Page 15 of What a Wolf's Heart Decides

Like he had a right to do so.

Later, she couldn’t recall how she knew that’s what he was doing. After all, she couldn’t see his face, let alone his eyes.

No, it was more like she sensed his scrutiny. As if he branded her with his gaze—as if his eyes threw off heat that seared her skin, even through her thick leggings and puffy ski jacket. His regard started at her head and then slowly worked its way down in a hot sweep that raised goosebumps on her arms and made her head feel curiously light. Her stomach fluttered. If there had been a wall nearby, she would have sagged against it. As it was, she could only stand there, rooted to the floor while her head spun and her cheeks flamed.

She was still reeling when he said, “Follow me.” Before she could reply, he turned on his heel and disappeared out the door.

Huh?

“Hey!” Shaking off the daze she’d fallen into, she scrambled after him, darting through the thick metal door and into the night. Cold air slammed into her, and she gulped a shocked breath. Ahead, Rupert was nearly to his SUV. He moved fast for a guy with a limp, his long legs eating up the stretch of patchy grass between the hangar and the airstrip.

She shoved the thought aside as she hurried after him. What was it with these Washington wolves and expecting people to just follow them? She was getting a little tired of being treated like a well-behaved dog.

“Excuse me!” She broke into a jog even as she squinted against the glare of the headlights.

She caught up to Rupert just as he reached the SUV and turned. As he swung around, she saw him clearly for the first time.

And all the breath left her lungs.

He hadn’t been in a dominance contest. He’d been savaged. Scars crisscrossed his face in ugly weals, the jagged lines red and uneven. One started at the corner of his lip and stretched all the way to his ear, giving his mouth the impression of a permanent sneer.

At least on one side. Because the other side wasn’t sneering. Or smiling.

Instead, it was a hard, flat line. Emotionless.

She let her gaze wander up, daring to meet his eyes.

That took her breath away, too.

A black patch covered his right eye. The strap was taut against his skin, bisecting his flesh like a thin black scar. It wrapped around his head and disappeared into hair that was black sprinkled with white.

White hair on a werewolf. This was the young trainee Max had sent her to meet?

“Finished?”

She jerked her gaze to his face. “Wh-What?”

His good eye—a piercing blue—bored into her. There was a thick scar across the bridge of his nose, too. She hadn’t noticed it before.

The scarred side of his mouth twitched, and his deep voice rumbled again. “You’ve looked your fill. Anything else you want to see?”

His tone was a mix of anger and condescension. Like he’d caught her ogling him and wanted her to know.

Which, of course, she had been.

But, dammit, he’d just sized her up like a piece of meat!

She lifted her chin—not hard to do considering she already had to crane her head back to meet his gaze. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to stare.”

The blue gaze hardened. “That’s a lie, Miss Michaels.”

“How—”

“I can smell your deceit.”

Against her will, she dropped her eyes to his scarred nose. “You’re a Tracker?” It was a common Gift—and a prized one. Wolves with an advanced sense of smell were superior hunters. They were also exceptionally skilled at sniffing out lies.

“No,” he said.

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