Читать книгу Her Werewolf Hero - Michele Hauf - Страница 8

Chapter 2

“What are they, really?” Kizzy asked as the man set her down but wouldn’t let go of her wrist. He tugged her into the thick brush and trees. Cockleburs brushed her ankles, and she wished she wore longer pants than the capri jeans. She put up a hand to block her face from stray branches that whipped into her face.

“Harpies,” he said. “Come on!”

Yes, that’s what she thought he’d said.

A harpie was a mythological creature. Half bird, half man or woman, or some such. She had read about them. Had even written a blog post about them, accompanied by a photo she had taken of a blurred raven high in the sky. Gray cloud streaks had remarkably thickened its body, granting her a photograph with just enough about which to speculate.

A half man, half bird? It didn’t get much cooler than that.

Yet behind her, something screeched like her worst movie nightmare. So Kizzy forced herself to follow as her mysterious rescuer tugged her farther into the woods. The camera hung around her neck. Taking pictures could wait. Right now she needed to steer her guide out of the sticky, thorned stuff.

Dodging the bramble and brush the best she could, she called, “There is a path to the left!”

“I see that. They are taking it.”

“Oh. Then go right!”

“Doesn’t that lead back toward the park?”

It did. And it would give her an opportunity to break from this guy and run for freedom. Because if it was a choice between harpies and some weirdo intent on luring her deeper into the forest, she wasn’t sure which was better. She wasn’t stupid. Nor would she allow fear to cloud her judgment. He looked safe enough, but what defined safe?

On the other hand. If they lured the creatures back toward the park, the children and their parents could be in danger. Had they seen the harpies? Had someone called the police? What could the police do but stare in wonder as she had?

The whisk of wings brushing overhead tree leaves set her heart to a thunderous pace. Her breaths gasped, not so much because she was exerting herself—picking through the brush did slow their escape—but, okay, she was a little scared. The flying creatures were bigger than dogs. And there were three of them.

Their pace had slowed. She needed to pause and get a picture. Never before had she an opportunity like this. Those creatures were exactly what she’d hoped to capture on film! And the light in the forest was perfect. The red/orange sun crisping around the edges of the tree canopy would define the wings for sure.

Having released her wrist, the man stalked five paces ahead of her, forging a path as he stomped fallen branches. Kizzy stopped and lifted the camera to her eye. Trying to focus through the tree trunks and thankful the zoom lens was still attached because she generally used a prime lens. She tracked one creature, snapping repeatedly. If she took a hundred shots she might end up with a handful of good ones.

“What are you doing? They are after you!” He tried to grab her wrist again, but she kicked toward his shin. He dodged swiftly, and she missed. “Don’t you understand?”

“What makes you think they are after me? I was doing fine, enjoying a nice stroll in the park, until you showed up!”

“Is that the way of it?” He gestured with a splay of hands. “Fend for yourself!” He turned and loped off, tracking through the brush to the right.

And Kizzy saw the dark shadows trace the ground and felt the chilling sweep of wings overhead. She may be brave, but she wasn’t stupid. “I changed my mind!”

Her day had morphed into an Alfred Hitchcock movie on testosterone. And she wasn’t about to become bird food.

She stuffed the camera into the bag at her hip. Tramping over the loamy, leaf-covered forest floor, she stumbled on a fallen log and caught her hands against a wide tree trunk frosted with moss. While normally she’d inhale the scents of nature, all she could smell was her anxiety.

One of the birds lunged toward the man in front of her, and he shot it with some kind of arrow. From a small device that looked like a pistol yet it hadn’t made a sound when it had fired.

Like a small crossbow? Who was that guy? And what fairy-tale chase had she fallen into? Robin Hood had always been her favorite, even the Disney cartoon fox version of the hero held an appeal.

Carefully, she crept closer to him and witnessed him take out another of the harpies with the arrow-shooting pistol. When the final harpie swooped over her head, she ducked and loosed a necessary scream.

“Stay there! Low!”

Clasping her hands over her head, she followed directions, cowering against the base of an oak tree’s gnarly roots. Heartbeats racing, she was suddenly thankful that if attack by crazy birds was her fate, at least she had some kind of rescuing hero who wielded a worthy weapon on her side.

So she would trust him. Because right now he offered her best hope.

She observed him watching the circling bird. Lean and tall, his biceps and pecs flexed beneath the gray T-shirt as he tracked the remaining creature with the hand-sized crossbow. His footing sure, he turned at the hips, a graceful predator. Aiming, one eye closed, a twitch of his finger released the trigger. The bird screeched and dropped out of the sky, its wings snagging the leaves and landing...right beside Kizzy.

She swore and scrambled over a tree root and toward the man. But then she stopped. She had no reason to be afraid of a dead creature. And, holy Hannah, it was a creature!

