Page 86 of What a Wolf's Heart Decides

For some reason, goosebumps formed all over her body. The wind whipped around the clearing, sending leaves swirling in an arc.

“Joel?” Ben leaned over the other man. “I’m going to carry you to my car.”

Joel’s throat worked, then he gasped. “Danger.” His eyes lightened to wolf blue. “It’s . . . breaking.”

“What’s breaking?” Haley leaned closer, her knee pressing into the cold ground.

His eyelids fluttered, then closed. His mouth went slack.

Her heart jumped. Was he . . . ?

Ben put a hand on the undamaged side of Joel’s neck. “He’s gone.”

“It’s my fault.” She put a hand over her mouth. “I shouldn’t have Turned. It took too long. It—”

“No.” He touched her arm. “He wasn’t going to make it. He lost too much blood before we found him.”

She swallowed. The wind tore at the clearing, tossing her hair.

Ben stood. “We don’t have much time.” He unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off, revealing a smooth, muscled chest. He grabbed her hand and pulled her up, then pushed the shirt into her hands. “Put this on.”

She took it, but her body was numb. She looked at Joel. He was the first person from Elder Lake she met. Just days ago, he’d flown her from Seattle.

“Haley.” Ben’s voice jerked her attention away from Joel. He gestured to the shirt. “Come on. We’ve got to tell Bard.”

Moving on autopilot, she shoved her arms into the sleeves. Cinnamon and blood enveloped her. “What did he mean by breaking?”

“I don’t know. People say weird stuff when they’re dying.”

She bristled. “Don’t you care that he’s dead?”

He cupped her face in bloodstained hands. “Of course I do.” Anger flashed in his eyes, but she didn’t think it was meant for her. “Joel taught me how to fish. Everyone loved him. But there’s a moon-mad latent out there strong enough to overpower most wolves. I need to tell my Alpha.”

Bard’s face flashed in her mind. Moon madness was just slang for a latent who lost their grip on reality. The moon had nothing to do with werewolves other than making it easier to hunt at night. However, Hollywood got one thing right. When latents went insane, they were capable of almost unimaginable violence.

And Bard was limited to human form.

Ben released her, then bent and gathered Joel’s body in his arms. When he straightened, Joel’s head lolled to the side, his wounded neck gaping open.

Worry washed over Haley. “Do you think Bard can handle a latent?”

“I wouldn’t ask Bard that question if I were you.” He looked at her feet. “Will you be okay with no shoes? I can give you my socks.”

“I’m fine.”

He looked doubtful, but he tilted his head toward the path back to the road. “Stay close to me.” He strode from the clearing, moving as if Joel’s weight didn’t bother him. Which it probably didn’t. His Gift saw to that.

She followed, anxiety clanging like a bell in her head. Bard was an Alpha, but he was no match for a crazed latent.

Was he?

As they moved through the trees, she kept her gaze on Ben’s back. His muscles bunched and flexed, and his tan skin shone like gold under the moonlight, but she didn’t really see it. Joel’s words replayed over and over in her head. Breaking. What was breaking? Maybe Ben was right, and he’d been delirious with pain and blood loss. Maybe she should dismiss it and move on.

Except that wasn’t the only thing Joel said. There was another word—one not so easily dismissed.

Danger.

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