Page 54 of What a Wolf Demands

She reached the SUV and got in. “Sorry that took so long,” she said, her voice breathless as she closed the door. “Two guys in trucker hats asked if I know of any good restaurants in the area.” She shook her head. “It’s the bayou. There’s a shrimp place on every corner.”

“That’s not why they asked you,” Dom said, unable to keep the growl from his voice.

She looked at him. “They weren’t hitting on me if that’s what you think.”

“That’s exactly what I think.”

“One had to be in his late seventies. At least.”

He put the SUV in gear and pulled to the highway on-ramp. “The only thing that stops males from chatting up a beautiful woman is death. Maybe a coma.”

Her seat belt sensor dinged a series of high-pitched warnings. She made no move to fasten it. Just sat back in her seat and crossed one slim thigh over the other. She’d chosen a pair of dark skinny jeans, and the material was practically painted on. When she’d seen the shoes the hotel staff picked for her, she’d let out a little crow of delight and grabbed a pair of white slip-ons.

Vans. At least that’s what Haley, the pack’s resident fashion expert, called them. At eighteen, she still hadn’t manifested a Gift, so Lizette had sort of “adopted” her. In Dom’s opinion, her Gift was sticking her nose into everyone else’s business and sassing every wolf in an authority position. When he’d told her as much, she rolled her eyes and said, “Okay, boomer.”

Whatever that meant.

But he’d have to thank her for making him aware of the shoes. Lily seemed happy, which made him happy.

His breath hitched.

When had that happened? When was the last time his frozen husk of a heart felt anything? But there it was—the telltale lightness that came from experiencing another person’s joy. It was a simple thing, the knowledge that you’d played a part in making someone happy. The sensation was so strong—so pure—he’d forgotten how much he missed it.

“Um, Prado?”

He looked at Lily, who watched him with a slightly worried expression. “Yeah?”

“Are you going to get on the highway?”

Before she even finished the question, a horn blared behind him.

Shit. He was idling at the on-ramp, his head full of nonsense.

He checked his mirrors, then gunned the engine, merging them smoothly into traffic. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lily regard him curiously. For a second, it seemed she might speak, but then she faced her window again.

“You never asked why I decided to take you to New York,” he said suddenly.

Ah, that got her attention. A little thrill of satisfaction shot through him.

A beat passed, then she cleared her throat. “I heard everything Luc said last night. I assumed you decided I was telling the truth.”

“Yes.” He glanced at her. “How certain are you that he has your friend? Bart.”

Her expression turned grim. “Very. Luc is spiteful. He’ll want vengeance for Charlie’s death, and he believes I did it.” She stopped, clearly uncomfortable. “I mean, I did do it, but it was a freak accident. I’ll never convince Luc of that, though.”

Memories of Luc’s smug expression and dull eyes rose in Dom’s mind. He shot Lily a look. “Who cares what Thibeaux thinks. You don’t need to convince him of anything.”

The glimmer of a smile teased at her lips—the first one she’d offered him all day.

Her seat belt sensor dinged again.

He faced the road. “You should put that on.”

“It’ll stop.”

“Maybe not. This car is brand new. It’s a safety feature.”

She shrugged. “I don’t like wearing them.”

---