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

by Amy Pennza

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!”

  He gave her a look. “Just the first step. The hard part is standing. Do you think you can help me up? Assuming you can handle my weight.”

  “Absolutely.” Under other circumstances, she might have pointed out she was a werewolf and thus capable of carrying him up the stairs if needed. But she bit her tongue. It was no time to pick a fight. She got to her feet and extended her hand.

  He took it. “On three,” he said.

  They counted together. “One, two, three.”

  She rocked back on her heels as he surged to his feet, all his weight on his good leg. He swayed, and she rushed forward and threw her shoulder under his arm, propping him up.

  “I’ve got you,” she said. “You’re not going to fall.”

  Sweat dotted his forehead, and his mouth was a thin, white line of obvious pain. “Sofa. Living room.”

  “Got it.” The living room was just off the foyer, which was puddled with moonlight. She kept his arm slung around her shoulders as they moved across the hardwood and into the living room, which was illuminated by a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. The snow fell faster and thicker now, fluffy flakes swirling as the wind picked up.

  At last they reached the sofa. In one movement, Haley slipped from under Bard’s arm and guided them both to the cushions.

  He let out a grunt as he sat, then carefully stretched his bad leg in front of him and massaged his thigh. Moonlight fell all around him, picking up the silver in his hair.

  “How did it happen?” she dared to ask.

  He stopped his movements but didn’t look up. There was a long pause, and just as she started to regret the question, he said, “It was a challenge. When I was younger and dumber.”

  She made her voice gentle. “Max says that’s when most challenges happen.”

  A smile curved his mouth, and his eyelashes made dark fans on his cheeks as he rumbled, “Well, he’s right about that.”

  Her breath caught. Maybe it was a trick of the light but for a moment, it was as if his scars disappeared. He’d smiled and his whole face shifted. The phenomenon was brief, like a flash in a pan, making her wonder if she imagined it.

  He looked up, but not at her. Instead, he trained his gaze on the windows, and there was a faraway look in his eye as he continued. “In this case, though, I didn’t have much choice. My father died and I wanted to rule. I’d lost my parents. I didn’t want to lose my home, too.”

  It was a common enough story. Although a pack wasn’t a monarchy, most Alphas assumed their seat would go to their son. Max inherited his pack from his father and his father before him. But the death of an Alpha was also a dangerous time for an heir, especially a young or untested one. If the pack felt he was unable to lead, they would encourage someone to challenge him.

  Kill him.

  Was that what happened to Bard? Had he gone from burying his parents to fighting for his life? Sympathy welled in her heart.

  “You must miss them,” she said. “Your parents.”

  He met her gaze, and he seemed to think it over before saying, “I miss their counsel. There are times I encounter a problem and I wonder what my father would have done in similar circumstances.” He smiled. “Or, more accurately, what he would have done to muck things up until my mother stepped in and helped him fix it.”

  “She sounds formidable.”

  His smile grew fond. “She was. My father’s saving grace was that he knew she was smarter and listened to her advice.”

  Haley couldn’t help but return his smile. “A power couple.”

  “Without question. They had the kind of relationship I’d want for myself if—” He stopped, biting off the sentence so abruptly it was like a door slamming shut.

  She waited. If what?

  He cleared his throat. “Anyway, they’ve been gone a long time. I’ve learned to get by without their advice.” Expression shuttered, he turned toward the window, where the snow piled high enough to cover the lower half of the glass.

  She frowned, questions buzzing in her mind. He’d been about to say he wanted a partnership like his parents’ if not for . . . what?

  Moonlight played over his scars, as though Nature shone a spotlight on every imperfection.

  And something clicked in her brain. Or maybe it fell into place—literally, given the tumble down the stairs that exposed his leg. Suddenly, she could fill in the rest of his sentence. She’d wondered why he didn’t have a Beta or Hunters.

  Now she knew.

  He wasn’t a whole male, and he thought it doomed him to a
life of solitude. Ableism was a problem in both human and werewolf society, but at least humans made efforts to accommodate those with disabilities. By contrast, werewolves outright shunned anything other. She knew that better than most.

  It seemed Bard did, too.

