Her Werewolf Hero (9 page)

Chapter 8

B
ron set Kizzy inside the truck cab on the passenger seat. Her body, limp and loose, sagged, so he carefully propped her head on the headrest. Just as he had walked around the front of the truck, knowing he'd have to face her questions, she had passed out. Fortunately, he'd been able to catch her before she'd hit the ground.

He took the quiet moment to pull on a T-shirt and stuff his feet into the extra pair of hiking boots he always carried with him. The first thing he did after landing in a new town or country was to rent a vehicle and then buy extra clothes. Generally, he did not need the emergency clothing change until the night of the full moon. And even then, when the urge to shift came upon him, he had the forethought—and time—to undress before shifting, thus saving a big clothing bill.

But he'd known he'd had to act fast if he were to save Kizzy from the wraith demon. He'd almost been too late. That thing had been crouched over her as if she had been prey; the predator had been hungry for the kill. There was a lot of blood on her shoulder and shirt. He'd inspected the wounds after setting her down. Three long scratches on her shoulder that stretched to her bicep but, fortunately, not deep. The blood had already coagulated, which led him to believe she would be fine. He was sure that breed of demon did not have poison in its bite or claws.

And now. The fallout of such a rash decision to perform heroics. She knew what he was. He had to explain things. It would be a mess. He'd probably regret it. She'd probably flee. Either that or she'd want to take pictures. That was the worse option to him.

That damned camera. It rested on the cab floor right now, ever there, a virtual extra limb that completed her. With pictures of harpies, vampires and maybe even the demon that had attacked her.

Why
were
they still after her? He'd destroyed the tracking device. Had some weird kind of latent magic attached itself to Kizzy's heart? It was possible. Anything was possible when witches were involved.

But a wraith demon? They kept more to the underground and Daemonia. Bron could only suspect that someone or something must have commanded the demon, because wraiths didn't have much brain—about as much as they had jaws. They were stupid but instinctually predatory. Yet to journey to the mortal realm to hunt Kizzy didn't make sense to him. Why would a wraith demon seek the entrance to Purgatory?

As he slid in behind the wheel he reached over for Kizzy's camera bag. Just as he touched the strap, she stirred on the passenger seat. He retreated, not wanting her to think he was snooping. The ignition was on and the engine running, but he kept the truck in Park. They had to come to terms. Like it or not.

“Whoa. Did I...faint?” She shoved a hand through her hair and pressed it against her temple. She looked a tangled mess. But a beautiful tangle. Had the demon killed her Bron might never get beyond his regret at putting her in such a dangerous situation. “Bron?”

“Here. And, yes, you fainted. You've been through a lot. If you hadn't fainted I would have been surprised.”

“A lot? Oh. Right. Yes.” She pushed up on the seat and finally looked at him. She made such a start she cringed back against the seat from him.

To be expected. He was the monster. The werewolf who had spooked her when she was a child. The one creature she most feared.

“Oooo...kaaaay,” she said. “Uh, right. I, uh... I saw you. All wolfie and fur everywhere. Your head was like a wolf. And your body... You howled like an animal. And you were big. And you took that thing's head off. OhmyGod.”

She clasped her hands over her mouth. Even in the darkness the moon managed to land in her eyes and blink at him. Teasing. Defying him to face this truth.

“It was a wraith demon. Not common in the mortal realm and stupid as bricks.”

“The mortal realm,” she whispered nervously.

Those moon-drenched eyes implored him. Her beliefs would have been easier to swallow had she perhaps learned about
one
paranormal being. Say, the vampire. And leave it at that. But unfortunately the universe had plans to inundate her with myriad knowledge of the otherworldly. And that could mess with anyone's sanity, open-minded or not.

“I suspect someone must have been commanding the demon,” Bron offered softly. He always felt invigorated after a shift, but the simple act of facing Kizzy's innocent stare challenged him and even forced him down from what might turn into an aggressive denial.

“Commanding it? To go after me?”

He shrugged. It was a ridiculous response, and he hated knowing next to nothing. “I knew the only way to defeat it was to wolf out. So—” he squeezed the steering wheel with both hands and offered her a sheepish smirk “—I did what I had to do.”

“Wolf. Out.” She tugged up her legs and pulled her knees to her chest, making herself small against the door. A wince reminded her of her wound, and she touched her shoulder.

“I checked it when you were passed out,” he offered. “Surface cuts. They'll heal.”

“Am I going to turn into one of those things now?”

“Why would you think that?”

“It clawed me. I might have its venom or essence or whatever inside me. Maybe it was poisonous?”

He couldn't help a chuckle, but she did not share his levity, so Bron turned to her, and when he almost touched her shoe, he kept his hand but inches from doing so.

“That's not how demons are made,” he said. “Same with werewolves. You don't create werewolves with a bite or claw wound. We're born this way, and that's the only way we come into existence.”

“You've been like this all your life? Ohmygosh, I told you about the guy in high school who I thought was a werewolf. And you didn't say anything.”

He sensed a tendril of her usual fascination in that tone, and that gave him some hope this conversation wouldn't result in tears or screams or her running from him. Much as she had every right to do so.

“Would you have really believed me if I'd said, over a plate of sausage and eggs, oh, hey, that guy you sat behind in school might not have been a howler, but I am?”

She bit her lower lip. Those big brown eyes. They were wondering and yet condemning at the same time!

