“Are you going to kiss me?” Bron asked.

A sweet burn blushed up her cheeks. She leaned closer. “Can I?”

He turned his gaze onto her. His eyes were clear and true blue. Had he loved others who had fallen into wonder over his eyes in the brightness of morning?

“Knowing what you now know about me, do you still want to?”

That he was a werewolf. That he’d kept that a secret because he hadn’t thought she’d need to know. (She could excuse him for that.) That he wanted her heart, literally, in his hand.

Damn her. Kizzy felt powerless as he leaned even closer. Inches away from contact, the heat of their breaths mingled. “Yes, I do want to.”

MICHELE HAUF has been writing romance, action-adventure and fantasy stories for more than twenty years. France, musketeers, vampires and faeries usually populate her stories. And if Michele followed the adage “write what you know,” all her stories would have snow in them. Fortunately, she steps beyond her comfort zone and writes about countries and creatures she has never seen. Find her on Facebook, Twitter and at www.michelehauf.com.

Her Werewolf Hero

Michele Hauf

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This one is for Sam and Dean. Because why not dedicate a book to a couple of fictional hunters? Works for me. And their adventures inspired the cheesy hotels in this story. Fight the faeries!

(That has nothing to do with this story, but you all know. Right?)

Contents

Cover

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

“Go right in, Mr. Everhart.” The pretty secretary with bright blue eyes gestured over her shoulder with a pen while typing on the keyboard with her other hand.

Bron nodded his thanks and stepped toward the scanner portal positioned before the Director of Acquisitions’ door. He paused on its springy metal threshold, felt the prick of its supernatural scanning mechanism throughout his nervous system and knew the data that showed on the director’s monitor would report he was werewolf, approximately two centuries in age, and did not wear an Acquisitions-issued tracking chip.

He refused to be chipped like a dog. If he ever went missing, then tilt a glass to him at the local pub and warn Beneath he was on his way.

A stream of green light beaming from inside the metal scanner alerted him the scan was complete. Stepping forward activated a sliding steel door, and he entered a dimly lit office. The decor featured dark woods and rusted steel ceiling beams that lent a rustic atmosphere to the room. The director was a vampire, but really? Bron knew they could go out in the sunlight for short periods, and an overcast day generally did not cause them harm.

He wouldn’t ask. He never did. He wasn’t a curious man. He simply acted. Let the shrapnel fall where it will.

Ethan Pierce had an alarmingly bright smile and a scattering of silver within the short brown hair spiking from his scalp. “Everhart! Just return from Romania?”

Bron took a seat on the ultracomfortable leather chair before the director’s desk and propped a combat-booted foot across his opposite knee. “Two days returned and eager to put my hiking boots on again.”

“Excellent. I’ve a new assignment for you.”

The director slid a piece of paper toward Bron. As with most Acquisitions’ dossiers, it featured a small photograph or drawing of the item that required retrieval, and below that were listed details. This one featured what looked like a woodcut drawing of a human heart with a faintly hand-shaped mark across the muscle.

“The Purgatory Heart,” Ethan explained. “The mission is find and seize. I’ve sent the digital file to your phone, which includes a link to a related article found online. I’m afraid that’s all the printed research we’ve had time to gather, though Archives has provided us further details. We’ve been gauging activity regarding the object for a few days. There’s chatter circulating about it, and while we can’t pin the origin of that chatter, someone or thing very powerful wants it, judging by the universal vibrations that alerted us to the item.”

Universal vibrations. Early in his career as a Retriever for Acquisitions, Bron had learned everything put out a sort of pulse or tone, whether it was animal, vegetable, mineral or man. And thanks to magic, those vibrations could be read, sometimes even tracked.

“Since we don’t have a location or ID on the thing,” Ethan continued, “it seemed right up your alley. You do like a good adventure.”

Always.

Bron had already opened the file on his phone and tapped the link. He scanned over an article detailing a small museum in Prague. It displayed items that had been touched by souls from Purgatory. An open book featured a blackened handprint burned onto the pages. A rusted tin bucket showed a few fingerprints burned into the metal. A tattered hemp skirt again brandished a burnt handprint. Nothing about a heart, though.

Of course, had the heart been at the museum, the mission would not have been assigned to him. Simply stopping by and stealing an item displayed to the public was generally assigned to newer Retrievers. Not to those who viewed risk as their very lifeblood.

“Purgatory exists?” Bron wondered as he leaned back against the chair. It wasn’t often he sat—he craved movement, always—but the cushy leather chairs in the director’s office enticed him to relax and exhale. It was a rare feeling, and it sometimes made him uncomfortable.

Just thinking about relaxing made him sit up straight.

“Yes, it’s closely related to Daemonia, the Place of All Demons,” the director explained. “Purgatory is the midpoint between good and evil. A balance, if you will. And there is a portal from Daemonia to Purgatory, but not vice versa. Though, I understand there’s not a demon that would purposely make such a trip to Purgatory.”

“No demons eager to torture mortal souls? Sounds surprising.”

“There is torture, but it is a permanent and endless job. The demons you’ll find there are prisoners themselves. They are called Toll Gatherers; they test the purgatants.” The director tapped the paper. “The heart we want to secure and keep from nefarious hands has been gripped by a purgatorial soul and scarred with a handprint. You should recognize that when you find it.”

“Most certainly. What does this purgatorial heart do?”

Most objects Bron—any Retriever—was sent to obtain were usually of a highly volatile and magical nature. If put into the wrong hands? Devastation could occur. Not to mention things like mortal deaths, plagues, zombies and even a Cereberus, if he recalled that bungled snatch correctly.

“Unlike the passage from Daemonia, the heart opens a gateway into Purgatory—that goes both ways. Should Purgatory be breached by an unknown, there is the probability of souls breaking free. The balance between good and evil will be severely tilted toward evil. It’s on the same lines as all hell breaking lose. We’ve deemed the mission Necessary.”

Necessary, but not Critical, as were the top-secret missions. And a find and seize, which was the usual Retriever assignment. Rarely was a mission labeled find and finish.

“No known location?” Bron asked. “Where do I start?”

The director opened his top drawer and pulled out a thin square piece of crystal and set it on top of the dossier. Compelled by the promise of new and interesting technology, Bron leaned forward.

“A tracker,” Ethan provided. “It’s the latest tech addition to our arsenal. Had Crafts and Hexes bespell it. Press it between your thumb and forefinger and say ‘begin.’ Once it’s activated it’ll lead you right to the heart.”

“Siri will be jealous,” Bron said as he took the small but surprisingly hefty piece of crystal. It was about the size of a one-euro piece, and he couldn’t see through it despite its clear composition. He tucked it into his shirt pocket. That’s all he needed to get going. “Just activate and follow, got it.” He stood and nodded. “Appreciate the work, Director.”

“You’re our top Retriever, Everhart. I always go to you first. You’ve never let me down.”

“I don’t intend to start.”

“One thing about the tracker. The witch who bespelled it said the heart was something different than our usual nabs. Picks up soul vibrations or some such. Once you activate the tracker? It’ll lead you to the prize. But it’ll also send out vibrations that communicate with the heart. Anything or anyone who is interested—even those who are not and just want to cause trouble—will also feel the signal.”

