Michele Hauf - Her Werewolf Hero

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.”

Chapter 6

Bron tossed the broken tracking device into the garbage can outside the gas station. He’d forgotten to throw it at the truck stop, and twenty miles later Kisanthra—Kizzy—had him pull over to use the restroom, so it was a good thing he’d remembered it now.

An antiques store across the highway beckoned with red flags fluttering at the four corners of the old barn building. Kizzy had said she’d like to check it out. And he’d agreed. He didn’t mind sorting through antiques. It was a kick to recognize the things he’d once used in daily life. And they weren’t in a rush. Unfortunately, they had time to waste as he waited to see what might come after Kizzy.