Her Werewolf Hero (14 page)

Chapter 14

A
fter lunch at the local Chinese buffet, Bron parked the truck before Kizzy's building in the center of town. He stared up the side of the three-story structure, which boasted a café on the main level, a craft shop on the second and apartments on the top. The brick front was laced with a climbing vine that had turned crimson with autumn. A clatter of bikes were chained up to the street pole.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“I'm not sure. You haven't had anything come after you for a day.”

“That's something. I seriously don't think I can do another cheesy motel room. I'm starting to feel like Sam or Dean.”

“Why would you feel like a man?”

“Sam and Dean hunt monsters and stay in cheesy motel rooms.”

He narrowed a brow. “You
know
monster hunters? Weren't you talking about those men earlier?”

“Probably. They are on a TV show,” she offered with a kiss to his cheek. “They've got nothing on Bron Everhart, the Retriever with the sexy abs and Indiana Jones hat. That's another movie—”

“I know. I've seen that flick. Preposterous, but good entertainment.”

“You must get all the entertainment you can handle from your job.”

“That I do.” He pushed the driver's side door open and got out. Before closing the door he said, “Stay behind me.”

When Bron swung around the front of the vehicle, she noticed he carried a bowie knife. Not cool in this small town. But he didn't swish it in front of him, so she'd give him the benefit of his cool, calm discretion.

Kizzy felt like the curious heroine following the intrepid hero into danger as they walked through the doorway and down the long, narrow hallway to the stairway at the back of the building. It was cool in here, thanks to the brick walls. The back door opened to a teeny courtyard, where the landlord, Mrs. Davidson's hydrangeas still burst with pale violet petals.

“Top floor?” he asked.

“Yep. Only apartment up there. Here's my key.” She handed him the brass key chain, which featured the demonic symbol Sam and Dean both had tattooed on their left shoulders. So she was a fangirl.

Bron took the stairs two at a time, and she scrambled up after him. She didn't know what she looked forward to more. An empty apartment so she could relax and change into her own clothes. Or making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Or even taking a shower in a clean, noncheesy bathroom. But dare she risk any of that? If nothing waited for her in the apartment, that didn't mean something might not eventually show up. With claws.

Bron stuck the key in the lock and opened it. He gestured for her silence and to stay by the door, with a finger to his lips while he walked in and checked the place out.

Feeling nervous standing alone by the door, Kizzy crept in until she stood in the living room that featured windows all along the front wall and which looked over the newspaper office that sat below and across the street. Nothing seemed out of place. The rental wasn't accented with knickknacks or a lot of decorative items. Dishware was minimal, set in the open cupboards. Though the landlord had prettied up the place with a spider plant hung between the two front windows. It was frothy and thick and must have weighed thirty pounds. As per instructions, Kizzy had dutifully watered it upon arrival.

Bron returned from back in the bedroom. “Nothing. But I don't think we should stay long. You check Twitter again?”

“Doing it right now. There's food and drink in the fridge. Help yourself.” Though they'd just eaten, she could never not offer hospitality. One did not grow up in Minnesota without getting the “nice” label attached to them.

Bron stood before the windows, searching the area. Ribbons of gray dashed the sky. It was still early in the afternoon, and it hadn't rained yet.

Nightcat's Twitter stream hadn't posted anything new since yesterday morning. Last post stated no known location for the Purgatory Heart.

Kizzy sneered at the cell phone. She hated being referred to as an object. Although they weren't exactly referring to her, but rather, just her heart. A heart
not
in her body.

Did it have to be out of her body to provide the gateway to Purgatory? Maybe it could function intact?

Panic caused her to say quickly, “I really want to keep my heart.” She met Bron's curious lift of brow. “I don't want to die. I especially don't want anyone to rip out my heart. There's got to be some way to make this all stop.”

“Hey.” He wrapped his arms around her and snuggled her against his lean, hard body.