“So it’ll be a race,” Bron said, tapping his shirt pocket.

“Yes. Go fully armed. Can’t imagine what creatures would like to get their hands on the key to Purgatory.”

Bron nodded. “Always ready for some action. Thanks, boss.”

* * *

Kizzy Lewis stepped through the dried grass that crunched underfoot along the ditch hugging Highway 2. To her right a faded plastic red ribbon fluttered in the breeze, and a bouquet of plastic geraniums that had been secured to a makeshift wooden cross offered a bright red spot along the stretch of summer-scorched country roadway.

Bright colors. Sad and terrifying memories.

This is where she and Keith had veered off the road on an icy January night. The yellow VW Bug Keith had been driving had soared over the concrete culvert and landed thirty feet below in the shallow stream that bisected two farmers’ potato fields. A mass of field stones and boulders had been piled up over the years, dug from the ground to prevent damage to farm equipment. The VW had hit the boulders grill first. Keith had flown over the steering wheel and through the windshield. Kizzy, wearing her seat belt, had been pinned inside the small vehicle.

Lifting her camera, which she wore around her neck on a leather strap, she exhaled and sniffed back the tears that had started the moment she’d stepped onto the roadside. Aiming, she clicked snapshots of the boulders. Not a trace of the car remained, yet yellow paint scrapes still marked some of the rocks.

This return to the scene of the accident had felt necessary. A means to finally push that horrible night into the past and lock the door? More like revisit it to confirm her nightmares were real. Eight months had passed since that devastating evening when her emotions had gotten the better of her and she’d spoken what she had been feeling for weeks. That their relationship was over. And she’d wanted out.

Keith had taken it hard, as he always took any criticism or suggestion that went against his designs on the world. She hadn’t realized how controlling he was until four months into their six-month relationship. He’d insisted she move in with him, so he would always know where she was.

The roads had been glare ice that January evening, following a rainstorm that had begun halfway home from a trip to the casino. She’d asked Keith to drive slower, to even pull over and wait it out. But he was not a man she could tell what to do.

“He didn’t deserve death,” she whispered. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to say something like “because he was a good man.”

Keith Munson had never raised a hand to her, though he had wielded his words cruelly. He hadn’t known how to treat her the way she expected to be treated. So she forgave him for that. And she would not think ill of the dead.

Now the terror of that moment when the car had taken flight and soared off the road returned to her with thunderous, thumping heartbeats. The sound of her screams, muffled in her memory, resounded much louder now. She clutched her camera against those crazy heartbeats. Hopes to stand back and observe the scene as a bystander, to take pictures, perhaps even go over the photos in detail after she’d processed them, had led her here.

And, yes, she sought closure. To take one final look, then walk away. And maybe the nightmares would stop.

She checked the view screen. In the past half hour, she’d taken well over a hundred photos. She’d return to the apartment in Thief River Falls and look them over.

In the past few months, Kizzy had grown accustomed to living on the road. Her soul demanded the movement and the unsure yet wondrous discovery of the new and even the familiar. Her Minnesota hometown, Thief River Falls—tucked close to the North Dakota border and a couple hours south of Canada—had felt like a place to stay and relax a bit before returning overseas to Romania for her next photography adventure. Europe had been her home since the accident. Her parents had been living there for nearly a decade, and the extra bedroom had been waiting for her as soon as the doctor had signed off on her feeling well enough to travel.

She’d rented the apartment here for a week. Not because she’d been homesick and had thought to catch up with friends. A week had simply been the best deal. And okay, she’d visited a few relatives and friends the first two days she’d been in town.

Kizzy headed back to her rental car, which she’d parked off the road, the wheels hugging the grassy ditch. Another hour would bring twilight, and she wanted to stop by the city park to end the day. She remembered how the setting sun would highlight the gorgeous northern pines in the forest edging the park and wanted to capture that light on film.

And maybe, she might discover a creature or two.

Her photography captured the otherworldly. Or at least, her idea of what could be something different, perhaps even paranormal. A creature or monster that had only been imagined on the page or in movies. She liked to play with shadow and light in an attempt to make others question their own reality. That was what art was about to her.

But her quest to capture myth and legend went deeper than that. Because those creatures did exist. She knew it. They just had to.

She’d been a believer since a young age. And her blog, Other Wonders, was wildly successful, her fan base being those with paranormal interests, as well as artists and creatives. The blog was five years old, and she boasted half a million subscribers with millions of hits yearly. The money she made by monetizing that blog funded her travel.

She’d snagged a few freelance jobs after a prospective employer had viewed her online galleries, including a photo shoot for National Geographic last year. It had been a dark, moody piece, and she’d framed silhouettes of trees and rocky outcrops to suggest dragon heads peering out from their lairs. They’d used it for a medieval piece. It hadn’t paid much, but it had been the catalyst to rocket her online stats.

Her next trip was to Romania. She’d managed to win a sponsorship from the Romanian tourism board to cover half her expenses. They’d been impressed by the Nat Geo feature. All she had to do was provide the board with scenic photos and grant them all rights to use. The Romanian forests promised to offer unique photography moments. And who knew? Maybe she’d catch a vampire hanging out at a dilapidated castle. Or a ghost? At the very least, she’d try to capture the essence of the otherworldly. It’s what she did. It was what she was compelled to do.

She was blessed to be doing something she enjoyed and not stuck behind a desk nine to five.

With a turn of the key in the ignition, the Taurus hummed to life. Kizzy didn’t own a car. Never had and couldn’t foresee ever needing to. She currently held no permanent address that required a car to get from a home to an office job. But she did appreciate the freedom a rental car granted when it was necessary to travel beyond city limits.

Shifting into gear, she allowed her gaze to linger on the boulders below. Her heart tightened, almost as if someone were squeezing it. She shook her head, thinking it was too early in the day for another nightmare. Why she dreamed about a werewolf grabbing her heart was beyond her. But the recurring dream had haunted her about twice a month since the accident.

“I’ve spent too much time seeking monsters,” she muttered as she turned the car around on the two-lane highway and headed toward Thief River Falls. “Bound to catch up with me in my dreams sooner or later. But a werewolf?”

Such creatures were on her list of most feared paranormals. As a believer, she knew to have a healthy fear of the more dangerous sorts, especially those who sported claws or talons. And there had been that one time when she was six and her dad had taken her camping at Lake Bronson. Had it been a werewolf lurking behind the outhouse on the moonlit summer night? She’d screamed so loudly, her father had thought she’d been attacked by a bear. He’d laughed when she’d told him what she thought it was.

Why did men always make her feel stupid for her beliefs? What was so wrong with having a healthy imagination? With not ruling anything out until it was proven otherwise?

Once back in town, she dropped off the car at the rental site because she didn’t plan to drive anywhere else out of city limits. The city was very walkable, and she would take a taxi to the airport at the end of the week. The apartment rental had included a bicycle, but she shook her head as she studied the pink ten-speed. The park was only a half-hour jaunt across the river.

