by Michele Hauf
She turned and scanned the darkness that was too black to make out any more than the jagged line of trees edging the horizon. “The werewolf is still out there.” And who knew if the missing-jaw creature had been alone or had friends close behind?
“Bron?” Her voice shivered.
She was brave, but her legs wouldn’t allow her to rush into the darkness in search of him. Common sense told her to climb into the truck and lock the doors. Pray he had left the keys behind. So she did. And, yes, the keys were in the ignition, which was why the lights were on.
She pressed a palm to the closed passenger window and peered into the blackness that loomed beyond the reach of the headlights. “I can’t just sit here. What if he’s...”
Attacked. Mauled. Or worse.
“Eaten,” she choked out, clutching her throat.
Despite her fascination for the otherworldy, she’d always hated horror movies. Anything that involved a creepy creature attacking innocents. The chainsaw-wielding maniacs didn’t scare her. But Kizzy was enough of a believer to know that things that went bump in the night did exist and would go after people.
Like werewolves.
She clutched the door handle, prepared to rush out and call for him, when something loomed closer from out in the ditch. Heartbeats rocketing to her throat, Kizzy slammed her fist on top of the door lock button.
“Like that’s going to help. It took the head off the thing chasing me. It can certainly break into a flimsy truck and—ohmyGod.”
Bron wandered up from the ditch, clutching his tattered pants to his hips. They were split down the seam of one leg. He wore no shirt or shoes. His hair was tousled. And he had red scratches that bled on his arms and chest. He must have battled the werewolf. But really? To have lost his shoes? Though the cuts were indicative of a fight. Maybe? Had to be. How else could he have—
And for all the times Kizzy had hoped to capture the paranormal on film, to be validated that her beliefs were indeed real, in that moment, she knew exactly what Bron was.
“Holy Hannah.” Her heart actually stopped beating. “No. Way.”
But it made sense. Especially with the job he had, traveling the world and collecting magical artifacts. Things that normal people—humans—couldn’t conceive existed. Why hadn’t he told her? Was he really? Yes, she knew it as she knew her own heart had been scarred by the touch from a purgatorial soul.
Bron climbed the ditch, wobbling as he reached the roadside. She didn’t see claws at his hands. His face was normal shaped. No vicious teeth jutting from a stretched wolflike maw. And his bare chest and abs were shadowed with dark hair but nothing resembling fur. Was he—could he be—dangerous?
Immediately on the tail of her apprehension rose an intense anger. That he hadn’t the courage to tell her he was a werewolf, had even thought to keep it a secret, pissed her off.
She opened the door and hopped out. “What the hell?”
He put up a palm to dismiss her demanding query and wandered around the front of the hood. Kizzy followed, no longer fearful of what else might lurk out in the darkness. It stood right before her.
“Did you forget to tell me something about yourself?” she asked as he leaned a palm onto the hood and bowed his head. “Bron?”
He winced. Exhaled. Then gasped out, “Are you okay?”
“Me? Yes. Er, I think so. Just a scratch on my shoulder.” Maybe. She couldn’t be bothered with her own problems now. “What is this? You look like you’ve been through a shredder. You didn’t fight that creature. Because...” The next words came out on a nervous shiver. “Are you what I think you are?”
“I didn’t want you to see that. But I didn’t have another option. Wraith demons are tough to take out. I needed more strength than wielding a knife or crossbow would have offered.”
“So...” She reached to touch his arm but retracted when he flinched. “You’re a werewolf?”
He nodded. “I have extra clothes in my duffel bag. Let me change on the other side of the truck and then...”
“Right.” She stepped back, giving him the space he obviously wanted. But so stunned. Unbelieving even while she believed. “Werewolf,” she whispered as he opened the door on his side and got some things out of the cab.
Turning, she leaned against the front grill of the truck. The headlights framed her on each side, so she closed her eyes against the brightness and bent forward, catching her palms on her knees. The past few days had been insane. Unreal.
Exciting.
Weird.
Beyond comprehension.
Her dead boyfriend had grabbed her heart from Purgatory. Vampires and other monsters wanted to rip said heart out of her chest. The man who claimed to want to protect her also wanted her heart and...he was a creature who shifted from man shape into a big, hulking, furry, dangerous howling beast.
Kizzy shook her head. A dizzy wave wobbled the world. She reached out for stability. A feeling of dread overwhelmed. Her body suddenly swayed, and she went down.
Chapter 8
Bron set Kizzy inside the truck cab on the passenger seat. Her body, limp and loose, sagged, so he carefully propped her head on the headrest. Just as he had walked around the front of the truck, knowing he’d have to face her questions, she had passed out. Fortunately, he’d been able to catch her before she’d hit the ground.
He took the quiet moment to pull on a T-shirt and stuff his feet into the extra pair of hiking boots he always carried with him. The first thing he did after landing in a new town or country was to rent a vehicle and then buy extra clothes. Generally, he did not need the emergency clothing change until the night of the full moon. And even then, when the urge to shift came upon him, he had the forethought—and time—to undress before shifting, thus saving a big clothing bill.
