Читать книгу Her Werewolf Hero - Michele Hauf - Страница 11
ОглавлениеKizzy pressed her shoulders to the brick wall. A hint of orange on the horizon teased at daylight. Standing in the shadows, she clutched the camera bag to her gut. The T-shirt she wore could have been warmer. She shivered, but not so much from the touch of chill in the air.
A heart that has been grasped by a soul in Purgatory.
It made too much sense to her. And that is what freaked her out.
And as if the universe wanted to cram that insane punch line into her psyche she’d woken in the dream again this morning. The recurring dream she’d been having since the accident. The one where a werewolf pulled her heart out of her chest. It was vivid and bloody, and she screamed loudly. Just when she thought the beast was going to eat the pulsing organ, she’d startle herself awake, and the dream would never finish.
Thank God for that. She didn’t want to know why she’d envisioned a werewolf going after her heart. Could be because of all the creatures she believed in, werewolves scared the crap out of her. It all went back to that camping trip with her father when she’d thought the bear was a werewolf. And she could guess at a few reasons why it was her heart, in particular, that was always at the fore of her dream. Open-heart surgery is not something a person goes through without scars. And she had them. Inside and out.
Wakened by the dream, panting from fright, she’d glanced to Bron, fully clothed and with combat boots still on, sleeping on the bed beside her, and had decided to sneak out. Because the dream of some big, furry paw clutching her heart had never made any sense.
Until now.
Kizzy had woken two days following the open-heart surgery, a result of the car accident. After being rushed to the hospital by the ambulance, she had died on the operating-room table. Dead for six minutes the doctor had reported. They’d had to crack open her chest to massage her heart back to life. He’d also reported, almost as an afterthought, there had been odd scarring on her heart that he’d noticed while inside her chest cavity trying to bring her back to life.
But seriously? Keith, who had died instantly following the impact of car to boulders, would have never gone to Purgatory. That man had been destined for Hell. And she knew Keith had not been a werewolf, so that part of the dream must be a crazy manifestation of her beliefs. What better way to illustrate the horrors she’d survived than by inserting a wild creature into it?
“Or maybe I’m going crazy?” Guilt clung to her, because she had survived while Keith had not. She’d never wished that for him. Not even when he’d berated her into tears.
She wanted to run. To her left stood the truck stop. To her right, a stretch of highway that led to the North Dakota border. Running wouldn’t get her far. And it could perhaps even land her in a vampire’s toothy embrace.
Could a bloodthirsty bite be considered an embrace? Why did everyone always romanticize the vampire? She’d looked into that creature’s eyes last night and had seen the hunger for her blood. And he’d smelled like rotting blood. There had been nothing whatsoever romantic about the lustful craving in his eyes, either.
Of course, she wasn’t stupid and knew it was the idea of immortality that attracted those who romanticized the creature. Because, really? Edward was just too damn old for Bella, and Dracula had been a sadist.
Kizzy had almost lost her life at the beginning of the year, and she said blessings for every morning she woke. But to live forever? She imagined it would get tiresome. Yet she couldn’t help a small thrill at now knowing her beliefs were real. Verified. Vampires really existed! And so did harpies.
And what other sorts of creatures would sense the weird vibrations she apparently gave out as a beacon and come to rip out her heart? Why was Purgatory such a seemingly popular vacation spot for the lifestyles of the weird and otherworldly?
Bending forward and gripping the backs of her calves to stretch out her back muscles—the motel bed had been lumpy—she vacillated over whether it would be wise to come clean to Bron with what she knew about her heart or to just cut her losses and run.
Could she trust the man? She wanted to. But she didn’t know much about him. He’d suddenly appeared in her life. And sure, he was handsome and stirred up thoughts of romance and heroes. She was a woman. She’d have to be dead not to be attracted to him. But he worked for some weird organization that—well, for as strange as it sounded, it also fascinated her. Acquisitions? A Retriever who searched for magical artifacts? How cool was that?
But she’d never claim any talent at picking the right guy, the one who was trustworthy and normal. Someone who wouldn’t laugh at her beliefs. Would she ever find the right one? She wasn’t in a hurry, but she didn’t like to waste her time on the less-than hopefuls.
After Kizzy’s first dramatic breakup as a teenager with the guy who had given her her first kiss and her first third-base feel, her mother had hugged her teary daughter to her chest and said something about finding the right man. One day when she least expected it, she’d turn around, and there he would stand.
