Page 16 of What a Wolf's Heart Decides

The blunt response threw her off. Hell, the whole conversation was throwing her off.

So much for making a good first impression.

She swallowed. Maybe he was nervous. Given his appearance, she couldn’t blame him.

Sympathy swelled in her gut, banishing the annoyance that had risen at his rude tone. She forced politeness into her tone. “I just realized Max didn’t tell me your Gift.”

His expression didn’t change. Or if it did it was too difficult to tell. The scars were like angry seams across his face, obscuring any emotion he might have displayed.

But his eye was a different story. The black brow over it dipped low, and confusion glinted inside the piercing blue.

The gruff voice rumbled again, and the glint in his eye hardened. “Why would he?”

Was he serious? “I . . . We . . .” Good grief, was he going to make her say it?

“We what?”

Yep.

At least the freezing air kept her cheeks from blazing. She took a deep breath. “We’re supposed to date.” When the glint sharpened even more, she added, “Go on a date. Like . . . go out.”

“Go out.”

“Yeah.” As they stared at each other, realization crept over her. She’d wondered why his mother seemed so eager for a former latent to fly across the country to meet her son. Why any werewolf parent would want their only child to mate with a wolf who lacked a Gift.

Now she knew. Benjamin Rupert wasn’t just disfigured. He also had the personality of a rock.

Wind whipped across the airfield, blasting icy needles into her face and finding its way into every buttonhole and gap in her coat.

“You’re cold,” he said. He popped the passenger door and made a curt gesture. “Get in.”

Her hackles rose. First he ordered her to follow him out of the hangar without so much as a “hello.” Then he expected her to get in his car without a fuss.

Although, it wasn’t like she had many options—at least not any appealing ones. She could pursue her half-baked plan to shift and make her way south until she stumbled across a town. Given Rupert’s limp, she might even be able to outrun him.

The wind blew even harder, whipping her hair around her shoulders.

Rupert gritted his teeth. “You have a choice, Miss Michaels. Either you get in the car or I pick you up and toss you in.”

Her jaw dropped. “You—”

“Five seconds.”

He was joking.

The scarred mouth wasn’t smiling. “Five.”

She sucked in a breath. “You’re counting down like I’m a toddler?”

“Four.”

“I’m a guest in this territory.”

“Three.” He loomed over her, his broad shoulders filling her vision.

Limp or no, he could sling her over his shoulder and dump her in the SUV like a sack of potatoes.

The question was, would he actually do it?

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