With her trusty DSLR camera on a strap around her neck and the camera bag slung over one shoulder, she headed down the sidewalk and toward the vast city park. Her faded red Vans got her most places comfortably. And her standard slim jeans and a loose but comfy faded pink T-shirt saw her through summer like a pro. The gray linen scarf she’d slipped around her neck this morning hung out of her back jean pocket so it didn’t get tangled in the camera strap.

Crossing a street, she held up her hand to the honking car and swished her long brown hair over a shoulder to cast the driver a thankful smile. He waved her off, a disgusted grimace clouding his face. Didn’t he notice the gorgeous light on the horizon so swiftly slipping through the sky? Grump.

She quickened her steps. The park was not busy; maybe half a dozen people were scattered about, and a few of those were headed toward their cars. It was the supper hour. As she passed the swing sets, she had to laugh at the little girl getting a push from her dad. She screamed madly, but as soon as the swing made its return—from a mere two-foot lift into the air—she giggled.

Striding beyond the semiformal 4H gardens in which she’d spent her high school summers volunteering—clipping, trimming, getting the hornbeam and roses ready for fall—she leaped over the final box hedge. In her peripheral view, she sighted a man walking to her left. No kids in tow. If he had any appreciation for shadows and light, he should be taking in the glimmer of sun setting just beyond the jagged silhouette of forest. He looked a bit older than her, but beyond that she didn’t linger on his appearance.

Though she was twenty-nine, having kids was not on Kizzy’s radar. She’d not once heard her biological clock tick and wasn’t worried about that, either. A husband might add a new angle to this adventure called life but wasn’t necessary to her happiness. As long as he didn’t mind her wanderlust and constant need to move, a man would fit into her life nicely. As a partner in adventure, but never as someone she needed to take care of and expect the same from in return.

And he should never laugh at her beliefs.

Kizzy had been off the market, as her mother liked to call it, for eight months. Call it a bad relationship. Call it dying on the operating-room table and having to have her heart massaged back to life. She hadn’t been in the mood for dating. Sex? Always. But she wasn’t sure she could trust a man beyond a one-night bootie call.

Unless of course they happened to look like Jared Padalecki or Jensen Ackles.

She’d once thought a man could complete her. Probably all women had that thought at some point in their lives. But thankfully her mother, merely by example, had proven to Kizzy that the best relationships are not needy or demanding but rather a shared experience that thrives thanks to the independence of one another. And never balks at the partner’s need to explore anything meaningful.

In Kizzy’s case, what felt meaningful to her was to travel. This trip to Minnesota had been a gift from her parents. Really, though, she much preferred traveling Europe. And who knew? Maybe she’d grow richer in a few more years and could afford a trek to China or Australia.

It didn’t matter where she landed on the map. Wanderlust had officially settled into Kizzy’s soul.

“Ma’am?”

She was pulled from her musings fifty feet from the forest’s edge by the man walking toward her. He wore one of those panama hats tilted jauntily over one eye. Canvas pants tucked into high-laced combat boots, and a plain short-sleeved T-shirt stretched over remarkable pecs. Though he’d called out to her, his attention was riveted to something he held in his hand.

He looked mid-thirties. Dark hair swished to his shoulders. A beard and mustache framed his jaw and mouth. Whatever held his attention, he seemed to be using a guide for which direction to walk in. Perhaps doing a geocache, as her father loved to do. The city had a geocaching club.

He was probably harmless. Yet she wielded her camera as a shield before her chest. “Can I help you?” she asked.

“I’m not sure.” He stopped ten feet from her and looked around, stretching his searching gaze for a long time across the playground area. Whatever he held in hand glinted with a beam of sunlight. She had probably guessed right about the geocaching. Could be tracking it with GPS on his phone.

Overhead, a dark shadow skimmed the sky, and she glanced above him. Those were some big birds.

“Ah, shit,” the man said. He tucked what he was holding into his pants pocket and turned to her. Panic brightened his blue eyes.

And Kizzy squinted to better sight the birds. They were bigger than vultures, which she rarely saw here in Minnesota. They looked...the size of dogs. Big dogs.

Seriously? “What the hell are those?”

“Harpies,” he said quickly and grabbed her by the arm. “Into the woods. We can lose them there.”

“What?” She struggled against his grasp, but he’d managed to seize her wrist and tugged her across the mown lawn toward the line of pine trees. “I’m not going with you!”

“And how will you get away from them?”

“Away from them?” She glanced up to the sky. Harpies? No way. Those were...mythical beings. And much as she believed—

One of them dove toward her.

Suddenly lifted from the ground, Kizzy was tossed over the man’s shoulder as he ran toward the woods.

She couldn’t scream. She should but did not. A curious fascination overwhelmed fear. She reached for her camera, banging against the man’s back, and tried to get a shot even as she was carried off by a stranger into the dark forest.

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.

Chapter 3

Kizzy peeled the weird little piece of glass from her shirt and handed it to Bron. He clasped his fingers over it, closed his eyes and shook his head. As if regretfully? She didn’t know what the thing was, but everything associated with the man was out there and strange. And if he was up on all things paranormal, then the glass piece could be magical.

That didn’t mean she wanted it stuck to her chest.

All of a sudden he shifted the truck into gear and drove onward. “We need to fill up with gas. I saw a station at the edge of town.”

“Fill? Where are you going? Because I’m not going along. I’m staying in town. That way.” She pointed out the back window. “Just drop me off anywhere, and I can walk. Really. It’s not that far. Pull over here, and I can make it on my own.”

“They are after you—what is your name?”

“Kizzy. Who are after me? Harpies?”

“What kind of name is Kizzy?”

“It’s short for Kisanthra. Kisanthra Lewis.” She offered her hand to shake, which he ignored as he swerved toward the gas station. “Photographer. Blogger. World traveler. Soon to be getting the hell out of your life.”

“Blogger?”

“Yes, I’ve a blog called Other Wonders. All about—oy.” She sighed heavily. “Is this for real? I mean, really? Am I being punked?” She peered out the side window. “Where’s Ashton Kutcher?”

Bron pulled up before a gas tank and shut off the engine. When he turned, he held the piece of glass before him. “Kisanthra, I’m a Retriever. I work for an organization that retrieves lost artifacts, items of magical nature and various other things that I’m sure you’d understand if I took the time to explain, because your acceptance of the harpie was easy enough.”

“I believe in a lot of things. But this is the first time I’ve ever been given tangible proof. I sure hope those photos turn out.” She snapped the small, square piece of glass with a fingernail. “You retrieve things? Does it have to do with harpies?”

“It shouldn’t. It’s to do with this.”

She took the piece of glass when he offered it, and again, it slipped out of her grip and affixed to the front of her shirt.

“Hell,” he muttered. “This mission was supposed to be find and seize. There’s no way—” He beat the steering wheel with a fist.

His anger had come on so suddenly and felt palpable to Kizzy. The thought to flee resurfaced. But it was already dark outside. Not as easy to spy a raven-winged bird man flying overhead.

“I don’t get it.” She tore away the square piece from her chest, which looked innocuous enough. Maybe it wasn’t glass? It wasn’t clear but was smooth and had a good weight to it like some kind of stone. “What is this thing?”

