Page 33 of What a Wolf's Heart Decides

As soon as he put Haley on a plane, he could turn his attention to Glenna Rupert and her schemes. Because there was no way she’d acted alone in bringing Haley to the territory.

His territory.

A growl rose in his throat. Just how many of his wolves had been involved in bypassing his authority and inviting her here?

No, not just bypassed—trampled.

His fault. That was one thing his father had taught him. The old wolf’s deep voice rose in his memory. “Every pack member’s failure is the Alpha’s failure. Lose control of your wolves and you lose control of your territory.”

Well, that had come to pass, hadn’t it? Bard opened his eye, his gaze on his twisted, useless leg. He turned his hands and dug his thumbs into the flesh, kneading the muscle. He’d grown too complacent with his wolves, depriving them of leadership. Now they felt bold enough to go around him, to plot behind his back and go against his orders.

He’d have to call a pack meeting. Summon all his wolves. Show them he was still in charge. Hell, several wolves were so young they’d never attended a pack meeting.

Of course, it had been twenty years since the last one. Twenty years . . . Longer than Haley Michaels had been alive.

His gut clenched. Yeah, the sooner she went home, the better. There was nothing for her in the Washington Territory. It didn’t matter if she went on a dozen dates with Benjamin Rupert.

Bard stopped kneading his leg. Glenna Rupert had always been ambitious when it came to her son. The vast majority of werewolf parents were. In a species where most couples only produced one offspring, the race was plagued by helicopter mothers and fathers. Matchmaking was practically an inter-territory sport.

The Ruperts had been devastated when Ben failed to Turn when he hit puberty. As the years passed and it became obvious he was a latent, they jumped at the chance to send him to the New York Territory. At the time, no one understood why Maxime Simard had such a high number of Turned latents. It wasn’t until later that rumors of his mate’s near-mythical ability started to swirl.

Maybe that’s why Glenna was interested in Haley for her son. As a once-upon-a-time latent, Ben Rupert’s options on the marriage market were limited. Few werewolf parents would accept a former latent as a mate for their child. Prejudices against wolves who couldn’t Turn were too deeply ingrained in their culture. Besides, there was always the worry that a former latent wouldn’t manage to produce a grandchild.

But matching a former latent to another former latent? Plenty of parents would seize an opportunity to see their newly Turned child happily mated.

And Haley Michaels had a lot to offer. Looking at her, no one would ever think she was a former latent. Like most wolves, she was tall and slender, with legs that seemed to stretch forever. Her bulky coat hadn’t been able to hide the fact that she had rounded curves in all the right places.

Bard’s palm tingled—the same hand he used to heal her bruises. He squeezed it into a fist on top of his thigh.

He’d had trouble concentrating as he stood before her, her injured hand in his. As her heart rate had sped up, her chest had lifted, pushing her curves into his line of vision with every breath. Thinking to eliminate the distraction, he’d tried holding her gaze.

Mistake.

He’d simply traded one distraction for another. Because Haley Michaels had the clearest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen. They were entirely without guile. There was a cliche he’d heard a million times, about eyes being the windows to the soul.

He never believed it before. Funny how a single encounter could change something like that.

Her eyes were . . . pure. Vulnerable. They showed every emotion she felt, from anger and frustration at the airfield to embarrassment and disappointment when she talked about not having a Gift.

And pain. There had been a lot of pain in there, too.

He sat back in his chair, making it creak. There was a reason wolves spent years learning how to rein in their feelings. Human emotions made the beast volatile. More than that, they made a wolf prey to stronger, more dominant pack members. Everyone felt pain in all its variations. But feeling it was one thing. Showing it was quite another.

In a species that prized strength and control above all else, concealing pain was paramount.

Haley was too young to have learned that skill.

Someone needs to teach her. As soon as the thought entered his mind, he scowled. Yes, someone needed to teach her, but it wouldn’t be him. He could think of a dozen reasons why it would never, ever be him. It wouldn’t be Benjamin Rupert, either.

Pain shot through Bard’s palm. He looked down. He’d squeezed his fist into a tight ball, and the knuckles were white with strain. Slowly, he forced his hand open, then lay his palm flat against his thigh.

At least his leg had quieted down. Maybe now he could attempt the stairs so he could get some sleep.

A soft thud from overhead made him look up. The guest room was just above his study. She must have eaten quickly, then fled upstairs so she didn’t have to see him again.

Fine by him.

He drew in a deep breath, then braced his hands on the chair’s arms. He took another deep breath and heaved himself to his feet. For a second, his left thigh quivered.

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