What a Wolf's Heart Decides (Lux Catena Book 4)

by Amy Pennza

  He kept his gaze straight ahead—or at least she assumed he did. It was hard to tell with the eye patch.

  “You heard correctly,” he said.

  “I’d rather stay in town.”

  “Not an option.”

  Irritation buzzed around her brain, but there was an edge of panic, too. Which was silly. He was an Alpha, which meant he wasn’t an ax murderer or anything.

  Right?

  The panic nibbled a bit deeper into her brain. What was it Max had said about Bard Bennett?

  Ah yes. He wasn’t the “warm and fuzzy type.”

  Max. Why hadn’t she thought of him before? She leaned to one side and dug her cell phone from her back pocket. Remy was always after her to keep it in a safer spot. “Your jeans pockets are the size of toddler pockets.” Maybe he had a good point, but all she had to do was tilt her head and ask, “How many phones have you lost now? Is it five or six?”

  Yeah, that shut him up. For a while, at least.

  Out of nowhere, homesickness hit her like a thunderbolt. Her hand shook as she fumbled with her phone.

  Bard’s voice rumbled. “That won’t do you any good here.”

  She looked up, her hand tightening around the phone. “What do you mean?”

  He gave her a look, giving her a glimpse of his scarred face and hard mouth. “Look around you. There’s no signal in these mountains.” He faced the road. “Your gadget just became a paperweight.”

  Gadget? In her mind’s eye, she envisioned chucking the phone at his head. Sure, she should have realized she couldn’t get cell service in the Cascades, but did he have to be such a dick about it?

  He continued looking straight ahead, apparently unaware of her phone-meets-head fantasies. She stuffed her gadget in one of her coat’s inner pockets. So far, he’d been nothing but gruff and impatient toward her.

  And now he expected her to spend the night with him? With no way to contact anyone from home?

  Her gaze fell on his arms, then traveled up to his shoulders, which looked like they’d taken out their share of door frames.

  Heat blasted her cheeks. Thank goodness for the darkness. It shielded her from his view and gave her an opportunity to study him undetected. Alpha or no, she didn’t trust him.

  Between his size and his scars, he was an intimidating male.

  Oh, and there was also his inexplicable insistence on sniffing her neck to determine if she was a witch.

  She gave him another covert look under her lashes.

  Seriously, what was his problem? There were witches in the world, sure, but they were an uppity, insular sort. And unlike the wolves, the great magical houses were happy to do business with humans—for a price. Their leaders accumulated wealth and power by selling spells and curses to desperate humans and the occasional shady government. Since werewolves did everything they could to stay hidden from the human world, the witches didn’t see them as a threat. If anything, they held werewolves in disdain.

  So why would Bard Bennett threaten to kill her for being one?

  The memory of his hands gripping her and pulling her close—and then his hot breath on her neck—rushed through her mind. He hadn’t hurt her. Frightened her, yes, but he hadn’t harmed her.

  And then, for the briefest moment, it had almost seemed like he . . . relished her scent. When he turned his face into the hollow beneath her shoulder, his heart rate slowed and a sigh lifted his chest.

  She’d frozen, too startled to move. Against her will, a tingling warmth had built low in her belly. Over all of it, confusion reigned.

  Until he released her. Then her wolf had roared to the surface, and her training kicked in. She’d swung her fist without thinking, and she’d been surprised when she actually connected.

  Judging from his reaction, he’d been surprised, too.

  Her hand still ached. And that tingling sensation lingered.

  A shiver swept her, and her stomach did another lazy flip.

  “You all right?” Bard’s deep voice rumbled. Without waiting for her answer, he leaned forward and flipped on the heat again. Warm air blasted from the vents, blowing her hair.

  She bent and scooped her hat from the floor, where it had fallen during their struggle.

  “You’ll want to put that on,” he said. “It’s cold in the mountains.”

  She stuffed it in her jacket pocket.

  His mouth compressed in a tight line, but he didn’t say anything.