The hug felt great, and she hadn't realized she'd missed feeling the beat of his heart against hers so much. It had only been a few hours since they'd been in the motel making love. She needed him again. Around her. Inside her. Within her. He satisfied a craving she never knew she could have. One for such intimacy that, she felt, without it, it wouldn't matter if she no longer had her heart. She didn't want to need it, but damn her, she did.

“I'm not going to let anything hurt you,” he said and kissed the crown of her head. “You can keep possession of your weird handprinted heart. I'll make sure no one has any reason to want it.”

“And how will you do that? Why does someone want to go to Purgatory?”

“If there's a soul bringer involved, it could be for any reason. Nothing on Twitter?”

“No. Do you think it's safe to take a shower? I crave the water pressure and changing into my comfortable jeans.”

“Go for it. I'd join you but I should keep an eye open for...you know.”

“You really think it's dangerous?”

“I don't know. Go.” He kissed her quickly. “Do you have a laptop? I might go online and do some research on the soul bringer.”

She pointed to the laptop sitting on the counter near a cereal box. “Beer's in the fridge. Give me a leisurely half an hour, and then I'll be back, refreshed and in my own clothes.”

“Take your time!” he called as she sailed down the hallway to the bedroom.

Stripping off the bargain clothing, she decided she didn't ever want to wear the seven-dollar jeans again, so after they'd been washed she'd donate them. In the bathroom she turned on the shower to warm it up, then tugged out the little refillable bottle of orange-scented body wash she always tucked in her travel bag. That would give the werewolf's senses something to devour.

* * *

While the shower pattered, Bron found a beer in the fridge, thankful it was a dark Belgian ale, and tilted back half in one swallow. That hit the spot. He'd never have pegged Kizzy for a beer fan. Maybe she might like to try the authentic craft brews in Germany, and he might like taking her around to try them.

Did that imply a date in the future? The concept of dating wasn't even on his radar. But spending more time with Kizzy was alluring. Of course, he didn't have the time for it. Not when he was gallivanting across the world. Though, she did seem open to travel.

She'd come here from Brussels. Europe must be her home base. But she must have traveled to her hometown for a reason. Friends? The site of the accident? He guessed she wasn't as ready to begin the carefree traveler's life as she thought.

The street she stayed on was a main road just a few blocks down from the central shops and city buildings. He didn't see anything in the sky or notice any suspicious individuals walking the sidewalk below, but he sat on the foot-wide windowsill anyway and kept a casual watch as he dragged the laptop onto his lap.

First line of business? He typed in Kizzy's name, and her blog scrolled on to the screen. “
Other Wonders
,” he muttered the blog title. The header was a shocking picture that he initially took for faery wings silhouetted by a pink-and-violet sunset.

He squinted and tilted the screen back for a better view. Wow. That really was some fabulous photography. She'd captured the intricate veins of a tree leaf, made virtually clear from the backlighting. It really did look like a faery wing, because it didn't resemble a butterfly or dragonfly. And a swish of blond that simulated faery hair must be some kind of moss hanging in the tree.

The top post was titled, “Sunny Outlook.” The pictures were of bright yellow flowers he had no name for, yet they could be daisies or sunflowers. Set between the long green flowers' stems were a pair of eyes. Gold eyes that looked ready to pounce.

Or
were
those eyes? He tilted the screen again and studied the photo closely. Could be some kind of dried seed pods making up the eyes, but they looked so realistic. Like an animal or creature that lurked in myth and legend.

Yet another photo, rendered in black and white, featured a misty forest. A beam of sunshine swept down, but within the mist perhaps an elemental or forest sprite zipped by.

How cool was it that she'd taken to finding the otherworldly in common nature?

“Impressive,” he said.

His cell phone rang, and he answered even as he typed in a new search for “soul bringer.” It was the director. “Everhart, you still at the sight?”

“Yes. Keeping watch over the subject. There's been increased activity from many trying to put their hands on the heart.”

“And a soul bringer, eh?”

How Pierce knew about that wasn't something Bron would question. Acquisitions boasted an elaborate database, and their network threaded worldwide. With witchcraft involved in Systems Tech, anything was possible.

