Page 54 of What a Wolf's Heart Decides

“That’s not what I—”

“I know that’s not what you meant.” He bent and rummaged around in a little cart she hadn’t noticed before. When he straightened, he tucked a small white packet and a roll of what looked like tape next to her hip. “You want to know if I’m breaking the rules.”

She nodded. Pain bloomed in the back of her head, making her regret the gesture.

His one blue eye was steady. “You forget. In this territory, I make the rules.”

Before she could reply, he turned and pulled a pair of gloves from a box on the wall. As he snapped them on, his mood seemed to change. His words grew clipped, and his jaw tightened. “But anyway, I’m not a doctor where you’re concerned. To you, I’m a Healer, and you’re damn lucky that’s the case.” He finished with the gloves and pinned her with a look. “If you were human, you’d be in surgery right now. That is, if you were lucky enough to survive at all.”

Oh. Memories of Ben and the mountain trail flooded her. Avalanche. It had sounded like gunshots. Then sprinting, sprinting, her lungs burning. She hadn’t been fast enough. The snow had thrown her off her feet.

“Your heart stopped,” Bard said, holding his gloved hands away from his body.

What? She lifted a hand to her chest, as if her subconscious needed to make sure that all-important organ was still beating. “But I’m a were—”

“Not an invincible one.” He bent and grasped her forearm, his touch gentle despite the firmness of his tone. “You’re lucky Rupert is as strong as he is. Even so, I’ve never seen anyone move snow like that.”

Flashes of memory played through her mind. “Ben dug me out.”

Bard grunted.

“And you—”

“Hold still,” he ordered. He undid the tape around her elbow, then pressed a pad of cotton against the crook of her arm and slid the IV from her vein. In fast, professional movements, he discarded the tubing, opened the packet, and swiped an alcohol pad over the wound. “Bend your arm.”

She complied without thinking. Something about his tone made her body leap to obey.

It’s his doctor voice. It wasn’t all that different from his Alpha voice.

He picked up the tape and pulled out a long strip.

“I don’t need a bandage.” She opened her arm and lifted the alcohol. The mark from the IV was already gone. “See?”

“The humans will expect it.” He folded a wad of gauze in half, pressed it against the healed spot, then wrapped two lengths of tape around her arm. It was springy, like the vet wrap she’d used on horses to support the joints in their legs.

The thought made Ben spring into her mind. Guilt flooded her. She looked up at Bard. “Is Ben okay?”

He stopped in the act of pulling off his gloves. A muscle twitched in his jaw. For a second, it seemed he wouldn’t answer. Then, voice tight, he said, “He’s fine.”

Doubt swirled in her head. “There was so much snow. It had to have hit him, too.”

“Rupert’s a Stalwart.” Bard finished pulling off his gloves and tossed them in a trashcan. “His Gift saved his foolish neck.”

Foolish? His tone was angry. And dismissive. For some reason, it provoked a sense of solidarity with Ben—along with a need to defend him. “He just wanted to show me the horses.”

“I think we both know what he wanted.”

She opened her mouth, then quickly shut it. Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks. What could she say to that? That it wasn’t true? Ben had flat out told her he was looking for a mate.

“He called you beautiful,” a voice in her head reminded her.

The warmth in her cheeks ratcheted up a notch. Dammit, why did she always have to blush like this? Lizette had joked about taking her to a male strip club on her birthday just to see how long Haley’s face could stay beet red without her passing out.

Birthday. Her heart sped up.

Bard frowned. “What is it?”

She looked at the now-quiet machine next to the bed. Oh. Right. He didn’t need a heart monitor to hear the thumps. She cleared her throat. “What day is it? How long have I been here?”

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