“It’s a tracking device. Sometimes the items I’m sent to retrieve are in an unknown location. Acquisitions had a tracker bespelled, and, apparently, it led me straight to the item.”

“Acquisitions?”

He nodded. “That’s the name of the organization I work for.”

“Generically nonspecific. And you are a Retriever. That’s kind of cool. You get more points for the Indiana Jones vibe you’re putting off. And you had me right up until you said bespelled.”

“Right.” He snatched the tracking device from her and opened the truck door. “The item I’m looking for is the Purgatory Heart. And—” he stepped out and leaned his head in “—apparently it’s inside you.”

Door closing behind him, he turned and shoved the gas nozzle into the tank at the back of the truck.

Kizzy sat frozen, her jaws agape as she watched him stride inside the station. Long sure strides. Peripherally aware as he glanced side to side. His hands flexed at his sides, where she noted a holster strapped to one thigh, but she couldn’t determine what was in it. He was some kind of Indiana Jones Wild West gunslinger. No one would mess with that man. He knew how to take down harpies.

“Purgatory heart? What the...? He’s not making sense. That tracking device landed on me. Right over my heart.”

And if she gave it any amount of thought, putting the words retriever and find and seize together...

“Oh, hell, no. No one is seizing my heart. I think we’ve shared enough adventure for one day, Mr. Jones.”

Checking through the gas station windows, she couldn’t see his tall, dark-haired figure. Must have wandered toward the back of the store.

Grabbing her camera bag, Kizzy slid out of the truck, and, with careful glances toward the red-brick-walled station’s front doors, she ran around beside the building and down an alley hedged on both sides by glossy-leaved forsythia that had long ago shed its bright yellow flowers.

She wasn’t afraid of walking through the town so late. It wasn’t people she had to worry about. She had to hope there had only been five harpies. Of which, Bron had slain them all. She was no longer in the mood to take pictures of vicious flying bird men.

A stretch of garage bays where the gas station mechanics worked on vehicles grew up behind the hedges to her right. The sounds of tools clanking and a hydraulic lift disguised her stumble over a mess of tangled plastic shopping bags and weeds.

Her rental was at the city center. It was a small town, population around eight thousand. When she’d resided here before the accident, she’d lived in a quaint neighborhood, but a handful of blocks’ walk from her elementary and middle schools; it had been her home since birth. Small town. Small, safe upbringing.

Wildly expansive imagination.

Oh, yeah, she had always been the weird girl.

Striding quickly, she guessed it was a couple miles’ walk to her rental apartment. She dodged left and let out a yelp when a growl alerted her to a dark, man-shaped shadow looming beneath a willow tree.

“Bron?”

“Sorry, sweetie, your dog of a boyfriend isn’t here to save you.”

“My dog...?” She didn’t understand that. Bron was actually very handsome.

A man stepped from the shadows. Thin, blond and clad in enough black to give a goth a run for his money. Goths had never been big in Thief River Falls. But they did have a few token outliers that represented all sorts. He grinned at her, revealing fangs that jutted downward from his upper row of teeth.

“Seriously?” Kizzy knew to her bones those were not the fake dental acrylic fangs some goths sported. She clutched her camera bag, then thought better of taking advantage of a photographic moment at a time like this. “Vampires exist, too?”

“Surprise,” he offered with a splay of hands and no humor whatsoever. “You want a bite?”

“Uh...” Did she?

Was she considering the offer? No, she was not. He’d taken her by surprise and... It was just so cool to learn about yet another paranormal creature.

And then her brain did the right thing and switched to survival mode. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

She took a few cautious steps backward and gripped the gold cross on the chain around her neck. She wasn’t deeply religious, but when faced with a vampire—oh, yeah, she believed.

“Not going to help,” the vampire said and laughed. “Not baptized, bitch!”

She didn’t know what that meant—the man lunged for her and managed to grip her wrist. Kizzy shrieked. She was three blocks away from the gas station and didn’t think Bron would hear her over the sounds echoing out from the garage. For all those times she had mused over whether or not carrying a wooden stake would be a wise decision, she now regretted not going with her instincts.

The vampire was strong. Even as she struggled and planted her feet, he managed to drag her under the long, spindly branches of the willow tree. It was darker under there, and they weren’t in a residential area. Most businesses had closed for the evening. Would anyone hear her scream?

He twisted her wrist, yanking her closer. Kizzy went for the scream again.

“Quiet! Just a quick bite, and then I’ll take that heart of yours.”

“My heart? H-how do you know about that?”

“Followed the vibes, baby.” He grinned a bloody smile. One of his fangs must have cut into his lower lip.

Vibes? What was he talking about? He sounded more like a stoned sixties hippie than a bloodthirsty creature of the night.

This was not happening.

But, yes, it was. And if she wanted to escape unbitten—and, apparently, with her heart intact—Kizzy needed to get smart. Fast.

She grabbed at the willow branches with her free hand. The long, slender branches were remarkably strong. Pulling up with that hand, and using the elastic-like give of the branches for propulsion, she was able to kick up toward the vampire and landed him on the chest. He released her with a grunt—but then a vicious growl preceded his lunge for her. Arms opening to clutch, he wasn’t able to grab her again because something slammed him against the tree trunk.

Someone, that was.

“Bron.” She gasped and stumbled backward, then answered the call of the adrenaline rush and fell to her knees, clutching her chest and, in the process, her camera bag.

Beneath the concealing umbrella of the willow’s slender fall of branches, the vampire howled. Bron stepped back, a wooden stake clutched in hand. He replaced the stake in the holster strapped to his thigh.

“Crap,” Kizzy muttered in awe.

She crawled to the side to get a better view. The creature who had threatened her diffused into a cloud of ash, which then settled in a heavy heap before Bron’s feet.

“Ohmygosh.” She leaned forward, clutching her stomach. She could get sick, but she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and just... “Ohmygosh.”

“Come with me,” Bron said as he strolled past her. “Unless you want to take your chances on your own again?”

Against bloodthirsty vampires? She shook her head and forced herself up to her feet. “I’m right behind you. Could you walk a little slower? On second thought, I’d like to be beside you just in case something comes for me from behind.”

He thrust back his hand, and she grasped it. It was a sure, warm clutch. Making a fast pace toward the gas station, she couldn’t for the life of her figure why she’d so stupidly fled from him in the first place. With her hand in his, everything felt right. Like he would protect her.

Until he tried to seize her heart.

“Wait.” Kizzy tugged him to a stop in the middle of the hedge-lined alleyway. “Are you going to protect me?”

He bowed his head and propped his hands at his hips, looking up at her with a rueful sort of admonishing stare. She’d had enough of dominant males who liked to tell a woman what to do. And her relationship with Keith had ended horribly. And left her scarred. So she wasn’t about to give this guy the benefit of his alpha take-charge attitude.

“Answer me!”

“I don’t know.” He splayed out his hands. “I honestly don’t know what the hell is going on right now. I will protect you from whatever comes after you, but—”

“But what about when you come after me? You said you were here to retrieve my heart. That’s just...so not cool.” Her fingers shook, and she shivered as if the wicked Minnesota winter had suddenly swept in on an icy wind. “I don’t know what’s going on. You’re freaking me out. Creatures are coming after me. I can’t trust you, but I think I need to because I’m not prepared to stake vampires or dodge harpies. But you apparently are.”