She pulled the camera out of the bag, and—

“Oh, no.” He slipped his hand into one of hers. “No time. More could be coming. I made clean shots, straight through the hearts. They’ll dissipate to feathers in minutes. No worry of cleanup, thank the gods. My truck is this way.”

She followed him, regretting only that she hadn’t time to snap a photo, but thinking that she had tons of questions that he would answer before she let him get away. Maybe. The urge to flee from him was also strong.

At the forest’s edge, which was about two city blocks away from town, he paused and searched the sky. But a few streaks of pink and gold lingered from the setting sun.

“All clear. Come on!” With her hand still in his, he raced across the grassy lawn toward the curb where a black Ford truck was parked.

“I can get home on my own,” she said, her voice wobbling as his pace did not let up until he’d reached the vehicle. But really? She’d head back into the forest first with hope of getting a picture before the creatures turned to a heap of feathers.

“Absolutely not.”

Controlling much? So she’d forego the questions. A sudden nervousness urged her to run from him. Forget about the awesome creatures lying dead in the forest. This man might be the one she should fear the most.

When he opened the passenger door and waited for her to get in, Kizzy took a moment to really gaze at his face. Wide-set blue eyes didn’t look at her so much as keep her in peripheral view as he scanned the sky. A thick beard hugged his square jaw, and an equally dark mustache stretched down to the beard. He still wore the hat. How he’d not lost it while racing through the forest was beyond her. The whole outfit gave him an Indiana Jones vibe.

With a paranormal bent? He knew about those harpies. Had come armed to take them out. She’d be a fool to run off without questioning him.

“Who are you?” she asked. “Or maybe the better question should be what are you?”

“Bron Everhart,” he said, his attention averting to the sky. “There’s more!”

She looked over her shoulder in the direction he pointed. Holy Hannah, there were more. Flying toward them. She gripped the camera. “Why are they after us?”

“I was tracking...” He shoved her at the shoulder. “Get in. I’ll explain as we drive. I want to lure them away from the town. And if they continue to follow the truck, then I’ll know it’s you they’re after.”

She hadn’t a chance to protest that maybe it was him they wanted. But Kizzy didn’t need a shove to get inside the truck. Stand her ground and refuse the crazy man’s assistance? Or get inside the vehicle where she had a metal frame and glass to protect her from the weird flying things?

She climbed up and pulled the door shut. The driver’s door slammed a second later, and the ignition fired up.

“I don’t understand why harpies would come after me,” she said as the truck pulled away from the curb. “I’m not anyone. I’m just a photographer. Yet, how cool were they?” she said with an incredulous tone. “I mean, I believe in faeries and vampires and have always dreamed of seeing some kind of creature some day.”

“Vampires, eh?” He shifted into Drive and cast her a head-shaking smirk as he turned the vehicle away from town.

“Just take me home,” she said quickly. Then she could hop on her bike and return to the forest. “I’m staying in an apartment in the middle of town. It’s a couple miles that way.”

“And lure them into the city? And give them the location of where you’re staying?”

Put like that it didn’t sound like a smart thing to do. Her eagerness to get a good photograph of the myth was making her foolish. She had to think of others. Would the harpies risk flying into the town? She didn’t have any weapons. And while she took risks to get the perfect shot, she wasn’t a danger seeker who would stand at a cliff’s edge peering over.

“Bron? Is that what you said your name was?”

“Has been all my life. Buckle up.”

She did so, unstrapping the camera bag and setting it on the floor. She pulled the camera off from around her neck and turned to track the harpies through the back window.

“Put the camera away,” he insisted. “The last thing the world needs is evidence of those bastards’ existence. I’m surprised they are so blatantly out in this realm.”

“Yet you know about them? You’re familiar with birdmen?”

“Harpies. They can be male or female. And, yes, they are real, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I know they’re real. I narrowly dodged one!”

She sighed and tilted her head against the back of the seat. A self-awareness assessment checked her heartbeats had slowed. And her skin felt cool when she thought she should be sweating from the jaunt through the woods. Perhaps she was in shock.

“I’ve searched for proof of the paranormal all my life,” she said. “For some reason I thought my first encounter would be less...”

“Harrowing?”

“Yeah,” she said on a nervous sigh. Though why should she have expected a friendly “how do you do” instead of an attack? The creatures she believed in were deadly and dangerous, and, hell, yes, they flew and had claws and went after people.

But still, the surprise of suddenly knowing was exciting. Things she’d always wanted to believe in did exist. How cool was that?

Suddenly the truck swerved, and they turned right. Toward town.

“Wait? What are you doing?”

“They’re veering toward town. I can’t let them out of my sight.”

