another photo, rendered in black and white, featured a misty forest. A beam of sunshine swept down, but within the mist perhaps an elemental or forest sprite zipped by.
How cool was it that she’d taken to finding the otherworldly in common nature?
“Impressive,” he said.
His cell phone rang, and he answered even as he typed in a new search for “soul bringer.” It was the director. “Everhart, you still at the sight?”
“Yes. Keeping watch over the subject. There’s been increased activity from many trying to put their hands on the heart.”
“And a soul bringer, eh?”
How Pierce knew about that wasn’t something Bron would question. Acquisitions boasted an elaborate database, and their network threaded worldwide. With witchcraft involved in Systems Tech, anything was possible.
“Haven’t made contact with that particular subject yet, but I’ve heard about it. You have anything on a cat shifter?”
“No, but, listen, Everhart, if you are unable to somehow deactivate the Purgatory Heart, we’ll have to alter the mission to find and finish. Got that?”
“Uh...deactivate?” he muttered, even as his heart dropped to his gut and the laptop slipped from his grasp to land on the windowsill with a thunk. Wouldn’t deactivating a beating heart mean the same as finishing it? “I’m not sure I follow.”
“Make it useless. Unable to open the door to Purgatory. You’ve rendered items useless on previous missions.”
Yes, but that had involved breaking them or using a spell to obliterate the object to ash. He wasn’t about to do that to Kizzy’s heart. But if not, the mission would be altered to find and finish, which meant he would have to finish her. Either way, it didn’t look good for her. Or him.
“Understood?” The director waited for his reply.
“Uh...yes,” he muttered.
“Deactivate the heart and get your ass back to headquarters. I’ll hook you up with whatever new job we have upon your return.” The connection clicked off.
Bron stared at the phone until the screen went dark. Exactly how his heart felt. A worrying darkness falling over it.
“Ah, you found the beer. Good call. I think I’ll have one, too.”
Kizzy breezed by him in something so short he bet the bottom of her ass showed. He didn’t want to look at her. Because when he did, she would know what was going on in his brain. She had a weird sense of his emotions.
And yet he couldn’t avoid drawing in the delicious aroma that clung to her. Oranges and steam. He didn’t have to look to m
entally curve his fingers beneath her bottom and draw her closer. To press his nose against her thigh and inhale as he curled his fingers around and between her legs.
Deactivate. That word aggravated the sensual fantasy. Only three instances in his service to Acquisitions had he been issued such orders. And he’d fulfilled them without question. Because that was what he did. He was a Retriever. And if an object, or a person related to that object—or who was the object—presented problems, then he took care of it, as commanded.
He kept a bowie knife with his supplies. All he needed to do was shove the blade into her heart...
Kizzy kissed his cheek, and he startled. He stood abruptly and paced to the center of the living room before the L-shaped beige sofa and scruffed fingers through his hair.
“Bron? What is it?”
He swung a glance at her but quickly looked away. He didn’t want to look into her trusting eyes. But, hell, that T-shirt she wore was so low in the front it revealed the delicious curves of her breasts...
Deactivate.
“There’s something wrong. Tell me.”
He squeezed his eyelids tightly, but no matter how hard he wished, he could never turn back time and erase the director’s phone call. Nor could he erase the car accident that had almost killed Kisanthra Lewis yet had branded her heart as a beacon for any and all paranormals with the morbid desire to use it as a wicked gateway to Purgatory.
“Bron?”
“There’s nothing wrong. I just...wow.” He spread his arms before him to take in her figure. “That’s hot.”
“This old thing? It’s my travel nightshirt. Just wanted to put on something comfy after being stuck in jeans for two days straight. It’s getting threadbare.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
Her smile beamed. Best to focus on the sweet citrus skin than the direct order from his boss. He’d think about that later. Had to. He couldn’t tell her his mission had changed.
But could he fulfill the new command? He’d never disobeyed a command. Of course he would do it.
“I wish I had something with lace,” she offered and tugged at the frayed shirt hem. “I would love to seduce you.”
He hooked his hands at his hips. “You don’t need lace to do that.”
“Oh, yeah?” She drew a teasing finger along her lips and scampered up to him. Bron shoved the phone in his back pocket and curled his hands around her hips. His fingers touched skin, and he curved them around to cup her buttocks. “Maybe a quickie before we buckle down and put our heads together over the important stuff?”
He answered her with a kiss and lifted her into his arms. He knew the bedroom was down the hallway and strolled into the white-walled room that looked gray in the afternoon light. Cinnamon filled the air. On the windowsill, a jar of oil with thin sticks jutting out of the narrow neck must be an air freshener. A bed and small chest near the door were the only furnishings. The open closet door revealed but a few items. Perhaps she could handle the traveling life?
“You live sparsely,” he noted as he set her on the bed and climbed over her.
“I pared down all my belongings and started living from a few suitcases after the accident.”
Yes, eight months ago she had died. Bron imagined dying on the operating table could prove a strong catalyst for starting over and venturing off to greater experiences. If he had never activated the tracker and found her, would she be safe now from all those who sought her heart?
Including him.
“Kiss me, Bron, and save those deep thoughts for later.”
He smirked at her stunning ability to read his mind.