He exhaled and took a step toward her. Just when she thought he might embrace her, he stopped, his hands extending before her as if to warn himself away from such intimate contact. Wise move. She didn’t need the physical empathy. She needed real answers. Right now.

“As long as the tracker is homed on to you, it will send out vibrations to any creature nearby and alert them to you. And, as I understand it, they will know about your heart.”

“Vibrations? The vampire said something about the vibes leading him to me.”

Bron scrubbed a hand over the back of his head. “I suspect the harpies were lured by the same vibrations. It’s to do with universal vibrations. No time to explain it. Right now I’ve got to get you to a safe place. Away from...here.”

Kizzy planted her feet and gripped the camera-bag straps at her chest. “How am I going to protect myself from you?”

“I won’t harm you. Promise.”

“I don’t know if your word is good.”

“No, you don’t. You’ve a choice, Kisanthra.”

“Please, it’s Kizzy.” She shook now, nerves making her wish she wore a jacket to stave off the shivers. And it was a warm September evening!

“You’ve got two choices, and you’d better be quick about your decision.” He held out his hand for her to grasp. “Come with me. Or take your chances with the four vampires heading our way right now.”

She twisted at the hip to look over her shoulder. Down the alleyway the silhouettes of four men raced toward her. Mercy. She’d always been a fan of Buffy and Spike. (Nope, not an Angel girl.) None of the creeps barreling toward her looked like the sexy British vampire who had stolen the slayer’s heart.

Yikes. One of those things wanted to rip out her heart? Kizzy turned and slapped her hand into Bron’s. “Let’s get out of here.”

Chapter 4

“I’m sorry,” Bron offered as he headed down the highway away from the vampires, who could run fast but not faster than the seventy miles per hour he currently drove. He was surprised to find so many vamps in a town of this size. On the other hand, they could be a tribe. “I haven’t had the opportunity to handle this correctly.”

“This?” Kizzy asked with as much disbelief as he would expect after everything she’d experienced in the past few crazy hours. “What is this exactly? Show me that tracker thing again.”

He dug the tracker from his pocket, and before he could hand it to her, it flew from his grip and landed on her chest.

“Seriously? This is getting ridiculous.” She peeled it off and studied it. “What’s it made of?”

“Crystal.”

“And you said it was bespelled? Does that mean a witch did something to it?”

“Yes,” he answered, because he wasn’t good at lying. And some humans could handle the truth. And he trusted those who could. But that didn’t mean he was going to spill every explicit detail. Need to know. And she didn’t need to know much.

“And this thing is supposed to lead you to the Purgatory Heart,” she said, working it out as she turned the tracker over in her hands. “And since it’s landed over my chest, I assume that means it’s my heart?”

“The spells from the Crafts and Hexes department have never led me wrong before.”

“Crafts and Hexes? What is this place you work for?”

He navigated the truck around a tight country curve. His jaw remained as tight as the curve.

“All right, no answer for that one,” she said. “Will you at least tell me what’s a Purgatory Heart?”

“Can I explain when we stop?”

“When are we going to stop? Where are you taking me?” She scanned the darkness that swept by the vehicle. The ditches had been freshly mowed, and the scent of grass carried in over the gasoline fumes and her distractingly alluring perfume. “I need some answers, and I think you’ve got time now. The vampires are no longer on our tails. So spill.”

He noticed her holding the tracker with one hand and positioning her camera to snap a shot.

“Do you have to take a picture of everything?”

“Yes. It’s my job. I have a blog that yields millions of hits a year, and I publish pictures of—”

“Vampires?”

“No. Yes. Well. My pictures capture the idea of the paranormal.”

He shot her a raised brow.

“They are convincing, but I’ve never actually met a real vampire. Until tonight. Do you know how I’ve longed to capture the paranormal on film? I think I got the harpies, but I didn’t have a chance to get the vampire. Vampires!” She chuckled. “I actually just said that. What a crazy night. I think I need vodka. There’s a dive bar in the next town. We should stop there.”

“It would be wise if you could retain all of your senses. At least until I can be assured no one else is after you.”

“Spoilsport. Just as well. I’m a teetotaler. My drinking is like my photography—it’s more of an idea than the real thing.” She tapped the crystal with a fingernail, and it produced a crisp ting. “You said this tracker thing sends out vibrations?”

“Yes. I’ve been told it somehow communicates with the item—that being the Purgatory Heart—and sends out vibrations. Or maybe it’s the heart that sends the vibrations. Not positive on that one. Unfortunately, any paranormal within range of those otherworldly vibrations will also feel them. If they’ve an interest in obtaining the heart, or even not—they may simply be curious—it will bring them round.”

“What is it about my heart?” She clutched her T-shirt, then shook her head. “No, wait. Let’s do it your way for now. Let’s put some distance between whatever is after us and find a place to rest. I’m so tired. And hungry. There’s a town about ten miles ahead. Basically a truck stop with a diner.”

“And a dive bar?”

“I was kidding about the drink. Unless you want one?”

He shook his head.

“Can we stop at the truck stop?”

Her eyes pleaded, and Bron felt a twinge in his chest that he’d not felt in a long time. Compassion? Or perhaps just hunger. He hadn’t eaten and was hungry. Had to be hunger.

A human woman sat beside him. She was not a part of the mission. The heart wasn’t supposed to be beating. Nor was it supposed to be inside the chest of a pretty woman who had an insatiable curiosity for the paranormal realm and—that damned camera. She couldn’t be allowed to have such damning photographs of anything from the paranormal realm. Would she post them online? A million hits? That was something he must not risk.

“Yes, something to eat,” he muttered. “And a room for the night.”

“You honestly don’t think it’s safe for me to return to Thief River Falls?”

“Do you?”

She considered it a few seconds, drawing her legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms about them as she shook her head. “No.”

He’d rent a room. She could sleep. And he could make sure all the photos she had taken were erased.

* * *

The truck stop sat before a small motel featuring fewer than ten rooms in the back lot near a sunflower field. The decor sported dark wood paneling and pine furniture with rough-cut carvings of grizzly bears on the headboards and the chair arms. Red-and-yellow plaid curtains matched the bedspreads. Kitschy country. Bron had seen the inside of enough motel rooms and hotels not to care anymore. As long as the bed was halfway comfortable and there was running water, he was satisfied.

Kisanthra had made a beeline to the bathroom as they entered the room, calling out that she wanted to freshen up and that might take a while so not to worry about her.

He wouldn’t worry about her. Unfortunately, their paths had crossed, and now he did have to deal with the situation. Find and seize? Unlikely.

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Acquisitions. It was late, and the office was overseas, which put their time early in the morning, but dispatch, a 24/7 position, answered. He asked her to patch him through to the director’s messages and left a short one.

“The Purgatory Heart is in someone’s chest. Unable to seize. I await further instructions.”

If that didn’t get the point across he didn’t know what else would be required. The director would probably pull him from the mission. Bron had never taken an innocent life to gain an object he’d been assigned to retrieve. Not unless that life threatened him or others, that is. And in that case, it generally was not an innocent.

