Her Werewolf Hero by Michele Hauf Read Free Book Online Page A

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.”
    â€œYou 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.”
    â€œPhotographs?”
    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.
    â€œI thought you said you believed in the unbelievable?”
    â€œI do, but I’m not stupid. Check the Snopes website. I’m sure it debunks that museum.”
    â€œAll 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.”
    â€œA willingness is more than most can manage.” He hooked a hand over the end of the stake holstered at his hip.
    â€œDo you always carry that stake?”
    â€œAlways.”
    â€œI’ve seen the crossbow you carry. That was cool. What other kinds of weapons do you have? A knife?”
    â€œIn the truck I’ve a bowie knife and a garrote. The crossbow and some other weapons. Why do you ask?”
    â€œI suppose a bowie knife would do nicely to cut out my heart. Just needed to know what I’m dealing with.”
    â€œKisanthra, 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.
    â€œWhat 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.
    â€œI’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.”
    â€œSo 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