“Kizzy, it's something I thought I could keep to myself. It is my usual mien. The last thing I ever want to do—any werewolf or paranormal species, for that matter, wants to do—is just come out with what we are and invite the worst.”

“Right. I suppose. But you knew I was a believer.”

“I figured a vampire
and
harpies in one day was enough for you to handle.”

“Good call. Maybe. I don't know. I might have been okay with it. I mean, learning about you being a Retriever was cool. So, all your life? That's... Wow.”

“Yes, but we don't come into our first shift until puberty.”

She clasped her arms about her bent legs and rested her chin on her knee. He could sense her heartbeats slowing and her fear shifting to allow her fascination. “That's interesting. Is it the same with other...uh...creatures?”

“It varies. Vampires can be born or made. Witches are born into the craft, though some humans can study and reach a certain level of magic comparable to a natural witch. Demons come from Beneath. Angels come from Above.”

“Beneath and Above?”

“You call them Heaven and Hell. And somewhere in between all that is Purgatory.”

She pressed her fingers over her heart.

“I'm sorry,” he offered. “I didn't want you to find out about me in such a manner. I didn't think it would come to this. I was to retrieve a heart and be gone. Kizzy, this mission is everything I never expected. It's become a tactical nightmare, and I must constantly be on the defense. I usually go into such missions fully armed and prepared to fight all the random creatures that might come at me. But I'm fresh out of salt bullets. A blade would have proven ineffectual, as would have my stake. So the shift was necessary.”

“Salt bullets. That's so Sam and Dean.”

“Sam and—? Should I ask?”

“They're characters on a TV show about demon hunters.”

“I am nothing like the fiction you read or watch. This is real life, Kisanthra. What I do is dangerous, and it kills me that you've been dragged into the middle of such a violent situation.”

She nodded, and her fingers crept forward to touch his. She slid them into his grasp, and they held a loose clutch. “This adds a whole new dimension to our friendship forged by pie,” she said.

“That it does.”

“And I don't know if that's good, bad or ugly.”

“You haven't run screaming yet.”

“I may still be a little out of it from fainting. Let me get my bearings and—where's my camera?”

He pointed to the floor before her seat. “Please, tell me you didn't snap any pictures of me or the wraith?”

She closed her eyes and squinted.

“Kisanth—”

“Kizzy. Please?”

“Kizzy. You have to erase them.”

“I'm sure none will turn out. It was pitch-black. My shutter speed was not adjusted for night photos. I saw only silhouettes battling it out like King Kong versus Godzilla. Except I don't think you're as hairy as King Kong. And really, you're not overly hairy now. Not like the guy in school—uh, that's stupid. Sorry.”

Bron rubbed his brow, sensing a headache. But it wasn't a physical feeling, more the regret he would endure in attempting to break the damned camera. Her livelihood. Which could very well contain his secret.

“So it's not a full moon thing?” she asked.

“I can shift whenever I choose. But on the eve of the full moon it is a necessary call to shift to my werewolf shape. And the night before and after the full moon things are, well...my werewolf wants out, but I can control it with specific, uh...actions.”

“Like what kind of actions?”

“I think I've said enough for now. I want to get you home and have a better look at your wounds, if you'll allow.”

“I don't want to go home. Bron, if they are still following me, I don't want to lead any creature to my front door. The apartment I'm renting is smack-dab in the middle of town. Businesses line the street below. Can we go to another motel? Just for tonight?”

“You're right. I had thought to test things, but now I know you're still being followed. Why they are still following you is beyond me. For what reason? I destroyed the tracking device.”

“Here's an idea. Maybe, instead of killing whatever next comes at me, you asked it why?”

He met her hopeful gaze. She had a way of stating the obvious without making him feel like a fool for not thinking of it in the first place. Of course, questioning the attacker made sense. But wraiths hadn't speech. So he hoped the next one was a vampire. Those bastards he could handle. That was, if there was to be a next one. By all the gods, he prayed there would not be.

He shifted into Drive, then rolled down the road.

“I think we were about five miles away from Thief River Falls,” she offered. “Let's get two rooms.”

Right. So she wouldn't have to stay in the same room as the monster. She might think she was open to all things new and curious to her, but she was like all other humans. They feared those things unfamiliar to them. Even the things that piqued their curiosity and which were only best viewed from afar or caged behind steel bars.

The very few who could accept? Oftentimes they were in it for the monetary rewards that pictures or stories could bring. And Kizzy did wield her camera for profit. He'd have to play things carefully now.

* * *

The soul bringer felt the disconnection to the wraith demon as a jerk to his system that twinged up and down his spine. He sat up in the chair, gripped the arms tightly and opened his eyes. The darkness meant little to him. He could see all things in all lights or even lack of it.

He'd been shirking his soul-ferrying duties of late and had found solace in a quiet home long abandoned by its residents through natural death. The brick walls were solid, but the shelter was unnecessary for his welfare. He could withstand the elements, and he lived. Ever after.

As she had not.

Catching the dismal thought before it could blossom into a full-blown melancholy—how he hated such emotion—he stood, paced to the broken glass window and looked out across a field of drooping sunflowers. He'd thought summoning the wraith demon would prove more powerful than the ineffectual harpies. Apparently not. But how had the owner of the Purgatory Heart managed to defeat such a vicious predator?

He couldn't get a fix on the surroundings of the death because he was only capable of a sort of mind meld with the creature he had commanded. And that was now vanquished.

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

K
izzy 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.