Page 61 of What a Wolf's Heart Decides

Haley leaned forward, straining to see more. As the man’s head came into view, she suppressed a gasp. White bandages circled his forehead and wrapped under his chin. More bandages covered his nose, which was flanked by two black eyes. Either he was a boxer who had a bad night, or he’d been in a serious accident.

“Tip looks good,” Bard murmured, pressing a gloved finger against the side of the man’s nose. “But I’d like John to take a look at it.” Bard released the man’s face and added, “He’s our plastic surgeon.”

The man groaned. “How much will that cost?”

It was hard to make out Bard’s expression in profile, but there was a smile in his voice as he pulled off his gloves and tossed them in a bin. “I’m not sure, but trust me when I say you don’t want to end up looking like me.”

Even with the swollen eyes, it was easy to see the man taking that in. He lifted a tentative hand to his bandaged cheek. “I don’t wanna scar, Doc. I was voted Best Smile senior year.”

Haley bit her tongue to hold back her outrage. Bard’s face was a patchwork quilt of scars, and this guy was worried about hanging onto his Best Smile title?

The man spoke again, and this time there was panic in his voice. “I-I don’t mean to offend or nothin’. It’s just . . . I ain’t got much in the brains department. At least that’s what my old man says. This mug o’ mine is about the only thing I got goin’ for me.”

Bard put his hand on the man’s forearm, and when he spoke his voice was both soothing and serious. “My accident happened a long time ago. Reconstructive surgery has progressed significantly since then.”

The man’s shoulders lowered as he let out a sigh of relief.

“But,” Bard said, “I hope you’ll make tonight the last night you drink and drive. You could have killed someone out there, or been killed yourself.”

“Are you gonna call the cops?” The man’s voice cracked a little on cops. “My dad will kick me out.”

Haley’s heart squeezed. The man wasn’t really a man at all. He was a boy. It was there in his voice, and in the way his lower lip trembled as he stared up at Bard through puffy eyes.

Bard shook his head. “No, son. But I need your word as a man that you won’t make such a stupid mistake again.” Bard lowered his voice, and it seemed to hum with power. “Your life is too valuable to throw away. No matter what your father says.”

Out of nowhere, power rushed across the room and into the hallway—the surge of it like a wave folding over itself, then lapping onto shore.

Haley sucked in a breath as goosebumps rose on her arms and sparks seemed to dance over her skin.

The boy spoke, his voice cracking. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, son.” Bard said. “Just make better decisions.”

The boy sat up a little straighter. “You have my word, Doc. I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t.”

The boy brushed quick fingers against a cheek that shone with moisture.

Bard moved his hand to the boy’s shoulder as he spoke to someone—probably the PA—on the other side of the bed. “Let’s keep him for observation overnight, and then John can have a look in the morning.”

There was a low murmur of assent, then Bard gave the boy’s shoulder another pat before turning and heading toward the door.

Haley scooted back, but she wasn’t fast enough. Bard swung the door open all the way and stopped, a frown between his eyes. He stared at her a moment, then quickly pulled the door shut behind him.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” Watching you use your Gift on a human. It shouldn’t have been possible. Humans were notoriously unreceptive to all things supernatural. But he’d formed some kind of connection with that boy. That surge of power had been real. Besides, it was obvious in the way the human seemed to rally despite admitting his father might throw him out of the house.

Her heart squeezed again—this time for Bard. Since when did Alpha werewolves care about a human’s personal problems?

They stared at each other a moment. Somehow, the sounds of the busy nurses’ station faded, leaving just the two of them. Against the white backdrop of the hallway, Bard’s good eye seemed bluer and brighter than ever. In his scrubs and white coat, his black and silver hair gave him a distinguished look. Here is someone you can trust, it said.

He was a doctor. He was turning forty-one in two weeks.

What other secrets are you hiding?

The thought was so strong her lips parted against her will—as if the question had come from outside herself.

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