Page 72 of What a Wolf's Heart Decides

He gave her a look. “Just the first step. The hard part is standing. Do you think you can help me up? Assuming you can handle my weight.”

“Absolutely.” Under other circumstances, she might have pointed out she was a werewolf and thus capable of carrying him up the stairs if needed. But she bit her tongue. It was no time to pick a fight. She got to her feet and extended her hand.

He took it. “On three,” he said.

They counted together. “One, two, three.”

She rocked back on her heels as he surged to his feet, all his weight on his good leg. He swayed, and she rushed forward and threw her shoulder under his arm, propping him up.

“I’ve got you,” she said. “You’re not going to fall.”

Sweat dotted his forehead, and his mouth was a thin, white line of obvious pain. “Sofa. Living room.”

“Got it.” The living room was just off the foyer, which was puddled with moonlight. She kept his arm slung around her shoulders as they moved across the hardwood and into the living room, which was illuminated by a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. The snow fell faster and thicker now, fluffy flakes swirling as the wind picked up.

At last they reached the sofa. In one movement, Haley slipped from under Bard’s arm and guided them both to the cushions.

He let out a grunt as he sat, then carefully stretched his bad leg in front of him and massaged his thigh. Moonlight fell all around him, picking up the silver in his hair.

“How did it happen?” she dared to ask.

He stopped his movements but didn’t look up. There was a long pause, and just as she started to regret the question, he said, “It was a challenge. When I was younger and dumber.”

She made her voice gentle. “Max says that’s when most challenges happen.”

A smile curved his mouth, and his eyelashes made dark fans on his cheeks as he rumbled, “Well, he’s right about that.”

Her breath caught. Maybe it was a trick of the light but for a moment, it was as if his scars disappeared. He’d smiled and his whole face shifted. The phenomenon was brief, like a flash in a pan, making her wonder if she imagined it.

He looked up, but not at her. Instead, he trained his gaze on the windows, and there was a faraway look in his eye as he continued. “In this case, though, I didn’t have much choice. My father died and I wanted to rule. I’d lost my parents. I didn’t want to lose my home, too.”

It was a common enough story. Although a pack wasn’t a monarchy, most Alphas assumed their seat would go to their son. Max inherited his pack from his father and his father before him. But the death of an Alpha was also a dangerous time for an heir, especially a young or untested one. If the pack felt he was unable to lead, they would encourage someone to challenge him.

Kill him.

Was that what happened to Bard? Had he gone from burying his parents to fighting for his life? Sympathy welled in her heart.

“You must miss them,” she said. “Your parents.”

He met her gaze, and he seemed to think it over before saying, “I miss their counsel. There are times I encounter a problem and I wonder what my father would have done in similar circumstances.” He smiled. “Or, more accurately, what he would have done to muck things up until my mother stepped in and helped him fix it.”

“She sounds formidable.”

His smile grew fond. “She was. My father’s saving grace was that he knew she was smarter and listened to her advice.”

Haley couldn’t help but return his smile. “A power couple.”

“Without question. They had the kind of relationship I’d want for myself if—” He stopped, biting off the sentence so abruptly it was like a door slamming shut.

She waited. If what?

He cleared his throat. “Anyway, they’ve been gone a long time. I’ve learned to get by without their advice.” Expression shuttered, he turned toward the window, where the snow piled high enough to cover the lower half of the glass.

She frowned, questions buzzing in her mind. He’d been about to say he wanted a partnership like his parents’ if not for . . . what?

Moonlight played over his scars, as though Nature shone a spotlight on every imperfection.

And something clicked in her brain. Or maybe it fell into place—literally, given the tumble down the stairs that exposed his leg. Suddenly, she could fill in the rest of his sentence. She’d wondered why he didn’t have a Beta or Hunters.

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