But could he leave the heart—and the woman—just like that?

Sitting on one of the two twin-size beds that had seen better days—probably better decades—and facing the bathroom door, he listened to the water splash in the sink. A vampire had almost sunk his fangs into her neck. Kisanthra Lewis was—and would be—pursued by every degenerate that could pick up on the universal vibrations. She was not safe. And while it wasn’t his job to play babysitter, he had inadvertently been the one to lead those aggressors to her.

He couldn’t walk away. He had to ensure she was safe. Yet how to do that? So long as her heart beat in her chest, he felt sure she’d be a target.

The director had said the heart had been grasped by a soul from Purgatory. How was that possible?

There were a lot of times he didn’t completely understand the nature or power of the items he had been ordered to retrieve. Didn’t matter. He had a job; he carried it out. He looked forward to the next mission and the next. He enjoyed the adventure, the quest and, oftentimes, the race for the prize. The satisfaction in completing a task that very few could. He did not require accolades, only another assignment. The next fix.

But never before in his nearly one hundred fifty years of working for Acquisitions had such a race to the prize involved ensuring the safety of a human woman. This was a twist he wasn’t sure how to handle. And even if he did, he didn’t want to.

He didn’t get involved with human women romantically. That way lay heartbreak. And unfathomable grief. He would never be forgiven for one moment of indiscretion with a human woman and the results that had followed. Nor did he deserve such forgiveness.

He hadn’t thought about that time for ages. Had been so involved in his work that he hadn’t afforded a moment for regret. And now, in the midst of a strange connection to this human woman, memory had chosen to bombard him with images of a sweet blond child, alone and...beyond hope. So precious and fragile.

That horrible, horrible day. It had been his fault! All because he’d chosen to dally with a human woman.

Pressing his hands to his temples and shaking his head, Bron shook away the image. The best thing he could do now was get Kizzy out of his life as quickly as possible. Because he didn’t need the grief of memory or the tease of her sexy scent. She was pretty and tough and independent. All things that attracted him to a woman.

But she had no fangs or wings or the ability to shift, so that made her dangerous to his very soul.

“I’ll take her home. Maybe Acquisitions can assign a watch to her for a few days.”

He couldn’t be responsible for her safety. Because he wasn’t capable or, rather, didn’t want to remain in such close proximity to her.

The bathroom door opened, and Kizzy wandered out, twisting her hair into a ponytail as she did. He hadn’t noticed if she’d worn makeup earlier, but now her face was clean and fresh. A sweet, fruity tease clung to her skin. More of that seductive perfume?

He quickly looked away, finding the remote on the nightstand to look busy.

“That felt good to wash my face and take a few minutes to regroup.” She wandered to the bed, where she’d dropped her camera bag.

Damn, he’d forgotten to go through the camera. Distracted by morbid memories. He’d wait until she fell asleep. Her focus was fixed on the LCD screen on the back of the camera.

“Wish I had a toothbrush, but a hand towel worked well enough. You want to use the bathroom? It’s all yours.”

“I will. I’m just going to, uh...”

She eyed him up and down, setting aside the camera. “Stand guard?”

He nodded.

She plopped onto the bed and toed off her red shoes. Reclining, she pushed back the coverlet and shoved down the sheets with her feet. Propping up the pillow, she sat back against it. “So, tell me about this Purgatory Heart.”

Bron exhaled and pulled the curtain back before the window. He didn’t want to do this. But she had a right to know. Maybe if he answered her questions now, that would put an end to them, and he could focus. And be done with her.

“I was commanded to retrieve the heart and return it to Acquisitions,” he offered. “That’s how my assignments work. I get an electronic dossier on the object, a location if available and off I go. I had no idea the Purgatory Heart would be inside someone’s chest. Nor do I believe the Director of Acquisitions knew that.”

At least, he hoped Ethan Pierce had not known such information. What kind of duplicity would that be if he’d been sent on such a task? No, Pierce had been the director for two centuries. He was solid and trustworthy.

She pressed her fingers over her breast. Feeling her heartbeats? “So I’ve got to keep one eye out for you and a big butcher knife? Not like I haven’t been through that before.”

He gaped at her.

“Not like that.” She swept a dismissive hand before her and yawned. “I mean, no man has ever come after me with a knife before. Without my permission. You know.” She shrugged and splayed out a hand. “I had open-heart surgery eight months ago. Got a nasty scar down my chest.” She lifted her shirt just enough so he could see a thick red scar vertically climbing her chest wall. “So I suppose, if when the time comes and you do intend to take out my heart, you can just use the ‘cut here’ line.”

“That’s...” He didn’t know what to say to that. She was too blasé about the possibility of such a hazard. Truly, her fear manifested strangely. “I won’t do that, Kisanthra.”

“You don’t sound very sure of yourself. I’m too tired to care right now. And hungry. But I think I’ll fall asleep before I can look up the diner’s number for takeout. So why were you tasked with finding my heart? Is it important? You said you retrieve objects of magical nature. I know this heart isn’t magical.”

“It’s a portal to Purgatory.”

She lifted her head from the pillow and gave him a wide-eyed assessment. Deep brown eyes that held such curiosity while at the same time managed to disturb him. Because her gaze compelled him to wonder about her. What made her tick? What did she see through those eyes when she held the camera before them?

Bron nodded in confirmation. How fucked was it to learn your heart could allow others access to Purgatory?

“That is so crazy. You’re saying someone can get to Purgatory from my heart? By...using it? How? I didn’t think Purgatory was a real place. I’m not even Catholic!”

“It exists. And in the wrong hands, your heart could provide an entrance to the place. Should that occur...things could get out.”

“What kind of things?” Her wide eyes beamed fascination.

“Souls. Bad things. I’m aware that Purgatory is populated with Toll Gatherers and the souls of the dead. But that’s not important, because no one is going there by means of the heart.”

“You mean my heart. It’s not the heart. It’s mine. Right here.” She thumped her chest. “Still beating. And I’m not willing to give it up anytime soon.”

He nodded. “As you should not. But as I’ve said, I had expected to find...an artifact. A preserved heart or some such. Not one still beating. The photographs show the objects bear a burned handprint on them.”

“Photographs?”

Bron sighed and tugged out his cell phone. As he scrolled to the dossier files, he considered whether or not he should show her classified Acquisitions information. But then he clicked on the link to the museum, which was on the internet for anyone to access, and handed her his phone.

She scrolled for a while and read the website. “That stuff looks fake. Anyone could have burned a handprint into a book or bucket and called it that. Or Photoshop! You actually believe this stuff?” She handed him back the phone.

“I thought you said you believed in the unbelievable?”

“I do, but I’m not stupid. Check the Snopes website. I’m sure it debunks that museum.”

“All files are fact-checked and verified as genuine before they become an assignment. I have no reason to doubt the validity of the object’s value or use.” He tucked the phone away in a pocket. “The tracker led me to you. I’ve never doubted witch magic before, and I’m not about to begin now.”

She placed a palm over her chest and closed her eyes. With a nod, she seemed to accept his statement. “This is so out of my pay grade. And I don’t even have a salary. But I’m willing to listen and learn. To believe.”

