Page 58 of What a Wolf's Heart Decides

And I’m not giving him another reason to. She pulled the gown over her head and tossed it on the bed before grabbing the plastic bag and dumping her clothes on the rumpled sheet.

Ordinarily, nudity didn’t bother her. Like most wolves, she stripped down before she Turned. Living at the Lodge meant seeing her fellow pack members in the buff on a regular basis. But it was different when relationships were involved.

Not that she was in a relationship with Bard.

She bit her lower lip as she pulled on the thin camisole she’d worn under her button-down. Yeah, no way was she even remotely interested in him. It was absurd to even contemplate it.

And he certainly wasn’t interested in her. He was probably going to drive her straight from the hospital to the airport. He’d made it clear he wanted her gone.

Her hands trembled, and a wave of dizziness swept her. Clearly, Bard hadn’t exaggerated about the seriousness of her injuries.

Thank goodness I finally made the Turn. If she’d been a latent, she probably wouldn’t have survived.

“Miss Michaels?”

She jumped at Bard’s voice. “One second!”

Hands shaking, she tried to button her shirt—only to realize half the buttons were missing. What the hell? She stared at the two halves of her shirt for a second before giving up and grabbing her jeans. The tank top was thin, but it covered everything.

More dizziness assailed her, and she leaned against the bed as she pulled on her jeans, her head swimming. As she laced up her boots, Bard ducked around the curtain.

Her heart jumped, and she straightened. “You could have knocked.”

“On the curtain?”

She didn’t bother hiding her scowl.

His gaze moved over her face, and his good eye narrowed. “Your heart’s racing. Sit down for a second.”

“I’m fine.”

Now he scowled. “Miss Michaels—”

“Is there a bathroom?”

“Do you need to go?”

Okay, she was not discussing toilet activities with this man. She tamped down her irritation. “Does it matter?”

He gave her an assessing look. “Your body’s been through a lot of trauma. You’re as pale as the sheets on that bed. The last thing you need is to pass out and crack your head on a hospital sink.”

Was he suggesting he’d accompany her to the bathroom? Somehow, she stopped herself from grinding her teeth. “I need a mirror.”

His gaze raked her. “You look fine.”

She opened her mouth, then shut it. At some point, he’d slipped back into Alpha mode. Something told her that arguing with him would be unproductive.

Especially after that spanking comment.

Blood rushed into her cheeks. She turned away, breaking eye contact as she used her fingers to comb her hair back from her face. First order of business as soon as she was reunited with her luggage? Finding a hair band. Without one, the best she could do was pull her curls into a ponytail at her nape and wrap a piece of hair around it—a trick she’d mastered after dozens of training sessions with the guys at the Lodge.

When she finished, she spoke as she faced him again. “Okay, I’m—” She was brought up short by the look on his face.

It was . . . softer. Almost dazed. Then he gave his head a small shake as if to clear it. “We, ah, have about fifteen minutes until shift change. You can use the restroom, Miss Michaels.”

“It’s fine.” Some of the blood returned to her cheeks. “I don’t have to go.”

“You’re dehydrated.” His frown told her he didn’t like it. He turned and went through the curtain. A second later, he reemerged pushing a wheelchair. “Get in.”

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