by Amy Pennza
“Okay,” she said, swinging her head toward him. “I’ll agree to that.”
He bit back the concessions he’d been about to make. Maybe she wasn’t going to be a difficult patient, after all. As a doctor, he’d take whatever cooperation he could get.
“On one condition,” she added.
In his mind, his wolf lifted its head, its curiosity piqued by the prospect of another challenge.
Bard pushed the wolf back. The beast might be interested in playing games, but he wasn’t. “Name it,” he told her.
“I want to check on Ben.”
His wolf roared to the surface, the force of the beast’s ire so great Bard’s fangs threatened to punch through his gums. He kept his head averted, for once grateful for the eye patch that prevented her from seeing his full expression—or his good eye, which was probably wolf blue ahead of the Turn.
Turn. Holy fuck, the wolf was trying to snap its restraints. As teens, werewolves learned to keep their inner beasts on a sort of metaphysical leash. Otherwise, the wolf could take over at inconvenient moments. Every werewolf had certain triggers—hunger, anger, strong emotions. Hell, some wolves had a hard time keeping it together in traffic jams.
But Bard’s wolf was a placid creature. For an Alpha, his beast was unusually pliant.
Until now.
Head down, he spoke directly to the beast. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Rusty as he was, the effort of speaking mind-to-mind with his wolf created an instant ache in his temples. His whole body tensed, his muscles taut as he struggled to keep the beast from forcing a Turn.
The wolf ignored him, its focus on Haley. Anger ran hot in its blood, and it sent an image of open jaws and elongated fangs.
“Stop it.”
“Bard?” There was movement to his right. She must have leaned toward him.
He forced the beast to recede—or tried to. Normally content to stay in the background, the creature fought him, struggling to surface and tip the balance from man to wolf. Bard clenched his jaw. The muscles in his left thigh spasmed, and pain screamed up his leg and into his hip. A whimper threatened to escape his lips.
He ground his teeth together.
More movement, then pressure on his arm.
And warmth.
He turned his head. Her light brown hair swung into his vision. And there was her hand, her fingers curled around his forearm just under his elbow.
The beast quieted. The pressure in Bard’s gums faded. In his mind, the wolf lowered its head, ceding control.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine.” Bard’s voice came out breathless and shaking. He cleared his throat. “I’m fine.” Just a piss poor excuse for an Alpha.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Is it your leg?”
He jerked his head up, forgetting about hiding his face as he met her eyes. “What?”
Something in his stare must have caught her off guard, because she pulled her hand back and withdrew. “Sorry.” She bit her lower lip—just for a second, but it drew his gaze like a lodestone. She licked the spot she’d bitten.
Heat rushed through him, as if the sun had risen in his chest.
“I noticed you favor it,” she said.
Favor was an interesting way of putting it. He started to reply, but his voice was still rough.
Courtesy of the wolf. Turning changed everything, including human vocal cords. It could make other things happen, too.
Like the five alarm fire happening under his skin. Arousal was a common side-effect of a challenge. His human half was far more emotionally complex than its animal counterpart. The wolf had a limited range, which meant any kind of strong feeling could lead to . . . inconveniences.
But Haley didn’t know his present struggle. She just thought he was in pain. By asking about it, she’d unknowingly given him an excuse to avoid explaining his wolf’s sudden fixation with her.
He cleared his throat again. “I . . . injured it. A long time ago.” A lifetime ago.
Her lifetime ago.
Yep, that little reminder was enough to rid him of the aftereffects of a challenge.
He put his hand on the door, his face averted once more. “We should go inside. You need to eat something.”
“What about Ben?”
Bard’s wolf lifted its head, menace rolling off it like smoke.
What the . . .? The beast was jealous of Rupert? That was laughable.
The creature sent an impression of hot, thick blood and splintered bone.
“Bard?” This time, Haley’s voice held the slightest note of panic.
Yeah, because he was probably scaring the crap out of her by acting like a madman.
“Yes,” he said without looking at her. “You can check on him, call him.” It was dark outside. She sure as hell wasn’t checking on him in person.
Deep in his mind, the wolf snapped its jaws.
Bard held his breath.
Haley was silent a moment, then she let out a soft sigh. “All right.”
Right.
He released his breath, his gaze going to the steps leading into the house. Between an enraged wolf and a concussed patient, he had more than enough on his plate.
Now he just had to get inside without his leg giving out. Then he could get her settled and go to his office. With his leg in such bad shape, he’d probably have to sleep in there, too.
Quite the Alpha. In a single night, he nearly lost control of his wolf and panted over a female like a fourteen-year-old boy.