  Satisfaction bolted through her. Maybe it was childish, but she’d rather freeze than follow his advice. Besides, he was an Alpha. If he was anything like Max, she needed to stand her ground. The second she gave an inch, Bard would steamroll right over her. That’s what Alphas did.

  In that, at least, Bard was predictable. In other areas, though, he was downright baffling.

  She dared another glance toward the driver’s seat. He still stared straight ahead, the eye patch making it impossible to read his expression.

  What kind of Alpha didn’t have Hunters? Or a Beta? Without them, who acted as a check on his power? Who patrolled his borders so he was free to administer the day-to-day operations of the pack?

  Who counseled him when he was forced to make tough decisions? He’d said he didn’t have a family, which meant he most likely didn’t have a mate. Leadership was hard. It was lonely.

  As if her gaze was drawn by a magnet, she risked another peek.

  Was he lonely? Or just alone?

  Her ears popped, making her jump. Immediately, a ringing started in her head.

  His voice rumbled.

  It took her a second to realize she couldn’t hear. Whatever he’d said was too muffled to make out. “I’m sorry, what?”

  He turned his head, giving her a better view of his face—and probably allowing him to get a glimpse of her. With the patch over his right eye, he probably couldn’t see much on her side of the car. Sympathy welled in her chest. The lack of depth perception had to make it tough for him to maneuver in wolf form.

  “It’s the elevation,” he said.

  The words were still muffled, as if someone had stuffed cotton in her ears. She opened and closed her jaw, willing the sensation away.

  He faced forward again. “You get used to it.”

  She tried to think of a suitable response. Or any response. But then her gaze landed on his hands gripping the wheel.

  The same hands that had gripped her arms as he snarled death threats in her face.

  And now she was alone with him in the middle of a freaking mountain range. Super decision making.

  She stared at his hands. There were a few scars on his knuckles, too, the skin puckered and shiny.

  “Almost there,” he said.

  She jumped again.

  He didn’t seem to notice. Which was good. She didn’t need him thinking she was easily frightened or cowed into submission by his stunt at the airfield.

  She looked out the window. There wasn’t a house or structure in sight. The terrain hadn’t changed since they left the airfield. Thick evergreens lined the narrow road like tall sentinels guarding a path through an enchanted forest. The branches were so thick it was impossible to see anything but—

  There. A light in the distance. She squinted as they rounded a slight bend. The light grew brighter . . . and another appeared beside it. A second later, there was a break in the trees and the gray outline of a house emerged against the night sky.

  Bard turned into a long, winding driveway. In the New York Territory, the Lodge was protected by big iron gates equipped with security cameras, and the forest around it was constantly patrolled by Hunters.

  Here, there was nothing but trees. The house also sat atop a hill, which just heightened the security risk. Enemies could sneak right up to it.

  The place was beautiful, though. She leaned forward as they got closer, her gaze roving over the property illuminated by two porch lights that showcased a stunning timber-framed porch. The rest of the house was a mixture of brown and dark gr
een—as if it had been built to complement nature rather than dominate it.

  Modest but clearly good quality, it had a sort of modern farmhouse look, with big windows and clean lines.

  As they neared, Bard hit a button and the wooden garage door lifted. The SUV’s tires squealed softly as he pulled onto the concrete and stopped.

  Haley gazed around. After the whirlwind events of the airfield and her confrontation with Bard, it was almost surreal to find herself in the middle of a very ordinary looking garage. Metal shelves lined one wall, and a pegboard sported various hammers and other tools. There was a red workbench and a shelving unit full of men’s shoes.

  It was a well-organized, spartan environment.

  And very much a male’s domain.

  “Come on,” Bard said, unbuckling his seat belt. “I’ll get your bag.”

  She tore her gaze from the shoe rack. Shit. She’d had the whole drive to figure out her next move, and she’d squandered it. Now she was at the Alpha’s house.

  With the Alpha.

  Alone.

  The Tahoe’s rear gate opened, and a rush of cold air swept the cabin.

  “Miss Michaels.”