“I can read you,” she confirmed. “If you’re not eating or driving or talking to me, you’re on the job.” She tapped his temple. “Mentally.”
“You picked that up, eh? Sorry.” He pulled the nightshirt over her head and spread his hand across her stomach and bent to her breast. “I’m focused now.”
He sucked in one of her tightened nipples and toyed with it until he felt sure he was commanding a symphony of her moans. She sighed and glided her hands over his shoulders. His muscles flexed, just a normal reaction to having his back touched, even though the scars did not hurt, as he’d told her. She’d accepted his banishment. It meant nothing to her, a human. It had meant the end of what he was at the time and being faced with starting anew.
Oddly, this moment felt like that start for which he’d been waiting for so long. And yet, he must end it by destroying her heart.
No. There must be another way. Damn him, why had he gotten involved?
“Lover?”
Her voice lured him from desperate thoughts. He wouldn’t question this moment. Going with it felt right.
He hooked a hand under her thigh, coaxing her leg up and around his back as he leaned over her on the bed. Kizzy spread her hands across the bed and let him do what he wanted to do. And he wanted to move lower, tickling his wet tongue down her stomach, circling her navel and then teasing the diagonals between thigh and mons.
His big, wide hand covered her pussy, and she tilted up her hips to meet the promising pressure. She clasped at his shoulders, then her fingers danced in his hair, gripping and pulling gently, then pushing a bit when he moved lower, and his mouth kissed her moist, wanting apex.
“Mmm, Bron.”
His tongue dashed her clitoris, and he didn’t just flick and go. He stayed there, circling, knowing from her rising hips and faster breaths that he had found the right spot.
“Oh, mercy,” she gasped. Clutching the bedspread in tight fingers, she closed her eyes and soared into the exquisite giddiness of orgasm.
The sound of her pleasure stabbed at the director’s voice, chasing it from his thoughts completely. He was here with this woman he cared for, and that was all that mattered right now.
Chapter 15
Kizzy pulled on the pair of Rock & Republic jeans and a faded red T-shirt that clung to her figure and revealed a bit of cleavage with the V-neck. It was close to suppertime. The hazy kind of evening light she loved filled the apartment, glancing off the laptop screen. It was the golden hour. Perfect for photographing outdoors.
While Bron showered, she nestled onto the windowsill and checked her emails. Confirmation of the bank transfer for the one-week rental in Romania had been attached. She looked forward to exploring the Romanian landscape. If she couldn’t get a picture of a vampire there, she didn’t know where it would happen.
“In your own hometown,” she muttered.
Because, holy Hannah, those fangy guys must be everywhere. She shivered at the memory of being chased under the willow tree by the vamp—and nearly bitten—but then relaxed to know Bron was just down the hall. No singing in the shower? She had been looking forward to hearing another Disney tune.
Her Twitter stream was so active it scrolled continually, so she clicked on Nightcat to read his Tweets specifically.
“Oh, no.” His latest Tweet, posted forty-five minutes ago, reported that she was in Thief River Falls, possibly staying somewhere on Main Street.
“He knows where I’m staying? This is bad in so many ways.” A shiver lifted goose bumps on her arms. “I’ve got to get out of here.”
Not wanting to rush Bron out of the shower, she instead readied herself. Tugging her backpack from the closet, she quickly packed the few T-shirts, jeans, panties and the one bra she traveled with but rarely used. She’d grab her toothbrush, comb and toiletries when he was done.
Next, she pulled the SD card from her camera and uploaded all the pictures she’d taken in the past few days to her laptop. Giving each of the three lenses a quick polish with a soft cloth, she then packed them in the camera bag, which was padded for banging around on her many adventures. A credit card and a hundred dollars in cash she stuck in a back pocket.
Bron strolled out of the bathroom whistling, towel wrapped about his hips, and aimed for the bedroom. She ran up behind him and showed him the Tweet on her phone.
“Shit. We have to leave,” he said.
“I’m packed and ready to go. It’s all on you, lover.”
He smiled at that moniker and then quickly dressed. Kizzy grabbed her toothbrush. “I’m packing up everything. Don’t intend to return here, even though I’ve got another few days on the place. It might be a backup plan if we need it.”
“That’s a good idea.” He grabbed her as she spun about the living room collecting her things and kissed her. “You’re good at the fast escape.”
“I’ve had some training the past few days. And you know, I’m all about the no attachments. Ready to dash at will. It’s kind of how you operate, isn’t it?”
“That it is. I don’t own much and always carry the basics with me. Turn off all the lights and...” His gaze fell onto the open laptop. Kizzy grabbed it and shoved it in her backpack. “Right. Let’s do this.”
She followed him down the hallway to the front door. Bron opened it to a young man poised to knock. He reached back to stop Kizzy and turned to whisper, “Be careful.”
She wasn’t sure why. Looked like a delivery boy. He held a black box about the size of his head and presented it to, not her, but Bron. “This is for the werewolf,” the guy said.
Whoa. Not a greeting she would ever expect to hear from a delivery guy. Who could have no idea who was renting for merely a week. He knew something.
Bron peered into the guy’s eyes, and now that Kizzy looked closer, she noticed they were white, no irises visible. Creepy.
“What is he?” she whispered.
“Human. And, I can only presume, under a spell,” Bron said as he took the package. “Who gave this to you?”
