Page 20 of What a Wolf's Heart Decides

More tension leached from her body, but her gaze stayed wary.

He couldn’t really blame her. He was twice her size and a dominant wolf. And she was alone with him in the middle of a mountain airfield.

In an unfamiliar territory.

He made his voice as neutral as possible. “Maybe we should start over. I’m Bard Bennett, Alpha of the Washington Territory.”

Her eyes flashed. “You could have said that from the beginning instead of . . . of”—she seemed to search for a word—“manhandling me.”

Okay, so we’re not starting over.

He raised the eyebrow of his good eye—one of the few facial muscles he could still control. “You’re bold to talk of manhandling. You struck an Alpha. I could have you punished for that.”

Her jaw dropped. “You sniffed me! And threatened to kill me! And called me a witch!”

“I said you might be a witch. And I told you I’m not going to kill you.”

The blue eyes flashed again. “Oh, so I passed your smell test?”

“Yes.”

She let out a humorless laugh. “What, do witches have a certain smell?”

“Yes.”

Her arched brows pulled together, and her voice changed—as if she was curious despite herself. “What is it?”

“Blood,” he said bluntly.

“Blood.”

He nodded.

For a moment she regarded him with a mix of disgust and bafflement. Then she looked out the windshield and muttered, “I’ve landed in crazy town.”

“You’ve landed in my territory. I’d like to know why.”

She looked at him, a frown wrinkling her smooth forehead. “You don’t know?”

“Do you think I’d be asking if I did?” As soon as he said it, he realized how absurd he sounded. Alphas were supposed to have a finger on the pulse of everything that happened in their territory. Boundary lines were especially sacrosanct. Under werewolf law, an Alpha could kill a trespasser on sight simply for stepping one foot over a territorial border without permission.

Of course, that assumed someone wanted to enter a territory in the first place.

“I don’t understand,” Haley said, her gaze clouded with confusion. “I came to meet Benjamin Rupert. His mother sent a letter to Max—” She stopped herself and cleared her throat. “Maxime Simard. The Alpha of—”

“The New York Territory.” He raised his eyebrow again. “I do know that much.”

Pink entered her cheeks. The color was an alluring contrast to her skin, which had a glow about it. Olive toned, people called skin like that. Or maybe sun-kissed. Wasn’t that the look females were always going for?

Whatever the case, it worked on her. So did the loose, light brown waves that fell around her shoulders and the wide blue eyes that were as clear as the sky during a mountain sunrise. Her face was heart-shaped, with a wide forehead and tapered jaw that was somehow both delicate and stubborn.

The color in her cheeks deepened.

Shit. He was staring.

And the car was suddenly hot.

He leaned forward and adjusted the temperature. “You said Glenna Rupert sent a letter.” He sat back. “Benjamin’s mother.”

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