Michele Hauf - Her Werewolf Hero

“Kisanthra, I’ve promised you that I will not cut out your heart.” He cast his gaze toward the window but couldn’t see beyond the curtains. How to make her believe him? And why did he care? “My word is always good.”

Except when he had been younger, and ego had ruled his life, and he’d done whatever he’d pleased whenever he’d pleased with whomever he’d pleased.

Hell, this trip down memory lane could prove brutal if he did not strike it from his thoughts right now.

“What makes it a portal?” she asked.

Her curiosity was a good sign. He hoped. While he sensed her fear, it was also balanced with a tremendous dose of curiosity. She should not fear him. And if she were to keep her head about her if any other paranormals came after her, then she would be much easier to protect than a screaming madwoman.

“I’ve been told such a heart—your heart,” he said, “bears the handprint from a purgatorial soul. Such as is shown in those artifacts from that museum. Someone gripped it and, well, I’m not sure how that can have happened. That’s where I lose all sense of rationality with this situation.”

“So you have as much trouble believing as I do?”

The best he could offer was a noncommittal shrug. Because, really? It was pretty far out there. But again, he did not question his missions. Sometimes it was simply better not having all the facts.

She suddenly clasped both hands to her chest. Eyes tracing the bed covers, she winced and shook her head.

He could sense her increased breaths and smell the worry on her. “Kisanthra? What is it?”

She shook her head frantically. “Nothing. I...nothing. I think I just need to sleep this off.” She snuggled down into the sheets. “Right. That’s it. Maybe a good night’s sleep will see me waking up from this crazy dream. You going to sleep?”

“In a bit. I’m going to stand watch for a while.”

“Fine. Me and my Purgatory Heart will just catch some shut-eye.”

He turned to face her bed, and just when he almost reached to smooth a reassuring hand down her shoulder, he cautioned himself. Not necessary to protect her in that manner. “You’re taking this very well.”

“How else should I take it?”

“Not sure. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m tired, Bron. I appreciate you looking after me today. And I just want to not talk to anyone right now if that’s okay with you.”

“Fine. We’ll talk in the morning and decide what next to do.”

“Sure thing.” She pulled the sheet over her head.

Chapter 5

Kizzy 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.”