“No,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Don’t be seduced by the strange and wondrous, Kizzy. You don’t need a man. Take care of yourself. You’re the only one who can do that.”
* * *
Bron woke on the bed, coming instantly alert and looking about the room. He’d heard something. Or was it the odd scent he noted? Smelled like...stale mattress. This place was nowhere near worth the forty-nine dollars he’d laid out for it. A tile above the toilet had fallen off when he’d been in there earlier. And the sink’s rust stains... It should be condemned.
He rubbed his temple, easing away the lingering remnants of sleep. He must have been more tired than he’d thought. He hadn’t expected to fall asleep. Of course, a flight across the ocean from Berlin, topped by an evening chasing harpies and vampires, could be the reason for exhaustion.
A beam of morning sun teased behind the faded curtains, and he glanced to the bed next to his. It was empty.
She had fled him once again. “Damn!”
Grabbing the truck keys on the nightstand, he mustered a small blessing she hadn’t the forethought to steal his vehicle. He hooked a hand in the canvas duffel in which he carried all his life’s possessions and rushed through the door.
Two steps out onto the tarmac, and he sniffed the air to determine which way she had gone. To the right.
And there she stood, not ten feet away. Against the brick wall. Offering him a small smile and a shrug. “I didn’t run off.”
Dropping the duffel bag where he stood, he then stalked up and gripped her by the shoulders. Relief surprised him, but he didn’t question it. “I thought you had. Kisanthra, I can’t protect you if you keep running away from me.”
And then he did something he would have never done had he taken a moment to think it through.
Bron pulled her into his embrace and wrapped his arms across her back. She sighed against his chest, tucking her head against him, and he remembered how easy it could be to hug a woman and simply let her warmth melt against his own. To recognize the shape of her and welcome her curves and softness. And to brace his arms about her a bit more tightly than a friendly hug allowed.
Because he’d thought he’d lost her. And he wasn’t done protecting her. Bad things were after her. She needed him.
That was his story, and he was sticking to it.
“I wasn’t running away,” she said against his shoulder. “I was just thinking about heading into the truck stop to buy us candy bars for breakfast. Bron?”
He still held her. Inhaled the sweetness of her skin. And what was that about? He didn’t hold women like this. Did he still have to fear what involvement with a human could mean to him? He shouldn’t. It had been a long time ago. And she smelled so good. Like candied peaches. But his dislike for human women had become an ingrained belief. And besides, it was easier hooking up with paranormals. He got a lot less questions from them.
Bron abruptly pulled out of the hug and ran his fingers back through his hair, then scruffed his beard. “Right. Breakfast. There’s got to be some place that’ll sell us eggs and bacon instead a candy bar. Doesn’t the truck stop have a diner?”
“Yes. And I love bacon. I just don’t have any more than a couple dollars on me, so a candy bar was all I could hope for.” She tapped the front of his shirt, and her smile beamed at him. “You don’t have to worry about me running off. I thought about it but changed my mind. I know I’m safe with you until we get this all figured out.”
“You’re a smart woman.”
“I am. But allow me some fumbling in this new world I’ve just been tossed into. Vampires and harpies? Much as I’ve always believed in mythical creatures, I’m going to have to fire up a new set of brain neurons to accept it all.”
“Good enough. Let’s go eat. My treat.”
* * *
Kisanthra secured a table for them inside the diner that, on the front door in big white vinyl-cling letters, had advertised the Man Plate, featuring two kinds of sausage, bacon, ham and steak. Bron’s stomach was ready for the challenge. He told her he’d meet her inside after a quick phone call.
This time the director took his call.
“What do you mean the heart isn’t attainable?” Ethan Pierce asked.
“It’s in a person,” Bron said. “A young human woman who is staying in a small Minnesota town.”
“I see. You’re in the States? Tough luck.”
“You had no idea the heart was intact?”
“Of course not, Everhart. I wouldn’t have sent you off on the mission knowing such a detail.”
“So, the mission is off?” he asked.
“I’ll have to look into it,” the director said. “Stand by until I can get back to you. Affirmative?”
“Yes.” Bron hung up before his disappointment would register with an argument.
Wasn’t as if he could walk away from Kisanthra now anyway. She needed a guard. An armed guard. And he’d have to do it without falling into a nonsense hug again.