But he’d known he’d had to act fast if he were to save Kizzy from the wraith demon. He’d almost been too late. That thing had been crouched over her as if she had been prey; the predator had been hungry for the kill. There was a lot of blood on her shoulder and shirt. He’d inspected the wounds after setting her down. Three long scratches on her shoulder that stretched to her bicep but, fortunately, not deep. The blood had already coagulated, which led him to believe she would be fine. He was sure that breed of demon did not have poison in its bite or claws.
And now. The fallout of such a rash decision to perform heroics. She knew what he was. He had to explain things. It would be a mess. He’d probably regret it. She’d probably flee. Either that or she’d want to take pictures. That was the worse option to him.
That damned camera. It rested on the cab floor right now, ever there, a virtual extra limb that completed her. With pictures of harpies, vampires and maybe even the demon that had attacked her.
Why were they still after her? He’d destroyed the tracking device. Had some weird kind of latent magic attached itself to Kizzy’s heart? It was possible. Anything was possible when witches were involved.
But a wraith demon? They kept more to the underground and Daemonia. Bron could only suspect that someone or something must have commanded the demon, because wraiths didn’t have much brain—about as much as they had jaws. They were stupid but instinctually predatory. Yet to journey to the mortal realm to hunt Kizzy didn’t make sense to him. Why would a wraith demon seek the entrance to Purgatory?
As he slid in behind the wheel he reached over for Kizzy’s camera bag. Just as he touched the strap, she stirred on the passenger seat. He retreated, not wanting her to think he was snooping. The ignition was on and the engine running, but he kept the truck in Park. They had to come to terms. Like it or not.
“Whoa. Did I...faint?” She shoved a hand through her hair and pressed it against her temple. She looked a tangled mess. But a beautiful tangle. Had the demon killed her Bron might never get beyond his regret at putting her in suc
h a dangerous situation. “Bron?”
“Here. And, yes, you fainted. You’ve been through a lot. If you hadn’t fainted I would have been surprised.”
“A lot? Oh. Right. Yes.” She pushed up on the seat and finally looked at him. She made such a start she cringed back against the seat from him.
To be expected. He was the monster. The werewolf who had spooked her when she was a child. The one creature she most feared.
“Oooo...kaaaay,” she said. “Uh, right. I, uh... I saw you. All wolfie and fur everywhere. Your head was like a wolf. And your body... You howled like an animal. And you were big. And you took that thing’s head off. OhmyGod.”
She clasped her hands over her mouth. Even in the darkness the moon managed to land in her eyes and blink at him. Teasing. Defying him to face this truth.
“It was a wraith demon. Not common in the mortal realm and stupid as bricks.”
“The mortal realm,” she whispered nervously.
Those moon-drenched eyes implored him. Her beliefs would have been easier to swallow had she perhaps learned about one paranormal being. Say, the vampire. And leave it at that. But unfortunately the universe had plans to inundate her with myriad knowledge of the otherworldly. And that could mess with anyone’s sanity, open-minded or not.
“I suspect someone must have been commanding the demon,” Bron offered softly. He always felt invigorated after a shift, but the simple act of facing Kizzy’s innocent stare challenged him and even forced him down from what might turn into an aggressive denial.
“Commanding it? To go after me?”
He shrugged. It was a ridiculous response, and he hated knowing next to nothing. “I knew the only way to defeat it was to wolf out. So—” he squeezed the steering wheel with both hands and offered her a sheepish smirk “—I did what I had to do.”
“Wolf. Out.” She tugged up her legs and pulled her knees to her chest, making herself small against the door. A wince reminded her of her wound, and she touched her shoulder.
“I checked it when you were passed out,” he offered. “Surface cuts. They’ll heal.”
“Am I going to turn into one of those things now?”
“Why would you think that?”
“It clawed me. I might have its venom or essence or whatever inside me. Maybe it was poisonous?”
He couldn’t help a chuckle, but she did not share his levity, so Bron turned to her, and when he almost touched her shoe, he kept his hand but inches from doing so.
“That’s not how demons are made,” he said. “Same with werewolves. You don’t create werewolves with a bite or claw wound. We’re born this way, and that’s the only way we come into existence.”
“You’ve been like this all your life? Ohmygosh, I told you about the guy in high school who I thought was a werewolf. And you didn’t say anything.”
He sensed a tendril of her usual fascination in that tone, and that gave him some hope this conversation wouldn’t result in tears or screams or her running from him. Much as she had every right to do so.
“Would you have really believed me if I’d said, over a plate of sausage and eggs, oh, hey, that guy you sat behind in school might not have been a howler, but I am?”
She bit her lower lip. Those big brown eyes. They were wondering and yet condemning at the same time!
“Kizzy, it’s something I thought I could keep to myself. It is my usual mien. The last thing I ever want to do—any werewolf or paranormal species, for that matter, wants to do—is just come out with what we are and invite the worst.”
“Right. I suppose. But you knew I was a believer.”
“I figured a vampire and harpies in one day was enough for you to handle.”
“Good call. Maybe. I don’t know. I might have been okay with it. I mean, learning about you being a Retriever was cool. So, all your life? That’s... Wow.”
