Her Werewolf Hero by Michele Hauf Page B

miles away from Thief River Falls,” she offered. “Let’s get two rooms.”
    Right. So she wouldn’t have to stay in the same room as the monster. She might think she was open to all things new and curious to her, but she was like all other humans. They feared those things unfamiliar to them. Even the things that piqued their curiosity and which were only best viewed from afar or caged behind steel bars.
    The very few who could accept? Oftentimes they were in it for the monetary rewards that pictures or stories could bring. And Kizzy did wield her camera for profit. He’d have to play things carefully now.
    * * *
    The soul bringer felt the disconnection to the wraith demon as a jerk to his system that twinged up and down his spine. He sat up in the chair, gripped the arms tightly and opened his eyes. The darkness meant little to him. He could see all things in all lights or even lack of it.
    He’d been shirking his soul-ferrying duties of late and had found solace in a quiet home long abandoned by its residents through natural death. The brick walls were solid, but the shelter was unnecessary for his welfare. He could withstand the elements, and he lived. Ever after.
    As she had not.
    Catching the dismal thought before it could blossom into a full-blown melancholy—how he hated such emotion—he stood, paced to the broken glass window and looked out across a field of drooping sunflowers. He’d thought summoning the wraith demon would prove more powerful than the ineffectual harpies. Apparently not. But how had the owner of the Purgatory Heart managed to defeat such a vicious predator?
    He couldn’t get a fix on the surroundings of the death because he was only capable of a sort of mind meld with the creature he had commanded. And that was now vanquished.
    He did not like to rely on Nightcat, but it seemed his only recourse at the moment.
    Squeezing a fist at his side, he gritted his teeth.
    â€œI must have that heart.”

Chapter 9
    K izzy stepped out of the shower and dried off with the thin towel the motel provided. At least it was steamy and warm in here. She’d been shivering when she’d bid Bron good-night and had entered the room right next door to his. She’d needed a room to herself tonight. Not because she feared now having to share a room with a werewolf, but because she required some space to think. And maybe cry. And definitely scream into her pillow.
    She brushed her teeth with the corner of a hand towel and wondered if it would be safe to go back to the rental apartment. Where her toothbrush and comb were. Where her clothes were.
    Where all the strange creatures in the world might convene if she were still somehow attracting them to her.
    What was that about? She had watched Bron destroy that freaky crystal tracker. Could it work when broken? But he didn’t need it anymore. He’d already found the object it had been bespelled to lead him to: her.
    â€œThis is all your fault, Keith,” she muttered as she wandered into the room and pulled on the pink T-shirt and her comfy Rock & Republic jeans. The jeans had grass stains on the knees. She craved a change of clothing.
    As well, sleeping in clothes sucked. She could keep her jeans off, but she wasn’t willing to risk the sudden need to escape half naked. She hadn’t washed her hair, so she flopped back on the bed, spreading her arms, and closed her eyes to the blinking red neon from the motel sign positioned outside her window.
    She was alone, and her world had been upturned. Even more so than it had been following the accident that freezing January night. For then she had been able to cry for reasons that had been tangible and necessary. Reasons she could blame on herself, like guilt and regret. And on Keith. He had swerved into the ditch purposefully. So she had hated him while lying in the hospital recovering from open-heart surgery.
    And she had not hated him. Because she