Her Werewolf Hero. Michele Hauf
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