Her Werewolf Hero. Michele Hauf
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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