“Haven't made contact with that particular subject yet, but I've heard about it. You have anything on a cat shifter?”

“No, but, listen, Everhart, if you are unable to somehow deactivate the Purgatory Heart, we'll have to alter the mission to find and finish. Got that?”

“Uh...deactivate?” he muttered, even as his heart dropped to his gut and the laptop slipped from his grasp to land on the windowsill with a thunk. Wouldn't deactivating a beating heart mean the same as finishing it? “I'm not sure I follow.”

“Make it useless. Unable to open the door to Purgatory. You've rendered items useless on previous missions.”

Yes, but that had involved breaking them or using a spell to obliterate the object to ash. He wasn't about to do that to Kizzy's heart. But if not, the mission would be altered to find and finish, which meant he would have to finish her. Either way, it didn't look good for her. Or him.

“Understood?” The director waited for his reply.

“Uh...yes,” he muttered.

“Deactivate the heart and get your ass back to headquarters. I'll hook you up with whatever new job we have upon your return.” The connection clicked off.

Bron stared at the phone until the screen went dark. Exactly how his heart felt. A worrying darkness falling over it.

“Ah, you found the beer. Good call. I think I'll have one, too.”

Kizzy breezed by him in something so short he bet the bottom of her ass showed. He didn't want to look at her. Because when he did, she would know what was going on in his brain. She had a weird sense of his emotions.

And yet he couldn't avoid drawing in the delicious aroma that clung to her. Oranges and steam. He didn't have to look to mentally curve his fingers beneath her bottom and draw her closer. To press his nose against her thigh and inhale as he curled his fingers around and between her legs.

Deactivate. That word aggravated the sensual fantasy. Only three instances in his service to Acquisitions had he been issued such orders. And he'd fulfilled them without question. Because that was what he did. He was a Retriever. And if an object, or a person related to that object—or who
was
the object—presented problems, then he took care of it, as commanded.

He kept a bowie knife with his supplies. All he needed to do was shove the blade into her heart...

Kizzy kissed his cheek, and he startled. He stood abruptly and paced to the center of the living room before the L-shaped beige sofa and scruffed fingers through his hair.

“Bron? What is it?”

He swung a glance at her but quickly looked away. He didn't want to look into her trusting eyes. But, hell, that T-shirt she wore was so low in the front it revealed the delicious curves of her breasts...

Deactivate.

“There's something wrong. Tell me.”

He squeezed his eyelids tightly, but no matter how hard he wished, he could never turn back time and erase the director's phone call. Nor could he erase the car accident that had almost killed Kisanthra Lewis yet had branded her heart as a beacon for any and all paranormals with the morbid desire to use it as a wicked gateway to Purgatory.

“Bron?”

“There's nothing wrong. I just...wow.” He spread his arms before him to take in her figure. “That's hot.”

“This old thing? It's my travel nightshirt. Just wanted to put on something comfy after being stuck in jeans for two days straight. It's getting threadbare.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

Her smile beamed. Best to focus on the sweet citrus skin than the direct order from his boss. He'd think about that later. Had to. He couldn't tell her his mission had changed.

But could he fulfill the new command? He'd never disobeyed a command. Of course he would do it.

“I wish I had something with lace,” she offered and tugged at the frayed shirt hem. “I would love to seduce you.”

He hooked his hands at his hips. “You don't need lace to do that.”

“Oh, yeah?” She drew a teasing finger along her lips and scampered up to him. Bron shoved the phone in his back pocket and curled his hands around her hips. His fingers touched skin, and he curved them around to cup her buttocks. “Maybe a quickie before we buckle down and put our heads together over the important stuff?”

He answered her with a kiss and lifted her into his arms. He knew the bedroom was down the hallway and strolled into the white-walled room that looked gray in the afternoon light. Cinnamon filled the air. On the windowsill, a jar of oil with thin sticks jutting out of the narrow neck must be an air freshener. A bed and small chest near the door were the only furnishings. The open closet door revealed but a few items. Perhaps she
could
handle the traveling life?