by Amy Pennza
Even with the swollen eyes, it was easy to see the man taking that in. He lifted a tentative hand to his bandaged cheek. “I don’t wanna scar, Doc. I was voted Best Smile senior year.”
Haley bit her tongue to hold back her outrage. Bard’s face was a patchwork quilt of scars, and this guy was worried about hanging onto his Best Smile title?
The man spoke again, and this time there was panic in his voice. “I-I don’t mean to offend or nothin’. It’s just . . . I ain’t got much in the brains department. At least that’s what my old man says. This mug o’ mine is about the only thing I got goin’ for me.”
Bard put his hand on the man’s forearm, and when he spoke his voice was both soothing and serious. “My accident happened a long time ago. Reconstructive surgery has progressed significantly since then.”
The man’s shoulders lowered as he let out a sigh of relief.
“But,” Bard said, “I hope you’ll make tonight the last night you drink and drive. You could have killed someone out there, or been killed yourself.”
“Are you gonna call the cops?” The man’s voice cracked a little on cops. “My dad will kick me out.”
Haley’s heart squeezed. The man wasn’t really a man at all. He was a boy. It was there in his voice, and in the way his lower lip trembled as he stared up at Bard through puffy eyes.
Bard shook his head. “No, son. But I need your word as a man that you won’t make such a stupid mistake again.” Bard lowered his voice, and it seemed to hum with power. “Your life is too valuable to throw away. No matter what your father says.”
Out of nowhere, power rushed across the room and into the hallway—the surge of it like a wave folding over itself, then lapping onto shore.
Haley sucked in a breath as goosebumps rose on her arms and sparks seemed to dance over her skin.
The boy spoke, his voice cracking. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me, son.” Bard said. “Just make better decisions.”
The boy sat up a little straighter. “You have my word, Doc. I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t.”
The boy brushed quick fingers against a cheek that shone with moisture.
Bard moved his hand to the boy’s shoulder as he spoke to someone—probably the PA—on the other side of the bed. “Let’s keep him for observation overnight, and then John can have a look in the morning.”
There was a low murmur of assent, then Bard gave the boy’s shoulder another pat before turning and heading toward the door.
Haley scooted back, but she wasn’t fast enough. Bard swung the door open all the way and stopped, a frown between his eyes. He stared at her a moment, then quickly pulled the door shut behind him.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” Watching you use your Gift on a human. It shouldn’t have been possible. Humans were notoriously unreceptive to all things supernatural. But he’d formed some kind of connection with that boy. That surge of power had been real. Besides, it was obvious in the way the human seemed to rally despite admitting his father might throw him out of the house.
Her heart squeezed again—this time for Bard. Since when did Alpha werewolves care about a human’s personal problems?
They stared at each other a moment. Somehow, the sounds of the busy nurses’ station faded, leaving just the two of them. Against the white backdrop of the hallway, Bard’s good eye seemed bluer and brighter than ever. In his scrubs and white coat, his black and silver hair gave him a distinguished look. Here is someone you can trust, it said.
He was a doctor. He was turning forty-one in two weeks.
What other secrets are you hiding?
The thought was so strong her lips parted against her will—as if the question had come from outside herself.
Still holding her gaze, his chest lifted as he took a deep breath. For a moment, it seemed he might say something, too.
Somewhere in the background, an alarm let out a shrill blast.
And just like that, the spell was broken.
Bard looked over her head, his gaze on the nurses’ station. “Come on,” he said under his breath. “Let’s go home.”
Home. There was that word again.
She sat quiet and compliant as he moved behind her and wheeled her down the hallway. If they attracted any attention, she wasn’t aware of it.
No, she was too busy pondering his secrets. Because, without knowing how, she knew for certain he had more.
Bard Bennett was a mystery—the kind that begged to be figured out.
But unraveling mysteries took time. And that was something she didn’t have.
11
Bard exited the highway and turned onto the mountain road leading to Elder Lake. Snowflakes swirled—the start of what promised to be a snowstorm. They were overdue for one, which meant Mother Nature would probably make up for her oversight by dumping extra powder on the mountain tonight.
As if recounting his earlier trek through the avalanche, his bad leg spasmed, red-hot knives stabbing up and down his thigh. The pain took his breath away, the distraction of it making his vision swim as he navigated the twists and turns the narrow road threw at him.
Ordinarily, he could do the drive half-asleep. Hell, most times he did—exhaustion tugging at him after a double shift. On those nights, he went straight from his car to his bed, sleep claiming him as soon as his head hit the pillow.
But this wasn’t most times. Tonight, he brought a patient home with him. An exasperating, maddening, troublemaking patient.
Tonight, Haley sat beside him. Even at rest, energy seemed to buzz around her. It licked against his skin, making the hairs on his arms stand on end and the scars on his face tingle with awareness.
She was quiet. She’d been quiet since he wheeled her out of the hospital and helped her into the SUV.
And she’d stayed that way the whole drive home.
Silent. Thinking.
For what felt like the hundredth time, he fought the urge to look at her—something that, given his ruined right eye, would have required him to turn his head hard to the side and no doubt attract her attention.
