Page 3 of What a Wolf's Heart Decides

At the end of the corridor, the foyer opened onto a massive great room. Tucked alongside one wall was a stone fireplace with a thick wooden mantel. Several males lounged in leather chairs arranged around a flat screen television. A trio were squished onto a matching sofa. The coffee table in front of them groaned with plates of nachos, bowls of popcorn, and about two dozen soda cans. Sure enough, football players jogged across the screen.

She bustled over. “Who’s winning?”

The males looked at her, their expressions a mix of surprise and . . . yep, that was irritation.

Anxiety bolted through her as she stopped at the edge of the seating area, the invitations in her arms. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your game.”

The male nearest her glanced at his companions before saying, “It’s fine.”

An awkward silence descended over the group. One of the males on the sofa leaned forward and muted the TV.

She gnawed the inside of her cheek. Should she just pass out the invitations? Dump them on the coffee table and go?

The first male who’d spoken cleared his throat. “Did you need something?”

“No.”

His eyes dropped to the papers in her arms.

“I mean yes.” Maybe for the floor to open up and swallow me whole? Ah hell, could this be any more embarrassing? Heat crept into her cheeks, and her heart sped up.

One of the wolves on the sofa tilted his head.

Because he can hear it. They all could. Enhanced hearing was one of the first things she’d had to get used to when she finally Turned. As far as superpowers went, it was far less cool than she’d imagined. For a while, it had been like someone turned up the world’s volume full blast on a pair of earbuds and glued them inside her ears. It was hard to sleep when you could hear mice running three floors overhead.

Or people talking about you when they thought no one was listening.

She’d since learned to block out the noises she didn’t need to hear.

The male nearest her shifted in his chair. “No offense, but we’d kind of like to get back to the game.” He gave the invitations a pointed look. “So . . .”

“Right.” The heat in her cheeks flared. Fumbling, she gathered a section of papers from the top of the stack and handed them to him. “I think that’s enough for everyone. It’s for a party.”

The male who muted the TV spoke up. “Party?”

“Yeah.” She offered him a smile. “I’m turning twenty-one.”

“You’re throwing yourself a birthday party?” He gave the wolf next to him side-eye, and a faint smirk touched his lips.

It was like someone threw a bucket of ice over her head. Her smile seemed to freeze in place.

Another male chuckled. “That’s kinda lame, Michaels.”

Not as lame as your barbed wire bicep tattoo. She pushed the retort back before it could jump from her mouth. Instead, she forced a light laugh. “It says no gifts at the bottom. It’s just a casual get together before break.” She braced herself for a smart-ass reply.

But he shoved the shoulder of the male next to him and pointed at the TV. “Ooh, did you see that?”

Every male in the lounge area focused on the set.

“He got lit up.”

“My man’s helmet flew off.”

“Hold up, hold up. They’re showing a replay.” The male who called her lame grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. He nudged his buddy again. “Watch number eighty-two. He comes in like a freaking freight train.”

On the screen, one player sprinted across the field in slow motion, launched himself in the air, and tackled another player to the ground. The impact sent them both flying. Sure enough, the first player’s helmet flew off. His unprotected head bounced off the turf, sending sweat flying.

The wolves exploded in a chorus of grunts, cheers, and laughter.

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