Now he was going to hide in his office because he couldn’t handle stairs. Anger and frustration built in his mind. He couldn’t control his own body, let alone his pack. No wonder Glenna thought she could step around him to find a match for her son.
A match she’d brought to Elder Lake without his permission or knowledge.
What else was she planning to do without his knowledge?
Haley spoke again. “Bard?”
His temper snapped. In one movement, he rounded on her, grabbed her chin, and put his face in hers. “I don’t recall giving you leave to use my first name.”
Her eyes widened—then narrowed. She pulled back.
He tightened his grip.
“Let me go,” she said, her voice lower than any human woman’s.
“Not until you give me the respect I deserve.”
In a move he could have never predicted, she pushed her face closer to his, bringing her mouth so near her breath fluttered over his lips. “In my territory, respect is something you earn. Not demand.”
A hint of wildflowers wafted around him.
His anger faded. Before he could stop himself, he breathed deep, taking in a lungful of her scent.
In his mind, his wolf settled onto its haunches, its posture relaxed.
Bewilderment swamped him. A second ago, the beast was trampling through his consciousness, sending images of rage and destruction.
Now, in the face of another wolf’s aggression, it wanted a nap?
Haley pulled her chin from his grip. “I’m going inside.” She slid back to her side of the SUV, tossing him a furious look as she brushed at her chin. She opened the door and was out of the car before he could react.
He reached for his own door handle just as a fresh spasm of pain shot down his leg, the sensation so fierce he was forced to sit rigid as she rounded the front of the SUV, her wolf blue eyes flashing in the headlights. He couldn’t go after her, not without risking a fall.
Helpless.
Impotent.
Cripple.
The words racketed around the inside of his skull, hammering at him as he watched her go. She stomped up the steps and entered the house, giving him a final scathing glance as she slammed the door.
No other wolf would have dared it. No other Alpha would have allowed it.
But he wasn’t any other Alpha.
He was a scarred, helpless cripple. And she was right. He wasn’t worthy of her respect. If she didn’
t know it before, she did now.
And that was for the best.
For both of them.
12
What an asshole! Haley slammed the door so hard it shuddered on its hinges. It would serve Bard right if she broke it. He had a lot of nerve grabbing her.
Again.
The mudroom was dark, but light from the moon streamed inside. Through the window, fat snowflakes drifted to the ground. It was a peaceful scene and a sharp contrast to the fury simmering under her skin.
She turned and stared at the door, her temples throbbing. It was quite the pattern, his habit of gripping her chin and snarling in her face any time they rode in a car together. “From now on I’m taking an Uber,” she muttered.
After a few more seconds scowling at the door, she turned and toed off her boots. This time she didn’t bother putting them on the mat. Let them leak all over the place. He deserved it for being an arrogant dick. Maybe the water would ruin his floors. Maybe it would get under the boards and warp them and he’d trip every time he came inside.
An evil smile curved in her mind. He’d think of her every time it happened. She’d be long gone and still getting revenge.
The door swung open and Bard’s body filled the frame.
She froze, her heart pounding.
His gaze went to her boots.
Fresh anger made her clench her fists. If he said a single word about the floor, she was going to—
“I’m sorry,” he said, meeting her eyes.
Wait. He was apologizing?
“I’m apologizing,” he said.
“Okay.”
Silence fell.
She waited for him to say something else, but he just stood there, a small frown between his black brows. Confusion swept her. Did he expect her to say more? Congratulate the Alpha on admitting he was wrong about something? Slow clap or offer him a cookie?
Just as the pause grew uncomfortable, he came all the way into the mudroom and closed the door. “My wolf is . . . unsettled.”
Her ire faded. It wasn’t the best excuse in the world, but it made sense. He was probably exhausted from work and, while he probably wouldn’t admit it, he’d been in obvious pain on the drive home. Her own wolf could make her lash out when she was tired.
She tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “I understand.”
He gave a short nod.
Before another awkward silence could descend, she jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “I’ll just head upstairs.”
“No.”
“What?” She felt a bemused smile curve her lips. “Why not?”
His frown deepened. “We talked about this. I want to keep an eye on you for a few hours.”
Oh hell no. Not after his little temper tantrum in the car. Apologies were great but she had no desire to be around his unsettled wolf. “I’m fine.”
“Maybe, but I’ll be the judge of that.” He took a step toward her.
She held her ground, even though every part of her wanted to inch backwards. “I appreciate it, but I’m truly okay. Werewolf, remember?”
“Concussions don’t care what species you are, Miss Michaels.”
Ugh. She couldn’t decide which version of him was more insufferable, the Alpha or the doctor.
“You’re correct, though,” he said. “You are a werewolf. And I expect you to follow orders.”
The Alpha. Definitely the Alpha.
“For once,” he added.