“A willingness is more than most can manage.” He hooked a hand over the end of the stake holstered at his hip.

“Do you always carry that stake?”

“Always.”

“I’ve seen the crossbow you carry. That was cool. What other kinds of weapons do you have? A knife?”

“In the truck I’ve a bowie knife and a garrote. The crossbow and some other weapons. Why do you ask?”

“I suppose a bowie knife would do nicely to cut out my heart. Just needed to know what I’m dealing with.”

“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.”

* * *

Bron woke on the bed, coming instantly alert and looking about the room. He’d heard something. Or was it the odd scent he noted? Smelled like...stale mattress. This place was nowhere near worth the forty-nine dollars he’d laid out for it. A tile above the toilet had fallen off when he’d been in there earlier. And the sink’s rust stains... It should be condemned.

He rubbed his temple, easing away the lingering remnants of sleep. He must have been more tired than he’d thought. He hadn’t expected to fall asleep. Of course, a flight across the ocean from Berlin, topped by an evening chasing harpies and vampires, could be the reason for exhaustion.

A beam of morning sun teased behind the faded curtains, and he glanced to the bed next to his. It was empty.

She had fled him once again. “Damn!”

Grabbing the truck keys on the nightstand, he mustered a small blessing she hadn’t the forethought to steal his vehicle. He hooked a hand in the canvas duffel in which he carried all his life’s possessions and rushed through the door.

Two steps out onto the tarmac, and he sniffed the air to determine which way she had gone. To the right.

And there she stood, not ten feet away. Against the brick wall. Offering him a small smile and a shrug. “I didn’t run off.”

Dropping the duffel bag where he stood, he then stalked up and gripped her by the shoulders. Relief surprised him, but he didn’t question it. “I thought you had. Kisanthra, I can’t protect you if you keep running away from me.”

And then he did something he would have never done had he taken a moment to think it through.

Bron pulled her into his embrace and wrapped his arms across her back. She sighed against his chest, tucking her head against him, and he remembered how easy it could be to hug a woman and simply let her warmth melt against his own. To recognize the shape of her and welcome her curves and softness. And to brace his arms about her a bit more tightly than a friendly hug allowed.

Because he’d thought he’d lost her. And he wasn’t done protecting her. Bad things were after her. She needed him.

That was his story, and he was sticking to it.

“I wasn’t running away,” she said against his shoulder. “I was just thinking about heading into the truck stop to buy us candy bars for breakfast. Bron?”

He still held her. Inhaled the sweetness of her skin. And what was that about? He didn’t hold women like this. Did he still have to fear what involvement with a human could mean to him? He shouldn’t. It had been a long time ago. And she smelled so good. Like candied peaches. But his dislike for human women had become an ingrained belief. And besides, it was easier hooking up with paranormals. He got a lot less questions from them.

Bron abruptly pulled out of the hug and ran his fingers back through his hair, then scruffed his beard. “Right. Breakfast. There’s got to be some place that’ll sell us eggs and bacon instead a candy bar. Doesn’t the truck stop have a diner?”

“Yes. And I love bacon. I just don’t have any more than a couple dollars on me, so a candy bar was all I could hope for.” She tapped the front of his shirt, and her smile beamed at him. “You don’t have to worry about me running off. I thought about it but changed my mind. I know I’m safe with you until we get this all figured out.”

“You’re a smart woman.”

“I am. But allow me some fumbling in this new world I’ve just been tossed into. Vampires and harpies? Much as I’ve always believed in mythical creatures, I’m going to have to fire up a new set of brain neurons to accept it all.”

“Good enough. Let’s go eat. My treat.”

* * *

Kisanthra secured a table for them inside the diner that, on the front door in big white vinyl-cling letters, had advertised the Man Plate, featuring two kinds of sausage, bacon, ham and steak. Bron’s stomach was ready for the challenge. He told her he’d meet her inside after a quick phone call.

This time the director took his call.

“What do you mean the heart isn’t attainable?” Ethan Pierce asked.

“It’s in a person,” Bron said. “A young human woman who is staying in a small Minnesota town.”

“I see. You’re in the States? Tough luck.”

“You had no idea the heart was intact?”

“Of course not, Everhart. I wouldn’t have sent you off on the mission knowing such a detail.”

“So, the mission is off?” he asked.

“I’ll have to look into it,” the director said. “Stand by until I can get back to you. Affirmative?”

“Yes.” Bron hung up before his disappointment would register with an argument.

Wasn’t as if he could walk away from Kisanthra now anyway. She needed a guard. An armed guard. And he’d have to do it without falling into a nonsense hug again.

Standing so close to her, feeling her body relax against his had felt damned good. But he didn’t like the hope that brief contact had stirred in his gut. Because it had been a lie. It was simply good to hold a woman, of any kind or species. He and his monkish lifestyle tended to go too long without satisfying his physical needs.

And then things happened.

He looked to the sky. The sun was high. The moon last night had been waxing. More than half full.

He spoke to the phone, “Siri, when’s the next full moon?”

She replied with the date, which was four days away.

He couldn’t remain on this mission much longer without risking a shit-storm of questions from the insatiably curious Kisanthra Lewis.

* * *

Kizzy popped a straw into the orange juice she’d ordered for Bron when he sat across from her in the cherry-vinyl booth. “I ordered you the Man Plate. Same for me. I can seriously put down any and all breakfast meat.”

“Coffee?”

“It’s coming. I’m going to guess you’re a no-cream kind of guy. Am I right?”

“Black as the devil’s ass is how I prefer it.”

“Okay, now I have that image in my mind.” She sipped her juice. “Was that call business?”

“It was.”

“About me?”

He conceded with a nod. He wasn’t going to give her too much information, but she’d angle for as much as she could manage from him. Because she was a woman in peril. Figuratively, of course. Because while she appreciated him wanting to protect her, she sensed rescue would only come by standing up for herself and being smart. And that meant learning as much as she could about the situation.

“Have you been given instructions on how to obtain the heart?” she asked.

“Kisanthra.”

“Please, Bron, I’m curious, and I have a right to know. Me, being the owner of the sought-after object.”

He exhaled, and, pulling the straw from the juice and setting it aside, he then swallowed half of it before speaking. “We had no idea the heart was intact. I’ve alerted the Director of Acquisitions, and now I’m waiting for further instructions. No doubt the mission will be canceled.”

“I certainly hope so. I mean, I may have avoided the vampire’s bite last night, because, you know, immortality? Not interested. But I do have a long life ahead of me. Plan to live to one hundred. I’m expecting that birthday card from the president. And I sure hope she’s a cool president.”

Bron chuckled. “So do I. We could use a woman POTUS. But vampires can’t give you immortality from a quick bite.”

“Really? But I thought—well, of course, movies and books are fiction. So how does it happen?”

He rubbed his temple and winced.

“Face it, Bron, you’re stuck with someone who is open to the paranormal and whose middle name may very well have been Curious instead of Ginelle. I have questions. Lots of questions.”

“Yes, but I don’t think it’s the best conversation for a public place.”