  She twisted around in her seat.

  Bard stood at the rear of the vehicle, his shoulders framed by the Tahoe’s cargo area.

  She tried for “yeah” but her voice came out strangled and hoarse. She cleared her throat. “Um, yes?”

  “You can’t sit in the garage all night.”

  “Oh. I’m not.”

  An emotion flickered in his blue eye. For a second, she could have sworn it was amusement. Then he looked down and hefted her suitcase from the back. When he met her gaze again, any emotion was gone. He tipped his head toward a set of steps leading to a steel door. “Let’s go. I’ll show you to the guest room.”

  Guest room. Well, that didn’t sound so ominous.

  She unlatched her seat belt and got out, then rounded the front of the SUV and went to the steps. Bard was already on the second tread, her suitcase in his hand.

  Except something was wrong.

  He favored his right leg, bending it like normal as he went up the steps. But his left . . .

  She held back, not wanting to crowd him. He didn’t seem all that stable.

  And he kept his left leg straight even as he climbed.

  “Here,” she said, reaching for the suitcase, “let me.”

  “I’ve got it.” He barked the reply without turning around, his voice lashing out like a whip.

  She snatched her hand back.

  He opened the door, set the suitcase inside, and entered the house—all without so much as a glance in her direction.

  She stood at the base of the steps. What was that about? Male pride? He was obviously in pain. She was a freaking werewolf. She could have carried ten suitcases without breaking a sweat.

  Bard’s deep voice drifted from the house’s interior. “It’s late, Miss Michaels. While I respect your admiration for my garage, I’m very tired.”

  Nope. That definitely hadn’t been amusement in his eye before. There wasn’t a trace of humor in the man.

  She went up the steps and entered a darkened mudroom. Bard already had his coat off, and he waited in a broad doorway with her suitcase in hand. Even after shedding his bulky coat, his body still filled the frame. He should have looked less intimidating in the ordinary space. But his height and the eye patch ensured he stayed as menacing as before.

  “Leave your boots on the mat,” he said, then turned and limped through the doorway, pulling her suitcase behind him. “Meet me in my study,” he added over his shoulder. “Second door on the right.”

  Okay, so she’d been in his house less than ten seconds and he’d already issued two orders. So much for standing her ground against an overbearing Alpha. Heaving a sigh, she bent and unlaced her boots. Irritation rose as she toed off the first one. He hadn’t removed his boots, even though they were probably as dirty as hers.

  She slid out of the second and then stooped so she could tip both shoes upright. For a second, she was tempted to leave them wet and dripping right where they were. But she couldn’t do that to the hardwood floors.

  She moved the boots to the mat, then gave the floorboards a pat and whispered, “It’s not your fault your owner’s an ass.” Then she stood, put her shoulders back, and went through the doorway into a long hall.

  The hall was wide, its floors made of the same beautiful hardwood from the mudroom. Bard still hadn’t turned on any lights, but the soft glow spilling from an open door beckoned. More butterflies stirred in her stomach as she walked to the study. She stopped outside the door, heart thumping.

  I should have never come to Washington. What had she been thinking, flying thousands of miles from home for a blind date? Sure, the prospect of seeing wild horses was alluring, but it wasn’t worth the mess she was in now.

  “Enter,” Bard said from the room.

  Her heart leapt. His voice was deeper than Max’s, but it held the same irritating note of command the New York Alpha favored. Unlike Max, though, he wasn’t her Alpha. Anger sparked in her gut. She might be a guest, but she wasn’t an underling. She didn’t have to jump when he said so.

  The anger lent her confidence, and she stepped into the study with her chin held high.

  Bard sat behind a desk, his head bent over a laptop, fingers moving over the keyboard. He paused his typing and pointed to a chair without looking up. “Sit.”

  She clenched her fists. “I’m not a dog!”

  The typing ceased, and he looked up. His scarred mouth twitched, and his piercing blue eye narrowed. “No, but you are exhausted and experiencing frequent tachycardia.” His gaze focused on her face. “When did you last eat or drink anything?”

