Page 21 of What a Wolf Demands

The human’s irritation turned to mild concern. “Do you need me to call an ambulance?”

“No, thank you.” Prado inclined his head, and his tone became downright accommodating. “We’ll be out of your way in a minute.”

“No problem.” Apparently satisfied, the human moved off.

Relief coursed through Lily.

Then Prado turned his attention back to her.

Right. Still trapped against a wall. At least the lust had faded. Lately, the urges had come upon her more often, usually out of nowhere. Controlling them left her exhausted and shaky—two things she couldn’t afford to be right now.

Prado studied her, his eyes now an ordinary blue with nary a flicker in sight. Which was . . . impressive. Most wolves couldn’t wrangle their inner beast that quickly, especially after a chase. In Bon Rêve, the pack’s semiannual hunt usually ended in half a dozen dominance contests. As a child, Lily hid under her blankets, her hands over her ears to muffle the dull sounds of fists hitting flesh.

She still hid as an adult, but for different reasons. Not every wolf chose to fight. Some knew they would lose if they issued a challenge.

So they turned their sights to easier prey.

Prado must have seen something in her expression because he narrowed his gaze. “What is it?”

She shook away the memories that threatened to engulf her.

Bigger problems right now. Like the very real, very tall one standing in front of her.

“You . . .” She licked her lips, then immediately regretted it when his eyes went there again. “You were polite to that human.”

Prado tilted his head. “You think I should have ripped his throat out?”

Was he being sarcastic? It was hard to tell. His face hadn’t changed, and his voice was the same deep rumble.

“No,” she said. “It’s just that the wolves I know are quick to lose their tempers. They lash out.”

“Like you did just now?”

“I—”

“Like you did with LaFont?”

Her hackles went up. “I didn’t kill him.”

“That’s not for me to decide.”

She couldn’t control her burst of humorless laughter. “Are you serious? Because you seem pretty decided. You threatened to drug me. You just chased me down an alley and through a club.”

He leaned a tiny bit closer, making pine waft over her. “As I said, you shouldn’t have run.”

“You’re a killer. You expect me to just turn docile and walk to my own death?”

“I’m not going to kill you.”

“Liar.” The insult jumped from her before she had a chance to think it through.

His jaw tightened. Despite the heat pouring off his body, the air around them seemed to cool. When he spoke, his voice was low and deliberate. “I’m many things, Ms. Agincourt, some of them less flattering than others. But one thing I am not is a liar.”

She drew an unsteady breath, and the scent of pine and leather filled her lungs. If only she could sense lies, as pure-blooded wolves could. The best Trackers acted as lie detectors in werewolf trials, sifting through the accused’s words and teasing out inaccuracies.

But latents didn’t have that ability, so the best she could do was trust her gut.

Which really meant trusting him.

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