Yeah, sidelong glances were a thing long-buried in his past. As it was, he had to be content with wondering what the hell she was thinking.
Not that he didn’t have a few ideas. Thank you, Anna.
He gripped the steering wheel with hard fingers. Unlike most werewolves, he didn’t mind being around humans. Maybe it was the nature of his work. In an emergency room, there was no time for the petty grievances and power games common among wolves. Problems were straightforward. People came in broken. It was his job to put them back together. And because his Gift was next to useless in the human world, he was forced to rely on his training and experience.
Haley’s voice cut through his thoughts. “What made you become a doctor?”
Now, he did turn his head so he could look at her. Darkness had long since fallen over the forest, but the SUV’s interior lights were enough to make out her features.
There was genuine curiosity in her eyes. That meant she was either sincere or good at hiding her real reason for asking. Something told him it was the former. Emotions didn’t hide around Haley Michaels. She wore her feelings out in the open.
It was probably easy for someone like that to get hurt.
Not my problem.
He faced the road. “I’m a Healer.”
She made a scoffing sound. “None of the other Healers I know are human doctors.”
“It’s a job.”
Another scoffing sound.
Fresh pain surged down his thigh, the knives turning to pincers that formed searing bands around his muscle. He clenched his jaw. “Plenty of wolves have jobs.”
“Yeah, but they’re not Alphas.”
The mountain road narrowed, becoming rougher and less accessible. The wolves of Elder Lake kept it that way on purpose—anything to deter humans from visiting town. Even so, a few found their way onto main s
treet a couple times a month. They usually didn’t stay long.
Haley’s stare was a presence against the side of his face. It had been a long time since he resented the eye patch and the loss of his vision. Now, his fingers twitched with the need to pull to the side of the road so he could look her in the eye.
Or just look at her.
He swallowed hard—and kept his gaze on the road. He’d done enough looking back at the hospital. He shouldn’t have let her get dressed without help, but then she’d lifted her chin—her cheeks flushed and her blue eyes flashing—and let him know he’d have a fight on his hands if he stayed in the room.
And, damn, if some part of him hadn’t wanted a fight. Normally, his wolf was dormant when he worked. But the moment Haley tossed her head and practically dared him to cross her, it reared its head and snarled.
In satisfaction.
The wolf couldn’t speak, but something about her challenge had roused the beast. Before he’d realized what was happening, the creature had made him lean toward her and let her know how much it would enjoy tamping down her little rebellion.
He could have kicked his own ass for threatening a woman with violence. Yet the wolf hadn’t meant it that way.
On the contrary, there had been just one meaning behind the beast’s intentions.
Judging from the way her eyes widened and her heart rate sped up, she got the message loud and clear.
Retreat had been the only option.
Some kind of Alpha he was, tucking his tail between his legs and running out of the room like a frightened rabbit. Not that he’d run, exactly. He didn’t run anywhere these days.
Hadn’t for a very long time.
“You’re good at it,” she said suddenly, breaking the silence in the car.
“What?” He jerked his head toward her, catching a glimpse of her face before the curving road demanded his attention again. Because he lacked depth perception, he couldn’t afford to lose focus on the twists and turns.
“Being a doctor,” she said. The weight of her gaze intensified, letting him know he had her full attention. “You were good with that human.”
Her praise curled around him, warming him from within. Deep in his consciousness, his wolf purred.
Fool. Bard sent the wolf a mental image of himself scowling. She was just being polite. He cleared his throat. “You mean the car accident.”
“Yes.” She was quiet a moment. Then, “You used your Gift on him.”
Ah, so she’d felt that. Of course she had. He gave her another quick look. “It doesn’t do much for them. Our Gifts.”
“But it helps?”
He shrugged. “Best I can tell, it calms them. Nothing more.” It wasn’t for lack of trying on his part. In his early days as a resident, he’d had one or two hopeless cases—the kind of patients experienced doctors and nurses know to make comfortable until the inevitable happens. Against everything he’d been taught as a Healer, he tried using his Gift. It never worked. Not on gunshot wounds or heart attacks. The humans always died, and he was left drained and shaking, his Gift depleted like shriveled grapes on a vine.
But he’d discovered an unexpected quirk when the nurses and EMTs in the room seemed calmer. Less traumatized by the noise and chaos of the truly bad cases they all hoped to never see. Werewolf law was clear. It was forbidden to reveal the species’ Gifts to humans. There were harsh penalties for those who broke the rules.
Then again, he wasn’t really revealing anything, was he? And as for penalties . . . well, there were worse things than death.
In fact, facing off with the Grim Reaper could be downright pleasant compared to other experiences he could think of.
Haley murmured something, jolting him from his thoughts. She must have turned forward again, because her voice faded a little. “You’re lucky.” Her tone was musing . . . almost wistful. “If I had a Gift, I’d want it to be something useful like healing.”
Unable to see her, he pictured her expression—those full lips turned down, and the sky-blue eyes full of longing. She was the only wolf he’d met who didn’t have a Gift. Sure, latents didn’t have them, but every fully Turned wolf had some sort of enhanced ability.
