Page 79 of What a Wolf's Heart Decides

For a moment, something like astonishment seemed to play over his features.

Then she blinked and his cold mask snapped back into place. He narrowed his good eye, his expression so hard it could have cut stone.

“I don’t need your pity,” he said, his voice laced with something dark and ugly. “I don’t need you.”

Her mouth went dry, and an icy finger ran down her spine.

The ugliness in his tone grew. “I’m the son of one of the oldest, more prestigious families in the whole race.”

She held still, as if some corner of her mind knew what was coming and wanted to brace for the impact.

“I’m an Alpha, a doctor, a Healer.”

She didn’t breathe.

He swept a slow, languid gaze down her body, and a little part of her died—her desire reduced to ash.

When he lifted his gaze, all trace of the male who brushed away her tears was gone.

“But you,” he said, “you don’t even have a Gift.”

The words were like a slap. For a second, she couldn’t move. Then her vision blurred and she was running on numb feet. She didn’t feel the stairs as she flew up the treads. She didn’t feel her heart pounding. She didn’t feel the tears streaming down her face.

She didn’t feel anything.

13

Bard didn’t move as Haley’s footsteps pounded up the stairs. He stayed still as her bedroom door slammed and more footsteps thumped overhead. He kept quiet as bed springs squeaked and a muffled sob drifted down.

Silence. He was alone.

The way it should be. The way it had to be.

As if on cue, searing pincers clamped around his thigh, sending waves of agony to his hip and lower back. He clenched his jaw and took shallow breaths through his nose. Outside, the snow fell so quickly it obscured the forest behind the house. If it kept up, the roads would be impassable by morning.

Which meant no airport. He’d be trapped in the house with a female who would probably rather gut him than speak to him.

Not that he could blame her.

He turned his head, his gaze on the stairs. Even if he had the nerve to face her now, there was no way he could do the climb.

Besides, he didn’t have the nerve. She’d been right to call him coward.

Gritting his teeth, he limped toward his office, where the closet held a cot and a few blankets. He’d put them there after one too many nights on the hard floor. The cot was the kind residents slept on when they worked two-day shifts fresh out of medical school. Back then, he’d been so tired he could have slept standing up.

The same kind of exhaustion swept him now, making him stumble as he gained the hallway. His hip twinged—a sign his prosthesis wasn’t properly seated. He made it to his office and banged his way into the small half-bath tucked beside the closet. Sweat dotted his brow as he flipped on the light, kneed the door shut, and braced his palms on the sink. He let his head hang down, his gaze on the drain as his breaths sawed in and out of his chest. The scent of wildflowers surrounded him, rising from his clothes and hair.

Fiery pain lashed his thigh, and a whimper slipped out before he could stop it.

Coward. Cripple.

Yeah, he was both of those things. Until tonight, however, he never thought he’d have to add cruel bastard to the list.

Clutching the sink, he eased all his weight onto his right leg. The pincers around his left continued to squeeze and stab, and the muscles in his thigh trembled. The prosthesis had to come off at some point, but first his hip and thigh needed a rest. The nerves in his leg were overstimulated. As a doctor, he’d diagnose himself with peripheral neuropathy. As a person, it just really fucking hurt.

As he stared into the sink, Haley’s face rose in his mind. She’d looked like he slapped her after he delivered that line about her not having a Gift. Her blue eyes widened then filled with hurt.

No. Hurt was too mild a word. She looked devastated, as if her whole world broke apart.

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