  Caught off guard, she answered without thinking. “Uh . . . not since the flight from New York. So . . .” How long had it been since she’d eaten? Abruptly, her stomach growled. She slapped a hand over her midsection.

  The scarred lips twitched. He pointed to the chair again. In a softer voice, he said, “Sit, please.”

  In a daze, she walked to the chair and sat.

  He regarded her for a moment, his red plaid shirt a sharp contrast to the dark upholstery of his chair and the equally dark wood of his desk. Light from a lamp on his desk picked up the silver in his hair, giving him the look of a distinguished lumberjack. Or maybe a well-heeled pirate.

  She bit the inside of her cheek. Why the hell was she assessing his looks? This was a male who, less than an hour ago, held her down and sniffed her neck. Any second now, he was going to say something rude or bark another order at her.

  His gaze roved over her face. “I’ll make this short, and then we’ll get you something to eat.”

  Okay, so maybe her predictions were off a little. She opened her mouth to reply.

  “And slow your breathing,” he added. “You’re not used to the altitude here. Those fast respirations will give you one hell of a headache.”

  She snapped her mouth shut. Since when was he so concerned about her health?

  He pushed the laptop away and settled back in his chair. “Now, tell me about the Rupert letter.”

  “What’s tac . . . tachy . . .”

  “Tachycardia.” His gaze dipped to her chest. “Rapid heartbeat.”

  Warmth spread over her chest and crept up her neck. For a man with one eye, his gaze was unusually . . . pointed.

  He cleared his throat. “The Rupert letter.”

  She looked up. He’d looked up, too, and now his right cheekbone was ruddy.

  From the punch she’d given him?

  As if on cue, her fist throbbed. She glanced at her knuckles. Sure enough, a faint bruise darkened the ridges.

  “Miss Michaels.”

  She forced her gaze back up. “Yes?”

  He spoke in a deliberate voice that told her he was running out of patience. “The letter.”

  Right. It seemed she wasn’t getting out of explaining it. She
took a deep breath and told him everything, from Max calling her into his office to her excitement over the possibility of seeing wild horses in the mountains.

  When she finished, Bard was silent a moment. Then, “You came all this way to see some horses and go on a date with a man you’ve never met?”

  Good grief, he made it sound terrible. She forced a shrug. “I worked with horses growing up.”

  “As a werewolf?” His tone was skeptical.

  “As a latent. Former latent.”

  “Ah.” Understanding lit his gaze. “You’re one of Simard’s Bloodsinger wolves.”

  The way he said it made it sound like she and the others Lizette had Turned enjoyed some kind of special status. Ha. More like “outsider” status. Or maybe “loser” status.

  “Still,” he murmured, “that’s a long journey to commit yourself to a stranger.”

  “I’m not committing myself to anyone. It’s not like I’m a mail order bride.”

  “You’ve never even seen Benjamin Rupert.”

  She lifted her chin. “That doesn’t matter.”

  “No?” The skepticism in his voice thickened. “You don’t care what your future mate looks like?”

  “I care about his personality. Whether he’s funny and kind.” Her voice was rising, but she didn’t care. He looked so smug and judgmental, like she was some kind of harlot willing to throw herself at any male with a pulse. “You know, positive character traits. Those aren’t things I can tell from a picture. Haven’t you ever heard the saying ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’?”

  As soon as she said it, she wanted to snatch the words from the air.

  But it was too late, of course. The best she could do was sit in mortified silence.

  One side of his mouth pulled upward—the closest he’d come to a smile since they met.

  Only it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m familiar with the expression, yes.”

  She squeezed her good hand over her injured one. Her bruised knuckles ached, but she ignored the discomfort. All that mattered was steering the conversation to safer waters. “Well, if you haven’t noticed, our species has a population problem. It’s not like I have a lot of options.”

  The black eyebrow over his good eye went up. “The New York Territory accepts more trainee Hunters than any other territory in the country. There aren’t any eligible bachelors there?”