“Do you know why your Gift hasn’t manifested?” he asked. “Do your parents have any ideas?”
A beat passed, and he could sense her shrug. “I have no way of knowing. They died when I was four.”
Surprise rippled through him. Sympathy lapped at its heels. He did his best to soften his voice. “You’re a foster.” It wasn’t uncommon, although it was still a tragedy. The mating bond was sacred, but it was a double-edged sword that left too many wolves orphaned and homeless. The lux catena was the reason most territories banned males from serving as Hunters once they fathered a child. The risk of death was simply too great. The majority of wolves also avoided dominance contests once they had offspring.
Curiosity tugged at him. Had her sire fought a contest and lost? If so, it was the height of selfishness.
“My parents were old,” she said, her voice so soft it took him a moment to absorb what she said. The weight of her gaze touched him again, and her voice grew louder. “When they had me.”
It wasn’t unheard of. Werewolves were nowhere near as fertile as humans, but their reproductive years extended much longer. Some females could give birth well into their nineties.
Still, normal lifespans were around a hundred thirty years. Which meant her parents should still be living.
“My mother was one hundred and twenty when I was born,” she said. A smile entered her tone. “According to my foster mother, it was such a surprise, Mom didn’t know she was pregnant for six months.”
Bard imagined her face again, her eyes glowing with fondness this time. The doctor in him marveled at a female that old giving birth. It was a miracle. But it was also a tragedy, given that Haley had grown up motherless and fatherless.
He glanced in her direction, fruitless as it was. “Do you remember anything about them? Your real parents?”
She gave a heavy sigh. “Just bits and pieces. Sometimes I dream about them, but then other times it’s like something I’ve seen in a movie. Like I can’t trust my own memories.”
He turned down the road leading to his home, the SUV’s headlights bouncing off the trees. The longing in her voice did something to him. Made him want to comfort her. He was good enough at that—at least in a clinical setting.
But they weren’t in a hospital, and he wasn’t her doctor. Not really. Not now. The moment they left the hospital, he’d become the Alpha again. That meant maintaining certain boundaries. He could offer her strength. Safety. Maybe even sympathy.
But comfort? There were some lines Alphas shouldn’t cross, especially not with beautiful young females.
And she was young. In a way, he should be grateful to Anna for reminding him of that oh-so-important fact.
The house appeared out of the night, the porch lights glowing. He hit the button for the garage door as he pulled into the driveway. At the same time, he stretched his left leg, preparing for the walk inside. Pushing her in the wheelchair had taken its toll, making his muscles cramp more than usual. Shoving his way through waist-high snow down in the valley hadn’t helped, either. Nor had dropping to his knees beside her after Ben pulled her from the ice.
She shifted, her coat making shushing sounds against the leather seat. At the same moment, her heart rate kicked up a notch.
Nerves? Because of him?
Probably, you ass. That’s what happens when you ogle a female like a piece of meat.
And he’d done that. Worse, he did it beside her hospital bed—after he wrestled back control from his wolf. That meant he couldn’t even blame the beast for his inappropriate behavior. She’d caught him off guard, but that was no excuse.
No, there was no excuse for letting his gaze dip to her chest when she lifted her arms and fussed with her hair, scooping the heavy mass away from her face and fastening it into some sort of ponytail
. Her ruined shirt had gaped open, exposing a tight-fitting tank top that hugged her chest, revealing the outline of her bra and taut nipples underneath.
He’d jerked his head up just in time to meet her stare—and the bewilderment in her eyes.
Yeah, he really cranked up the creep factor with that one. Unfortunately, apologizing would only make things worse. It wasn’t like he could turn to her and say “I’m sorry for staring at your chest” and then usher her into his house.
That thought made him grit his teeth as he pulled into the garage and shut off the engine. They were back to square one, only this time he couldn’t wash his hands of her by sending her to the guest room.
For one thing, there was no way he could do stairs in front of her. Not with his leg in such bad shape.
“I’ll head upstairs,” she said. “Good night.”
“No.”
More rustling—and a second of silence. “What?” The tone of her voice was the auditory equivalent of raised eyebrows.
He turned so she was in his line of sight. And yep, her eyebrows threatened to climb into her hairline. “You probably still have a concussion.”
“But you healed me.”
Ah, she was going to be a difficult patient. Already has been, he mentally corrected. He put on his best doctor voice—the reasonable tone he used with troublemakers who tried skipping their medication or signing themselves out of the hospital early. “Yes. Mostly. But head injuries are a funny thing. Unpredictable, even in wolves. I’d like to observe you for a few hours.”
She looked away, her gaze on the windshield and the garage shelving beyond it. Even so, the dip in her brows was still visible.
Shit. What a choice of words. She was probably thinking he’d already “observed” her enough. The best thing he could do was go inside and book her a flight to New York. Maybe Joel could drive her to Seattle tonight. She could stay in a hotel until morning. It was far from ideal, given her injury. But he could work around it. He kept a few cell phones in his office for emergencies. He could give her one and then call her once an hour, just to check in and see how she was feeling. If she slurred her words or didn’t pick up, he’d have Joel nearby to—
