Page 71 of What a Wolf's Heart Decides

He held up a hand, and she froze.

“I’m an amputee.” He reached behind him and lifted what was obviously a prosthetic leg. There was a long, metal rod topped by what looked like a flesh-colored stocking. At the base, an athletic shoe covered a realistic looking foot.

She stared, her mind whirling. No wonder he never removed his boots inside the house. Doing so would have revealed his disability. Werewolves could heal almost any injury, but there wasn’t a wolf alive who could regenerate a limb. Prosthetics were fine for human form, but they couldn’t change shape with the Turn. Without the ability to run or hunt, a three-legged wolf was easy prey. An amputation was a devastating injury for a shapeshifter.

It was impossible for an Alpha.

She lifted her gaze and found him watching her. If he was nervous that she discovered his secret, he didn’t show it.

“I won’t tell the pack,” she said quickly.

His smile was humorless. “They already know.”

Shock surged through her. “And they let you lead?” The second she said it, she cringed inside. As a rule, no one let an Alpha do anything. They seized power and held it through sheer force of will. She licked her lips. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” he said, the words clipped. He regarded her for a moment, then said, “Being Alpha isn’t the glamorous job some imagine it to be, Miss Michaels. That’s especially true in a place like Elder Lake, where latents outnumber pureblooded wolves. When they go mad—and they always do—someone has to hunt them down and kill them. Do you think their family members want to take on that role? Could you watch your loved one die? Or worse, track them and kill them yourself?”

It was impossible to say, considering she didn’t have any loved ones. But the idea of killing anything turned her stomach.

Still, not everyone felt that way. Some wolves were just fine with killing. Unbidden, Glenna Rupert’s words ran through her mind. “If you ask me, Bard Bennett doesn’t want to rule.” Ben’s mother was as dominant and ambitious as any wolf, and she made no secret about wanting her son to lead. A disabled Alpha would be easy to eliminate.

So how was Bard still Alpha?

Before she could figure out a way to ask, he set the prosthetic on the floor and started rolling up the loose leg of his scrub pants.

She sat, shame flooding her as he uncovered his injury. The insult she flung at him couldn’t have hurt more than the ruin in front of her.

He still had his knee—at least as far as she could tell. A thick, rubbery sock covered the stump, and a blunt metal pin poked out from the end. Above the sock, thick scars ran like rivers up his thigh. They were thicker and deeper than the ones on his face. Dark purple puncture wounds formed a gruesome necklace, as if something had ripped huge chunks of meat from his flesh.

No, not something. Someone. Only a wolf could have made those marks.

She dropped her gaze to the floor, unable to bear the evidence of his pain. Her throat ached, and a tear made a hot sprint down her cheek.

Warm fingers lifted her chin, forcing her eyes up.

Bard’s blue gaze was steady. “What’s this?”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

He brushed her cheek with his thumb, smoothing it over the track left by her tear. “Don’t be. I’m not anymore.”

“But I called you . . .” She took a deep breath. “I said you were a—”

“It’s forgotten.” He removed his hand, taking his warmth with him.

Cool air drifted over her face, and for a second she had a wild impulse to lean forward, like a flower stretching for the sun.

He bent over his leg once more, his brow furrowed as he fit the prosthetic against the pin protruding from his knee.

More shame rolled over her. He may have forgiven her, but it would be awhile before she forgave herself. Her hands twitched with the need to help, but she tucked them between her knees and pressed her thighs together so she wouldn’t offer. Something told her he wouldn’t welcome the assistance.

Without looking up, he said, “Maybe you could give me a hand.”

“What?” She straightened. “I mean, yes. Of course. How? Anything!”

He wrapped both palms around the prosthetic, braced himself, then jerked the whole thing into his knee. There was a soft metal click, like a lock engaging.

Her heart soared. “You got it!”

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