Standing so close to her, feeling her body relax against his had felt damned good. But he didn’t like the hope that brief contact had stirred in his gut. Because it had been a lie. It was simply good to hold a woman, of any kind or species. He and his monkish lifestyle tended to go too long without satisfying his physical needs.
And then things happened.
He looked to the sky. The sun was high. The moon last night had been waxing. More than half full.
He spoke to the phone, “Siri, when’s the next full moon?”
She replied with the date, which was four days away.
He couldn’t remain on this mission much longer without risking a shit-storm of questions from the insatiably curious Kisanthra Lewis.
* * *
Kizzy popped a straw into the orange juice she’d ordered for Bron when he sat across from her in the cherry-vinyl booth. “I ordered you the Man Plate. Same for me. I can seriously put down any and all breakfast meat.”
“Coffee?”
“It’s coming. I’m going to guess you’re a no-cream kind of guy. Am I right?”
“Black as the devil’s ass is how I prefer it.”
“Okay, now I have that image in my mind.” She sipped her juice. “Was that call business?”
“It was.”
“About me?”
He conceded with a nod. He wasn’t going to give her too much information, but she’d angle for as much as she could manage from him. Because she was a woman in peril. Figuratively, of course. Because while she appreciated him wanting to protect her, she sensed rescue would only come by standing up for herself and being smart. And that meant learning as much as she could about the situation.
“Have you been given instructions on how to obtain the heart?” she asked.
“Kisanthra.”
“Please, Bron, I’m curious, and I have a right to know. Me, being the owner of the sought-after object.”
He exhaled, and, pulling the straw from the juice and setting it aside, he then swallowed half of it before speaking. “We had no idea the heart was intact. I’ve alerted the Director of Acquisitions, and now I’m waiting for further instructions. No doubt the mission will be canceled.”
“I certainly hope so. I mean, I may have avoided the vampire’s bite last night, because, you know, immortality? Not interested. But I do have a long life ahead of me. Plan to live to one hundred. I’m expecting that birthday card from the president. And I sure hope she’s a cool president.”
Bron chuckled. “So do I. We could use a woman POTUS. But vampires can’t give you immortality from a quick bite.”
“Really? But I thought—well, of course, movies and books are fiction. So how does it happen?”
He rubbed his temple and winced.
“Face it, Bron, you’re stuck with someone who is open to the paranormal and whose middle name may very well have been Curious instead of Ginelle. I have questions. Lots of questions.”
“Yes, but I don’t think it’s the best conversation for a public place.”
She glanced around. They were the only couple in the diner, sitting at the end of a line of booths that paralleled the front windows. At the counter sat an old man gobbling up his eggs with Tabasco sauce, earphones stuffed into his ears. If he could hear them she’d be surprised.
“Right. Wouldn’t want to tell this big empty place about vampires.”
The coffee arrived, along with their breakfast. Kizzy made quick work of the over easy eggs and followed with bacon, sausage and ham—she gave her steak to Bron—while he seemed to inhale his plate of meat but in a way that seemed elegant and mannered. He was interesting to watch, and she did it casually, over her juice or while glancing out the window. His eyes were so blue she felt certain they were not real. Like something enhanced by Photoshop for a romance-novel cover. And his tousled hair seemed styled that way, purposely bed rumpled. It gave her ideas. And, man, those ideas were sexy.
She’d slept next to this gorgeous man last night. And she wasn’t going to tell anyone it had been in separate beds. Sometimes all the details weren’t necessary. And then this morning he had hugged her as if she had been the last woman on earth. And she’d wanted to kiss him because she’d been in a weird mental place, struggling with the facts about her heart and wanting it to not be real. And because, well, she’d never kissed a man with a beard before. Curiosity strikes! And when a handsome man pulled her close, well—bam. Need had kicked in. She wasn’t beyond sex for the sake of placating her emotions or because she just needed to connect with another person for a few blissful moments.
“You have a girlfriend, Bron?” Sitting back, she poured another cup of coffee, then tinted the dark brew with three creamers.
“The job I have doesn’t allow time for relationships.”
“Really? Lots of people travel and are able to maintain relationships.”
He delivered her a castigating flash of blue eye from behind a fork load of eggs.
All right, so the man had also mastered the dirty look. She’d try a different tack. “You must travel a lot.”
“Always. I’m never in one place for long. Women tend to want to see a man more than once every six months or so, wouldn’t you say?”
“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.”
