Page 31 of What a Wolf's Heart Decides

She jerked her head back up. “What?”

“Not until I heal this.” He rubbed a thumb over her bruised knuckles.

“Oh, I’m fine.” She kept tugging. “It’ll heal okay. I don’t need a Band-Aid or anything.”

A hint of exasperation entered his tone. “I’m not talking about Band-Aids, Miss Michaels. I’m a Healer.”

She stilled.

“It’s my Gift.”

Oh. For a second, she didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t given any thought to what his Gift might be. But if she had, Healer would have been last on the list of possibilities. It was a bit like a linebacker announcing he was also a kindergarten teacher.

Finally, she mustered a response. “You’re a Healer.”

Brilliant. Way to wow him by repeating him like a parrot.

He nodded. “And, I don’t mind saying, a competent one. Now, hold still. This won’t hurt, but it might feel warm.”

“Oh, I know.” Lizette had healed her bruises more than once after an intense training session with the guys.

Bard sandwiched her hand between his, one large palm covering hers like a baseball mitt. They were nice hands despite the scars that ran over his knuckles like miniature roads. His fingers were long, the nails square and neatly trimmed. Unbidden, an image popped into her brain—him standing in a steamy bathroom, nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist as he filed his nails.

Her cheeks heated.

“Steady,” he murmured. “Your heart rate is climbing again.”

She forced herself to take deep breaths. What was wrong with her that she would think inappropriate thoughts about this man? She didn’t even like him.

He closed his good eye, his forehead crinkled in obvious concentration. A second later, the top of her hand heated, the sensation like dipping her hand into a warm bath. The heat started at her knuckles and spread down, suffusing her skin. Her knuckles tingled, then itched. For a brief moment, it was like a million tiny ants trampled across her knuckles.

Suddenly, searing heat blazed against her skin. She yelped and jerked at his hold.

He tightened his grip, his good eye flying open.

The burning stopped.

A frown wrinkled his forehead. “My apologies. I must have given that one a little too much power.”

“It’s all right. You didn’t hurt me.”

He held her gaze a moment, then dropped it to their joined hands and closed his good eye again. “Just a moment longer,” he muttered. “Let me finish up.”

She held still. Unless she yanked her hand from his grip, she was helpless to go anywhere.

Bard let out a soft sigh.

He’ll be tired now. Lizette always was. Healing required a great deal of energy. It was part of the reason Healers were so revered. They gave selflessly to ensure other pack members survived. There were even ritual words for expressing gratitude toward a wolf with the Gift.

She cleared her throat. “My thanks for the Gift, Healer.”

He opened his eye, and his gaze was steady when he said, “It was freely given.”

His eye had a ring of darker blue around the iris, and his lashes were long and thick. Women would kill for lashes like that. Somehow, his eye was even more striking, contrasted as it was with the black patch on the other one. Like how a sunrise is even more beautiful after a storm.

Her stomach growled.

He dropped her hand and stepped back, then turned and limped toward his desk. “Go eat,” he said without looking back. “We’ll speak about your departure in the morning.” The sharp, impatient edge in his voice was back.

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