Page 73 of What a Wolf's Heart Decides

Now she knew.

He wasn’t a whole male, and he thought it doomed him to a life of solitude. Ableism was a problem in both human and werewolf society, but at least humans made efforts to accommodate those with disabilities. By contrast, werewolves outright shunned anything other. She knew that better than most.

It seemed Bard did, too.

He watched the snow, which gave her license to let her gaze drift over him. The leg of his blue scrub pants had dropped back to his ankle, obscuring his prosthetic, but his scars remained—along with the eye patch. He claimed being Alpha wasn’t glamorous, that it required killing in a pack where latents outnumbered purebloods. How difficult was it for a Healer—a medical doctor trained to care for others—to hunt and kill his fellow pack members? He saved her life, pulling her from the snow even though it drained him and caused him pain. And he helped that human boy in the hospital, using his Gift and draining himself further.

That kind of selflessness was the mark of a truly great Alpha. Yet he was alone.

“Could you watch your loved one die? Or worse, track them and kill them yourself?”

She didn’t have to, but neither did the wolves of Elder Lake. They had Bard, who was good enough to do their dirty work, apparently, but not good enough to serve.

Her throat burned and tears welled in her eyes.

He turned abruptly. “What is it?”

“I . . .” She shook her head. He was going to think she was an emotional wreck. “Nothing.”

For the second time, he reached out and caught her tear with his thumb. “Not nothing.”

“It’s just . . . I know what it’s like to be alone.”

He held her cheek, his touch light against her skin. “It was hard for you, being a latent.”

Surprise flared in her mind, but maybe it shouldn’t have. He knew her history. Any werewolf understood how latents were treated. Old memories rose—the whispered taunts and covert looks, the quiet disappointment, heavy like a thick blanket, that had hung over her foster parents’ home until, fearful of being smothered, she left.

More tears clogged her throat, but she forced them down. How could she weep for herself when he’d lost so much? Her wounds could feel raw from time to time, but at least they were invisible.

She lifted a shoulder. “I suppose it was hard at times. People can be cruel. But I believe most people are fundamentally good. That goes for werewolves, too.”

He feathered his thumb over her cheek, and the ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “Such optimism.”

Her heart sank. How stupid she must sound to him—a twenty-year-old with no life experience.

Suddenly, it occurred to her just how far out of her league she was with him.

He was forty. She couldn’t even legally drink.

He owned a beautiful home in the mountains. She didn’t even own a car.

He was a doctor. She barely squeaked through high school.

He was an Alpha. She was a former latent.

“A former latent with no Gift,” said a voice in her head.

Now her spirits sank. She’d heard that inner voice so often it seemed to come from the outside now instead of her own mind.

Bard tilted his head—a wolflike gesture that might have made her smile any other time. “What’s wrong?”

She forced levity into her voice. “You probably think I’m naive.”

“No.” He took her chin in a gentle grip, tipping her head back so she was forced to meet his gaze, which was a warm, vivid blue. “It’s not naive to see the good in people. Like I said, you’re an optimist, Haley.” His gaze dropped to her mouth.

Her lips parted. The warmth in his gaze was doing weird things to her belly . . .

“It’s one of the things I like about you,” he murmured, his focus still on her mouth.

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