Page 64 of What a Wolf's Heart Decides

“Do you know why your Gift hasn’t manifested?” he asked. “Do your parents have any ideas?”

A beat passed, and he could sense her shrug. “I have no way of knowing. They died when I was four.”

Surprise rippled through him. Sympathy lapped at its heels. He did his best to soften his voice. “You’re a foster.” It wasn’t uncommon, although it was still a tragedy. The mating bond was sacred, but it was a double-edged sword that left too many wolves orphaned and homeless. The lux catena was the reason most territories banned males from serving as Hunters once they fathered a child. The risk of death was simply too great. The majority of wolves also avoided dominance contests once they had offspring.

Curiosity tugged at him. Had her sire fought a contest and lost? If so, it was the height of selfishness.

“My parents were old,” she said, her voice so soft it took him a moment to absorb what she said. The weight of her gaze touched him again, and her voice grew louder. “When they had me.”

It wasn’t unheard of. Werewolves were nowhere near as fertile as humans, but their reproductive years extended much longer. Some females could give birth well into their nineties.

Still, normal lifespans were around a hundred thirty years. Which meant her parents should still be living.

“My mother was one hundred and twenty when I was born,” she said. A smile entered her tone. “According to my foster mother, it was such a surprise, Mom didn’t know she was pregnant for six months.”

Bard imagined her face again, her eyes glowing with fondness this time. The doctor in him marveled at a female that old giving birth. It was a miracle. But it was also a tragedy, given that Haley had grown up motherless and fatherless.

He glanced in her direction, fruitless as it was. “Do you remember anything about them? Your real parents?”

She gave a heavy sigh. “Just bits and pieces. Sometimes I dream about them, but then other times it’s like something I’ve seen in a movie. Like I can’t trust my own memories.”

He turned down the road leading to his home, the SUV’s headlights bouncing off the trees. The longing in her voice did something to him. Made him want to comfort her. He was good enough at that—at least in a clinical setting.

But they weren’t in a hospital, and he wasn’t her doctor. Not really. Not now. The moment they left the hospital, he’d become the Alpha again. That meant maintaining certain boundaries. He could offer her strength. Safety. Maybe even sympathy.

But comfort? There were some lines Alphas shouldn’t cross, especially not with beautiful young females.

And she was young. In a way, he should be grateful to Anna for reminding him of that oh-so-important fact.

The house appeared out of the night, the porch lights glowing. He hit the button for the garage door as he pulled into the driveway. At the same time, he stretched his left leg, preparing for the walk inside. Pushing her in the wheelchair had taken its toll, making his muscles cramp more than usual. Shoving his way through waist-high snow down in the valley hadn’t helped, either. Nor had dropping to his knees beside her after Ben pulled her from the ice.

She shifted, her coat making shushing sounds against the leather seat. At the same moment, her heart rate kicked up a notch.

Nerves? Because of him?

Probably, you ass. That’s what happens when you ogle a female like a piece of meat.

And he’d done that. Worse, he did it beside her hospital bed—after he wrestled back control from his wolf. That meant he couldn’t even blame the beast for his inappropriate behavior. She’d caught him off guard, but that was no excuse.

No, there was no excuse for letting his gaze dip to her chest when she lifted her arms and fussed with her hair, scooping the heavy mass away from her face and fastening it into some sort of ponytail. Her ruined shirt had gaped open, exposing a tight-fitting tank top that hugged her chest, revealing the outline of her bra and taut nipples underneath.

He’d jerked his head up just in time to meet her stare—and the bewilderment in her eyes.

Yeah, he really cranked up the creep factor with that one. Unfortunately, apologizing would only make things worse. It wasn’t like he could turn to her and say “I’m sorry for staring at your chest” and then usher her into his house.

That thought made him grit his teeth as he pulled into the garage and shut off the engine. They were back to square one, only this time he couldn’t wash his hands of her by sending her to the guest room.

For one thing, there was no way he could do stairs in front of her. Not with his leg in such bad shape.

“I’ll head upstairs,” she said. “Good night.”

“No.”

More rustling—and a second of silence. “What?” The tone of her voice was the auditory equivalent of raised eyebrows.

He turned so she was in his line of sight. And yep, her eyebrows threatened to climb into her hairline. “You probably still have a concussion.”

“But you healed me.”

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