“Yes, but we don’t come into our first shift until puberty.”
She clasped her arms about her bent legs and rested her chin on her knee. He could sense her heartbeats slowing and her fear shifting to allow her fascination. “That’s interesting. Is it the same with other...uh...creatures?”
“It varies. Vampires can be born or made. Witches are born into the craft, though some humans can study and reach a certain level of magic comparable to a natural witch. Demons come from Beneath. Angels come from Above.”
“Beneath and Above?”
“You call them Heaven and Hell. And somewhere in between all that is Purgatory.”
She pressed her fingers over her heart.
“I’m sorry,” he offered. “I didn’t want you to find out about me in such a manner. I didn’t think it would come to this. I was to retrieve a heart and be gone. Kizzy, this mission is everything I never expected. It’s become a tactical nightmare, and I must constantly be on the defense. I usually go into such missions fully armed and prepared to fight all the random creatures that might come at me. But I’m fresh out of salt bullets. A blade would have proven ineffectual, as would have my stake. So the shift was necessary.”
“Salt bullets. That’s so Sam and Dean.”
“Sam and—? Should I ask?”
“They’re characters on a TV show about demon hunters.”
“I am nothing like the fiction you read or watch. This is real life, Kisanthra. What I do is dangerous, and it kills me that you’ve been dragged into the middle of such a violent situation.”
She nodded, and her fingers crept forward to touch his. She slid them into his grasp, and they held a loose clutch. “This adds a whole new dimension to our friendship forged by pie,” she said.
“That it does.”
“And I don’t know if that’s good, bad or ugly.”
“You haven’t run screaming yet.”
“I may still be a little out of it from fainting. Let me get my bearings and—where’s my camera?”
He pointed to the floor before her seat. “Please, tell me you didn’t snap any pictures of me or the wraith?”
She closed her eyes and squinted.
“Kisanth—”
“Kizzy. Please?”
“Kizzy. You have to erase them.”
“I’m sure none will turn out. It was pitch-black. My shutter speed was not adjusted for night photos. I saw only silhouettes battling it out like King Kong versus Godzilla. Except I don’t think you’re as hairy as King Kong. And really, you’re not overly hairy now. Not like the guy in school—uh, that’s stupid. Sorry.”
Bron rubbed his brow, sensing a headache. But it wasn’t a physical feeling, more the regret he would endure in attempting to break the damned camera. Her livelihood. Which could very well contain his secret.
“So it’s not a full moon thing?” she asked.
“I can shift whenever I choose. But on the eve of the full moon it is a necessary call to shift to my werewolf shape. And the night before and after the full moon things are, well...my werewolf wants out, but I can control it with specific, uh...actions.”
“Like what kind of actions?”
“I think I’ve said enough for now. I want to get you home and have a better look at your wounds, if you’ll allow.”
“I don’t want to go home. Bron, if they are still following me, I don’t want to lead any creature to my front door. The apartment I’m renting is smack-dab in the middle of town. Businesses line the street below. Can we go to another motel? Just for tonight?”
“You’re right. I had thought to test things, but now I know you’re still being followed. Why they are still following you is beyond me. For what reason? I destroyed the tracking device.”
“Here’s an idea. Maybe, instead of killing whatever next comes at me, you asked it why?”
He met her hopeful gaze. She had a way of stating the obvious wi
thout making him feel like a fool for not thinking of it in the first place. Of course, questioning the attacker made sense. But wraiths hadn’t speech. So he hoped the next one was a vampire. Those bastards he could handle. That was, if there was to be a next one. By all the gods, he prayed there would not be.
He shifted into Drive, then rolled down the road.
“I think we were about five miles away from Thief River Falls,” she offered. “Let’s get two rooms.”
Right. So she wouldn’t have to stay in the same room as the monster. She might think she was open to all things new and curious to her, but she was like all other humans. They feared those things unfamiliar to them. Even the things that piqued their curiosity and which were only best viewed from afar or caged behind steel bars.
The very few who could accept? Oftentimes they were in it for the monetary rewards that pictures or stories could bring. And Kizzy did wield her camera for profit. He’d have to play things carefully now.
* * *
The soul bringer felt the disconnection to the wraith demon as a jerk to his system that twinged up and down his spine. He sat up in the chair, gripped the arms tightly and opened his eyes. The darkness meant little to him. He could see all things in all lights or even lack of it.
He’d been shirking his soul-ferrying duties of late and had found solace in a quiet home long abandoned by its residents through natural death. The brick walls were solid, but the shelter was unnecessary for his welfare. He could withstand the elements, and he lived. Ever after.
As she had not.
Catching the dismal thought before it could blossom into a full-blown melancholy—how he hated such emotion—he stood, paced to the broken glass window and looked out across a field of drooping sunflowers. He’d thought summoning the wraith demon would prove more powerful than the ineffectual harpies. Apparently not. But how had the owner of the Purgatory Heart managed to defeat such a vicious predator?
He couldn’t get a fix on the surroundings of the death because he was only capable of a sort of mind meld with the creature he had commanded. And that was now vanquished.