She glanced around. They were the only couple in the diner, sitting at the end of a line of booths that paralleled the front windows. At the counter sat an old man gobbling up his eggs with Tabasco sauce, earphones stuffed into his ears. If he could hear them she’d be surprised.

“Right. Wouldn’t want to tell this big empty place about vampires.”

The coffee arrived, along with their breakfast. Kizzy made quick work of the over easy eggs and followed with bacon, sausage and ham—she gave her steak to Bron—while he seemed to inhale his plate of meat but in a way that seemed elegant and mannered. He was interesting to watch, and she did it casually, over her juice or while glancing out the window. His eyes were so blue she felt certain they were not real. Like something enhanced by Photoshop for a romance-novel cover. And his tousled hair seemed styled that way, purposely bed rumpled. It gave her ideas. And, man, those ideas were sexy.

She’d slept next to this gorgeous man last night. And she wasn’t going to tell anyone it had been in separate beds. Sometimes all the details weren’t necessary. And then this morning he had hugged her as if she had been the last woman on earth. And she’d wanted to kiss him because she’d been in a weird mental place, struggling with the facts about her heart and wanting it to not be real. And because, well, she’d never kissed a man with a beard before. Curiosity strikes! And when a handsome man pulled her close, well—bam. Need had kicked in. She wasn’t beyond sex for the sake of placating her emotions or because she just needed to connect with another person for a few blissful moments.

“You have a girlfriend, Bron?” Sitting back, she poured another cup of coffee, then tinted the dark brew with three creamers.

“The job I have doesn’t allow time for relationships.”

“Really? Lots of people travel and are able to maintain relationships.”

He delivered her a castigating flash of blue eye from behind a fork load of eggs.

All right, so the man had also mastered the dirty look. She’d try a different tack. “You must travel a lot.”

“Always. I’m never in one place for long. Women tend to want to see a man more than once every six months or so, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes, I suppose. But you must have a home base?”

He shrugged. “Paris is one of my bases. I own a loft in the sixth. I’ve been there twice this year for less than a week total. This is the first time I’ve been in the States in over a dec—uh, a long time. I also own a tiny apartment in New York but don’t anticipate stopping there unless my return flight has a layover. My missions usually run back-to-back.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

He raised a brow as he buttered the last piece of rye toast on his plate.

“I travel, too,” she offered. “Or I’m just getting into the traveler’s mode. Have been traveling for a couple months and hope to make it a permanent career. My blog has become so popular I need to expand my horizons and take in new places for my photo shoots. It feels right to me. I can’t imagine settling to live in one place for too long now. I’ve been in Thief River Falls a few days, and it already seems like forever. It’s my hometown, but I’ve found I prefer Europe.”

“You have family here?”

“Not anymore. My parents moved to Brussels eight years ago, and I had always meant to follow them and then explore the world. But, well...” She sighed and sipped the coffee. “Sometimes relationships get in the way, as well as the lack of money. But no more! Everything changed eight months ago. I’ve prioritized what means the most to me. And that is seeing the world. Now I’m a free soul blowing about on the breeze.”

“Breezes sometimes turn into hurricanes,” he remarked drily.

“Really? Because I’ve always thought they were pretty gentle. I wouldn’t mind a stronger wind. I like going to new places. When I’m finished here in Minnesota, I’m on to Romania. I’ve already put in for an apartment. I’ll be shooting pictures for their department of tourism.”

“Romania is beautiful country. But for a woman alone? You don’t go wandering about in the woods all by yourself, do you? You do take along a friend or guide?”

She shrugged. “Haven’t had the need or the desire.” Though it was something to consider. She wasn’t worldly-wise yet. And if vampires were real, she should definitely bring along a guide or a protector. Or a vampire slayer. Did they hire out? “I’m careful. Besides, now I know how to fight off a vampire. That should count for something.”

He smirked, and she wanted to reach across the table and trace her finger over the crinkled lines at the corner of his eye. And stroke his beard. It was thick along the jaw, dark and—now the idea of testing out a kiss from a bearded man popped into her brain. And then she wanted to stand in his arms again and release her worries into his strong hold and fall into him. That hug had been awesome. And much needed.

“That hit the spot,” he said and pushed his plate to the table’s edge.

Kizzy startled out of her daydream. Her father had always said her biggest problem was that she was a daydreamer. She had never considered daydreaming a detriment. It had gotten her this far. She hoped to follow the reverie all the way to the end.

So long as that end didn’t come about because of a missing heart. Plucked out by a werewolf.

The waitress appeared to retrieve their plates and leave them a fresh pot of coffee.

“Thanks,” Bron said. “Have you pie?”

“Cherry, apple and boysenberry,” the waitress supplied cheerfully.

“How about a thin slice of each?”

The waitress bristled gleefully and headed off to the kitchen.

“You must really like pie,” Kizzy said.

“I do intend to share.”

“Thanks. That must not come easily to you.”

“What? Sharing?”

She nodded.

“Just because I’m a lone man making my way through the world doesn’t mean I’ve not the capacity to empathize with others. Besides, I have a theory. Pie is a universal means to friendship. And, I’m hoping, an olive branch necessary to make up for the past twelve hours. I didn’t mean to bring all this into your life.”

“I think that tracking thing was the culprit.”

“Yes.” He patted his jeans pocket and then pulled the device from his pocket. With a crisp snap, it broke in two in his hand. “Should have done that as soon as I figured out you were the target. Still might have some residual magic attached to it. I’ll ditch it in the garbage bin out back when we leave. Another cup of coffee and then I’ll be fueled up.”

“Where to next?”

“Perhaps keep driving. With the tracker destroyed, it shouldn’t take long to notice if it’s effective. If we don’t run into anything wanting to rip out your heart today, I’d say you could be safe to return to Thief River Falls.”

A day didn’t seem like a good bet, but Kizzy wouldn’t argue. Besides, spending the day with this guy would give her time to learn about him. And he about her. Which reminded her...

“I need to tell you something, Bron. It could be important to your mission. It’s about my heart.”

The waitress delivered three pie plates and two forks and offered extra ice cream. All they had to do was call for Alice. Bron said they’d be fine and thanked her.

Kizzy pulled the apple pie toward her, and, sitting up on one folded leg, she leaned over the table and teased at the warm apple slices swimming in cinnamon beneath a crispy crust. “I think I can verify my heart is what you’re seeking. At least, my dreams do.”

“Dreams?”

She sighed and set down the fork. “I’ve been having a recurring dream since the surgery. I wake up feeling a pressure in my chest and remember the feel of a hand clutching my heart.”

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.

His eyes tracked the sky, seeking any sort of flying creature that may have had a bead on the tracker, broken or otherwise. He didn’t know how witch magic worked, but the fact it had led him to her meant it was so powerful that it probably could still function even after the crystal device had been broken.

Could he take her home and walk away? He didn’t think it was going to be that easy. And that wasn’t any kind of emotional thing. He just had no way of knowing she could be safe.

Her dead boyfriend had actually clutched her heart from Purgatory while she lay dead on the operating-room table. How bizarre was that? But he believed her. She’d had dreams. Had said the doctor had remarked on the weird scarring he’d noticed on her heart.

No doubt about it, Kisanthra Lewis owned the Purgatory Heart.

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