  He watched the snow, which gave her license to let her gaze drift over him. The leg of his blue scrub pants had dropped back to his ankle, obscuring his prosthetic, but his scars remained—along with the eye patch. He claimed being Alpha wasn’t glamorous, that it required killing in a pack where latents outnumbered purebloods. How difficult was it for a Healer—a medical doctor trained to care for others—to hunt and kill his fellow pack members? He saved her life, pulling her from the snow even though it drained him and caused him pain. And he helped that human boy in the hospital, using his Gift and draining himself further.

  That kind of selflessness was the mark of a truly great Alpha. Yet he was alone.

  “Could you watch your loved one die? Or worse, track them and kill them yourself?”

  She didn’t have to, but neither did the wolves of Elder Lake. They had Bard, who was good enough to do their dirty work, apparently, but not good enough to serve.

  Her throat burned and tears welled in her eyes.

  He turned abruptly. “What is it?”

  “I . . .” She shook her head. He was going to think she was an emotional wreck. “Nothing.”

  For the second time, he reached out and caught her tear with his thumb. “Not nothing.”

  “It’s just . . . I know what it’s like to be alone.”

  He held her cheek, his touch light against her skin. “It was hard for you, being a latent.”

  Surprise flared in her mind, but maybe it shouldn’t have. He knew her history. Any werewolf understood how latents were treated. Old memories rose—the whispered taunts and covert looks, the quiet disappointment, heavy like a thick blanket, that had hung over her foster parents’ home until, fearful of being smothered, she left.

  More tears clogged her throat, but she forced them down. How could she weep for herself when he’d lost so much? Her wounds could feel raw from time to time, but at least they were invisible.

  She lifted a shoulder. “I suppose it was hard at times. People can be cruel. But I believe most people are fundamentally good. That goes for werewolves, too.”

  He feathered his thumb over her cheek, and the ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “Such optimism.”

  Her heart sank. How stupid she must sound to him—a twenty-year-old with no life experience.

  Suddenly, it occurred to her just how far out of her league she was with him.

  He was forty. She couldn’t even legally drink.

  He owned a beautiful home in the mountains. She didn’t even own a car.

  He was a doctor. She barely squeaked through high school.

  He was an Alpha. She was a former latent.

  “A former latent with no Gift,” said a voice in her head.

  Now her spirits sank. She’d heard that inner voice so often it seemed to come from the outside now instead of her own mind.

  Bard tilted his head—a wolflike gesture that might have made her smile any other time. “What’s wrong?”

  She forced levity into her voice. “You probably think I’m naive.”

  “No.” He took her chin in a gentle grip, tipping her head back so she was forced to meet his gaze, which was a warm, vivid blue. “It’s not naive to see the good in people. Like I said, you’re an optimist, Haley.” His gaze dropped to her mouth.

  Her lips parted. The warmth in his gaze was doing weird things to her belly . . .

  “It’s one of the things I like about you,” he murmured, his focus still on her mouth.

  A rush of surprise and disbelief made her eyelids flutter. “You like things about me?” Tell me the others!

  At first, he didn’t answer. Didn’t move.

  Her heart pounded.

  What was happening?

  Slowly, oh so slowly, he dragged his thumb across her bottom lip.

  Oh.

  The air felt thicker. Heavier. Time seemed to slow. Somewhere in her mind, a devil leaned forward and whispered in her ear. She darted her tongue out, tasting the tip of his thumb and the salt from her own tear.

  His gaze shot to hers, and his voice dropped out of human range. “I like a lot of things about you.”

  Oh god, he was going to kiss her.

  Did she want him to kiss her?

  They drifted closer, their movements both subtle and seismic, like two continents rising from their foundations and brushing against each other, their edges cracking and reforming. Nothing would be the same.

  Doesn’t matter.

  She couldn’t think about that. Because the answer was yes.

  Yes, she wanted him to kiss her.

  He brought his other hand up so he cradled her face in his palms, then he slanted his mouth against hers.

  She met him on a sigh, her lips parting as she granted him entry.

  He charged in, taking her mouth like a starving man who just stumbled upon a feast.

  Rich sandalwood and crisp juniper filled her lungs, layers of forest wrapping around her. He smelled of everything wholesome and good—green forests and winter berries and Christmas morning.

  A moan wound its way up from her chest and huddled in her throat. At the same time, heat gathered between her legs, the flesh there heavy and hot.

