Page 94 of What a Wolf's Heart Decides

At last, he stood. He waited a moment, his head bowed, the boy at his feet. Then he turned and walked to her. As he approached, the weight of his order lifted, releasing her. The energy he gifted her faded, too, and exhaustion rushed back in. As the wind buffeted her, she struggled to stay upright.

He crouched in front of her, moonlight showing tracks of tears over his scarred cheeks.

A whine wound its way up from her chest, and she bumped his shoulder with her snout.

He caught her head and held it against his chest. “You little fool,” he said, but there was no anger in it. He buried his fingers in her fur. “You were supposed to stay with Rupert.”

She pulled back and tilted her head. I told you I’m not very good at following orders.

He ran a hand over the ruff around her neck. Then he did it again, as though he savored the feeling and wanted more of it. “You could have been killed.”

She looked over his shoulder, to where Sam lay motionless on a carpet of dead leaves. A lock of red hair showed from under the hood. It fluttered in the wind, a spot of color in the black and white night.

Bard made a sound—a deep sob that made her jerk her gaze back to him.

“It’s such a waste,” he said, his head lowered, the strap of his eye patch bisecting his scalp. “Such a fucking waste.”

What was? Sam’s life? Frustration rose in Haley’s mind. Stuck in wolf form, she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t comfort.

Head still down, Bard braced his weight on the fingertips of one hand. Crouched as he was, his leg had to be killing him.

“I didn’t know,” he muttered. “If I had—” He sucked in a breath and went silent.

She slipped from his side and trotted to a nearby tree, where she huddled on the ground and squeezed her eyes shut. For a second, she wasn’t certain the Turn would come. Panic clawed at her—the thought of being forever trapped in wolf form streaking through her mind. Then her fangs slid back into her gums and a dull ache started in her bones.

Leaves crunched, but she barely registered the sound. She was vaguely aware of Bard in her peripheral vision as the transition took her. It was the slowest she could remember—slower even than her very first shift, when she shocked both herself and Lizette by Turning in the middle of Lizette’s living room after a night of movies and pizza. That time was different than most werewolves’ first shifts, which typically took place in front of a cadre of Hunters ready to grant a merciful death if the fledgling wolf couldn’t finish the transformation.

Or went mad in the process. Latents weren’t the only ones who could be destroyed by their inner beast.

Bard watched her now, but she sensed it was out of concern rather than doubt about her ability to regain human form.

At least one of them believed in her. About halfway through, her head pounded, the bones in her face stuck between human and wolf.

Booted feet appeared next to her head, then Bard spoke in a low voice. “You’ve got it, baby. Just push a little harder.”

He didn’t touch her, of course. No werewolf would ever lay hands on another mid-shift—not when nerve endings were exposed. But his words were like a caress over her skin, giving her just enough of a nudge to complete the change.

As soon as she did, he grabbed her wrist in one hand and lifted his arm, his gaze on his watch.

“What . . .” Her voice was like sandpaper, and she had to swallow a few times before she could speak again. “What are you—”

“Hush. I’m checking your vitals.”

He would. It didn’t take much to snap him into doctor mode. She preferred it over Alpha mode. That only made him sad . . . and unreasonable.

She watched snowflakes settle on his shoulders, which were covered by a dark jacket with a North Face logo. He must have changed out of his scrubs after she escaped through the window, because he also wore jeans and a pair of hiking boots. She hadn’t noticed during their standoff with Ben. She’d been too worried about him dying.

“I’m supposed to be mad at you,” she murmured.

He glanced up, his expression startled. Then his face changed, cool professionalism sliding into place. “Later. Right now we need to get you dry and fed.”

Oh no. She hadn’t thought of that. It would have been better to stay in wolf form. Shifting had sapped the last of her strength. She couldn’t stand. Her eyelids seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. Walking was out of the question.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She tried to lift her hand, but only managed to twitch her fingers.

He raised an eyebrow. “For disobeying my order?”

“You can’t carry me. Your leg—”

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