Record needle scratch. For once? She dared to hold his gaze, her temper leaking back into her veins. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His blue stare was hard. “I gave you explicit instructions not to leave the house. Yet you chose to do so anyway. You could have been killed in that avalanche and Rupert with you.”
Astonishment and outrage swirled in her chest. “You’re blaming me for what happened?”
He didn’t answer. Which was answer enough.
“Really?”
His blue eye glinted. “It wouldn’t have happened if you stayed inside like I ordered.”
She shook her head. “That’s not what you ordered.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it’s not.”
Thunderclouds gathered in his good eye. “I left a note,” he grated.
“And it said to stay in the territory. So, technically? I obeyed your order.”
Ha. There.
Surprise flared in his gaze, but only for a second. Then he clenched his jaw. “Semantics, Miss Michaels.”
“Better luck next time, Doctor Bennett.” Seeing an opportunity to flee, she turned and went through the doorway leading to the hall.
She was halfway to the stairs when a warm hand clamped down on her arm.
She whirled, curls flying, and broke his hold as she stumbled back. Already rattled from the scene in the car, her wolf sprang to the surface, making her voice drop a full register. “Touch me again and lose a paw.”
Something ominous flashed in his good eye. “Is that a challenge? You won’t win against me, Miss Michaels, that I promise you.”
“You’re a bully.” She gulped in air. “And you’re really bad at apologies!”
He loomed over her, his blue eye blazing. “You provoke me on purpose.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
His growl lifted the little hairs on her nape. “You want to talk problems? You’ve been nothing but trouble since the moment you arrived.”
Ouch. Where had she heard that before? The barb sank deep, irritating old wounds. She lifted her chin. “Then I’ll leave.”
“Yes, you will. First thing in the morning.”
Out of nowhere, a lump rose in her throat. She swallowed, letting anger smother it. “I’ll go one better and leave right now.”
His tone was like an angry parent addressing a stubborn toddler. “The hell you will. It’s dark and freezing outside.”
“I don’t care!”
“Well, I do.”
No, you don’t. He didn’t care about her. And why should he? She was, as he put it, nothing but trouble.
A problem. Something to be dealt with. Certainly not someone to love.
“I’m going,” she said, then turned and started forward.
He grabbed her. “Haley—”
“I said don’t touch me!” Her voice punched the air as she whipped around, once again breaking his hold.
He staggered back, favoring his right leg. Pain flashed across his face, but he recovered quickly. “I’m ordering you to stay put.”
Her anger climbed. He didn’t want her in his house, but he wouldn’t let her go, either.
And where would she go? Back to New York? There was nothing for her there. Just pitying glances and whispered insults.
She hid a wince. “As you so conveniently pointed out, I’m bad at following orders.”
“You go up those stairs and you’ll regret it.”
“Lay another hand on me and you’ll regret ever meeting me.”
His snarl bounced off the hall’s narrow walls. “I already do.”
Later, she couldn’t remember what made her say her next words. Her only explanation was that a hot mix of fury and hurt made her abandon all kindness and decency, and she reached for words that would wound him as much as his wounded her.
She dropped her gaze to his bad leg, then met him square in the eye. “As if you could ever hope to catch me, crippled as you are.”
The color left his face.
She whirled and ran, her cheeks on fire and her heart pounding. Get upstairs and pack a bag. Get upstairs and pack a bag. The phrase drummed through her head, instinct urging her to go as fast as she could. Her head buzzed, the image of Bard’s shocked expression burned into her brain.
She reached the stairs and started up the treads.
Something brushed her arm.
Her wolf took over, making her spin in a blur of speed. She bared her fangs, ready to do battle.
Bard caught her elbow and jerked her against
him. “How dare you call me crippled!”
They balanced two steps up, their feet tangling on the narrow tread.
“Let me go!” She tugged at his grip. The smell of juniper crashed over her.
He snarled low in his chest and tightened his grip.
They tussled on the step. She twisted sideways, trying to dislodge his grip.
“Stop it!” he yelled.
“Go to hell!” She gave her arm another yank.
Her foot slipped, throwing her off balance.
He lurched to the side.
That was all it took. They went down in a blur of tangled limbs.
Her shoulder hit the ground first. With her wolf ascendant, she felt nothing as she jumped to her feet and bared her fangs.
Then she sucked in a breath.
Bard lay sprawled at the foot of the stairs.
And his leg was missing.
She stared, her brain uncomprehending. The lower half of his leg was . . . gone.
Oh god. Terror gripped her, and she swept a gaze across the foyer, looking for blood.
Why was there no blood?
Bard sat up.
She gasped. “Are you—”
“I’m fine.”
What! “B-But your leg.” She went to her knees beside him.
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.