  He sucked at her lower lip, and her moan escaped into his mouth.

  His upper body jerked, as though someone had set off a charge inside him. He pulled back just enough to growl against her lips. “Need more of you.” In one smooth movement, he gripped her around the waist and pulled her astride his lap.

  Heart pounding from the unexpected trip through the air, she braced her palms on his shoulders. The position mashed her breasts together, and her thin cami did little to hide her cleavage from anyone who cared to look.

  He looked.

  The heat between her thighs grew. Perched on his lap as she was, her sex was open and damp against the thin fabric of her panties. A pulse formed there, greedy and insistent, urging her to rock her hips forward and grab the friction she needed. At the same time, his gaze on her breasts made her nipples harden, the peaks visible in the lower half of her vision.

  The devil that made her taste his thumb leaned in again. Indulging a brazen streak she didn’t know she possessed, she shrugged out of her shirt. Deprived of its buttons from Bard’s rescue, it slipped down her arms and dropped to the floor behind her, leaving her in her jeans and camisole.

  His good eye went heavy lidded, and he seemed to struggle to draw a full breath.

  Before her courage could desert her, she pulled her cami over her head and tossed it aside. Then she undid her bra and tossed that, too. Her breasts bounced free, the tips hard and pointed as arrows.

  “Christ,” he muttered. He lifted a hand and touched a fingertip to one aching peak.

  Electricity zipped through her, running a sizzling path from his finger to her sex. Uncaring how desperate she looked, she thrust her chest out and tipped her head back in an unmistakable invitation. She surveyed him through narrowed eyes, her breath caught in her chest as she waited for his next move.

  He traced a light finger around her nipple, then pinched the taut peak, holding her fast between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Ungh.” Her whole body jerked. She put her hands behind her, bracing her weight on his thighs so she didn’t fall.

  Satisfaction flared in his gaze. He gave the slightest tug—just enough to let her know he could control her movements that way if he wished.

  More shocks. She let her head fall back even more, and her eyes fluttered shut. Do the other one!

  He released her nipple.

  Disappointment made her eyes fly open, and she started to bring her head up.

  “No, no,” he murmured, settling his hands on her hips. He slid his palms up her sides, tickling her skin. Amus
ement entered his tone as he added, “Always in a hurry.”

  Was she? Did he see her that way? Questions crowded her mind.

  His palms brushed the sides of her breasts, and all the questions fled. She closed her eyes. It didn’t matter what he thought as long as he kept touching her.

  He plucked at both nipples, sending languid waves of desire through her.

  She sighed and tipped her head back.

  “That’s better,” he said, his voice low as he gave both peaks light, teasing pinches. “I think you’ll find that patience”—he kissed one breast—“has its”—then the other—“rewards.”

  Well in that case, sign her up for the goddamn rewards program.

  He flicked his thumbs over both nipples. Her lust cranked higher.

  “Thrust toward me,” he said, his wolf in his voice. “Arch your back.”

  The order was like a shot of pure desire straight to her sex, the effect so powerful she let out a small sob.

  “Do it,” he said.

  She obeyed, arching her spine hard, well aware how she looked with her thighs spread over his lap and her bare breasts quivering inches from his face. Her loose curls brushed the small of her back as she thrust her chest out.

  Palms cupped both her breasts, taking their weight. Something—his palm?—rubbed back and forth over her nipples. Little sparks shot through the one he’d held, the tip hypersensitive and throbbing.

  “That’s it, baby.” Warm breath washed over her nipple.

  It wasn’t his palm.

  It was his mouth.

  Her lips parted on a soundless moan.

  Wet heat enveloped her breast, followed by suction.

  She straightened so fast her neck twinged—but only for a second. Because his dark head was bent over her chest and her entire nipple was in his mouth.

  He sucked, his cheeks going hollow.

  Desire blazed a fiery path from her breast to her sex, which throbbed with every pull of his mouth.

  Speech deserted her. All she could manage was a breathy grunt and several gasps as he suckled her, his tongue flicking and teasing her nipple in wicked caresses. She grew slick between her legs, the pulse in her sex pounding harder.

  The scent of her desire rose between them.

  He growled, the menacing sound vibrating her nipple and reverberating up her quivering breast.