Page 96 of What a Wolf's Heart Decides

Mind still buzzing, she took inventory of her body. She was in wolf form, but she’d dreamed as a human. The sensation of waking in the opposite shape was unpleasant. Werewolves called it a “pinch.” Personally, she thought “fucking sucks” was a better description.

The fur on her legs was streaked with mud courtesy of her unplanned slide across the forest floor. The rest of her probably looked the same. Even as she thought it, her ruff started to itch.

There was a loud pop, and she jumped. She gathered her legs under her and tried to stand. Dizziness rolled through her like a wave, and she gasped and gave up.

I’ll try that again in a minute. Right now, she had to figure out where the hell she was. And the first order of business was taking stock of her surroundings.

She lay on her side before a . . . roaring fire? She squinted, her vision blurry as full consciousness returned.

No, her vision wasn’t the problem. The lighting was so dim, it took her eyes a minute to adjust.

There was indeed a roaring fire steps away, but that wasn’t the most startling part. The fireplace was as big as Lizette’s entire apartment and looked like something out of a medieval castle. Vines and roses were carved around the outside in a swirling pattern, and the logs inside were as big as tree trunks.

Actually, they were tree trunks. Someone had chopped them into more manageable pieces, but the logs were as big around as her waist.

The heat moved over her like a warm, gentle breath. She stretched her legs, her jaws opening on an involuntary yawn. There was a soft cushion beneath her, like a fancy dog bed rich people bought for their purebreds.

Ha. Irony alert. A former latent with no Gift living the high life.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind her.

Adrenaline replaced the dizziness, and she sprang to her feet and spun around, her hackles raised.

“Easy.” Bard emerged from the darkness, a bundle in his hands. He stopped a few feet away and ran his gaze over her. “You look better.”

Where the hell are we? Dammit, she couldn’t talk to him this way. But another shift was impossible. Frustrated, she snapped her jaws and looked away.

“You want to Turn?”

She swung her gaze back to him.

“I can help.”

Really?

He came to her and knelt, his movements easier and more casual than she’d ever seen them. Power clung to him. It was easier to miss when he was far away, but up close it was unmistakable. Her wolf wanted to brush against it like a cat weaving in and out of its owner’s legs.

Not that he owned her. The thought made heat creep up her neck. At least he couldn’t see her blush.

He placed the bundle on the floor and stretched out a hand, his palm hovering over her. “May I?”

She gave a tentative nod.

He caressed her ear, then swept a hand from the top of her head to her ruff. His face softened and his voice was admiring when he said, “You’re a beautiful wolf.”

She wasn’t, really, but his words warmed her nonetheless. Her fur was the same ordinary gray as most werewolves—and most timberwolves, for that matter—and she was of average size for a female. Nothing special. The only feature that set her apart was the black fur that tipped each of her ears, a trait Remy claimed made it look like she dipped her head in a paint can. “Which you would totally do,” he always said, “especially if someone told you not to.”

Bard brushed his fingertips over the tips now, the hint of a smile in his good eye. “I knew it was you the second I saw you in the forest. There is something delightfully irreverent about these ears.”

She wasn’t sure “delightfully irreverent” was a compliment, but his touch felt so good she decided she didn’t care. If he kept up his petting, she was going to do something shameless like roll over and let him scratch her belly.

“Steady now,” he murmured. Before she could decipher his meaning, he placed both hands on either side of her face and said, “TURN.”

The change gripped her, snatching her breath away in its ferocity. Like blinking or breathing, it was completely involuntary. She could no more hold back the ocean than she could fight his order. Unlike her previous transformations, this one slid over and through her in a smooth wave. There was no sound of ripping flesh in her ears or knifing agony as her tendons tore and reformed. Instead, her body glided from one form to the next, until she lay human and breathless, her head next to Bard’s knee.

He moved like he might touch her cheek. Then he pulled his hand away and cleared his throat. “How do you feel?”

She sat up, tucking her knees at an angle to conceal the dirt that caked her shins. The fire warmed her back. “Good . . . Really good, actually.” Despite the heat in the room, her nipples tightened, reminding her she was totally nude. And filthy. She pulled her hair over her breasts.

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