* * *

There were two of them. They soared toward the small town and circled back like vultures eyeing the kill. Harpies had minds like birds yet also like men. The human side of them was calculating; the animal side ruthless. Bron knew they had identified his truck. But were they aware the woman was still with him? Why had they gone after her? Because it hadn’t been him they were after. Harpies generally avoided his sort.

He turned the vehicle sharply into an alley. It was strange to find himself back in this town. He knew this area. Had been here about fifty years earlier on a mission. He’d met a witch... Lots of memories—both good and bad—he didn’t have time to resurrect now.

Here in the tight confines of the town, night darkened the narrow tarmac; there were no streetlights, so he pulled over to park and turned off the vehicle’s headlights. Leaning across the seat, he opened the glove compartment. Half a dozen arrows tumbled forward, and he grasped them all. The hand-sized crossbow he utilized was a sweet little weapon designed by the Acquisition’s Armoury. It had biothermal-GPS tracking to lock in a target and pinpoint accuracy. Also, the fletch-less arrows were tipped with silver, and the hollow core was filled with rowan wood. Useful against werewolves, vampires and, fortunately, harpies.

He got out of the truck and the woman followed. Standing in the narrow alleyway, he didn’t worry for her safety. He’d have her back if the creatures swooped down toward her. The trouble was, she was fascinated. Not scared enough to look out for herself.

No matter where his journeys took him or what creatures he encountered while on a mission, Bron always strove to keep that which shouldn’t be known from humans. Having the “it’s real” talk with them never went over well. And if it did feel necessary, it was always easier to walk away and pretend they were the crazy ones. A vampire? Eh, you’re nuts.

But this woman? In the heat of the moment when she should have been cowering and screaming, instead she’d taken pictures. And one of the Retrievers’ unwritten rules was to never provide proof. He had to get those digital files. Or destroy her camera.

As well, he had a moral obligation to make sure she was safe before bringing her home. He couldn’t drop her off in the middle of this small town. She’d be a target. Why the harpies had pursued her was beyond him. Perhaps they’d been following the tracker’s vibrations, and when he’d gotten too close to her they had picked up her scent and gone with it. Harpies were flesh eaters. Though, if hungry, why hadn’t they simply gone for the children on the swings?

Why were they even in the mortal realm? Their habitat was Faery.

A bone-twanging screech alerted his attention to the left. Crossbow at the ready, he tracked the creature soaring overhead. The other was out of sight. Until he heard the screech behind him.

And the woman’s scream.

Releasing the trigger, the arrow caught the first bird in the heart. It faltered into a death spin and dropped out of sight behind a wood fence. Bron quickly reloaded. A whoosh of wings moved his hair. He ducked, landing on one knee, and twisted to see the harpie’s claw extend toward the woman’s head. She plunged to the tarmac. His arrow found its target.

He lunged to grab her arm and pull her forward to avoid the heavy drop of the creature’s body. She clung to him, her body heaving, breaths gasping. Moonlight caught in a glint on the tiny gold cross she wore on a delicate chain about her neck. But before he could begin to consider the sensual curves hugging his torso and the warm, fresh scent of her, she pushed away and shuffled backward.

Her shoulders hugged the brick building. “So not a cool first date,” she said.

“Date?”

Ah. She was joking. More points for bravery on her part.

The harpie’s body glowed and burned without flame. The embers quickly dissipated, leaving behind a scatter of black feathers.

“But that was cool,” she said. She patted her chest, then snapped her fingers. She’d left the camera in the truck.

And Bron had veered madly off course.

“Get in,” he said. “More could follow.”

She quickly got into the vehicle.

He tugged the crystal tracker out of his pocket and turned it over. Around the edges it glowed a soft blue.

“What is that?” she asked. “Is that what you were looking at when I first saw you in the park?”

“This?” He leaned back and flipped it between his fingers, but then it suddenly shot out of his hand.

And landed right on the woman’s chest.

“What the hell?” He reached for it, but she slapped his hand away. “Sorry.”

“What is it?” She didn’t try to touch it but was clearly afraid of whatever it was attached to her T-shirt. It had landed right above her breast, which Bron couldn’t help but notice was nicely shaped and—ah hell, no, it stuck to her.

“Are you wearing metal? Something magnetic under your shirt? Maybe a bra with a metal ring in the strap?”

“I, uh... No bra today.”

Yep, he noticed that now. Her nipples were pert and erect.

“What is it? Why is it stuck to me?” She pried gently at it, and the tracker came away briefly but then snapped back to nestle on top of her breast. “Get it off me!”

Why did it stick to her? Made from crystal and infused with Light magic, it wasn’t even magnetic. It shouldn’t be reacting this way. On the other hand, he had no idea what its properties were.

Bron reached for the tracker, more than willing to pry it from her breast, but then he paused. A realization hit him hard. “Blessed Herne. Really?”

The director hadn’t specified the heart he sought would be live and beating inside someone’s chest.