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

  Well, sense him, really.

  Like most of her kind, she could “feel” the presence of other wolves—a sort of sixth sense that was more pronounced when one of her own species mingled in a crowd of humans. There might as well have been a giant red arrow blazing over his head.

  Thinking to start her trip by making a new friend, she’d grabbed her suitcase, walked over, and introduced herself.

  He’d responded with a low grunt. It had taken her a minute to translate it as “Joel.”

  And that was pretty much the extent of their conversation for the rest of the trip. He’d given her a curt nod, turned on his heel, and headed for the double doors that led outside. After a few seconds of shock and confusion, she’d tipped her suitcase onto its wheels and followed him into the chilly Seattle night.

  Sea-Tac was huge, and she was huffing and puffing by the time they reached a small row of metal buildings tucked behind one of the commercial runways. Massive jetliners screamed into the air as Joel waved her back, then climbed inside a white Cessna and started the engine. After a minute, he climbed out and loaded her suitcase into the plane’s tiny storage compartment. Then he motioned her in a wide arc around the spinning propeller, gesturing for her to get inside.

  “I hope you’re a pilot,” she’d said, buckling her seatbelt.

  He’d given her a look.

  “That was a joke.”

  Another grunt—an incoherent one this time—and then he handed her a headset and taxied them onto a small runway that ran parallel to the one the big planes used.

  “Um.” Her voice crackled in her ears as the plane’s comm system kicked in. “Where are we going?”

  Another look—and this time Joel’s expression let her know he seriously doubted her intelligence. “Elder Lake.”

  She forced a smile. “Just checking.” She didn’t add “in case you were a deranged kidnapper” but she hoped the general sentiment hung in the air.

  The flight north had taken a little over an hour, and she’d sat white-knuckled as wind buffeted the small plane. She wasn’t normally a nervous flyer, but the Cessna’s constant pitching and shuddering had made the turkey wrap she ate for lunch threaten to make a second appearance.

  Fortunately, she managed not to barf on her shoes—or Joel. He’d touched them down in a barren airfield with a dirt runway and a lonely metal building that looked more like a shed than a hangar. Here and there, dirty snow had been pushed into small hills that would probably turn the runway into a mud pit once the weather warmed up.

  Judging from the gusts of icy wind swirling around the airfield, that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

  Near the plane, Joel fastened the tarp under one of the wings.

  After helping her down the Cessna’s narrow fold-out steps, he’d said he needed to “tuck in” the plane for the night. Then he pointed her toward the darkened hangar and told her to wait for her pack escort.

  Wind battered the window, making her suck in a quick breath. A second later, a sharp ache shot through her forehead.

  The altitude. Right. Aside from some awe-inspiring glimpses of Mount Ranier on the flight into Seattle, she hadn’t really noticed the mountains. That had changed as Joel flew the Cessna north.

  She stepped forward and peered out the dirt-smudged window. There was no denying she was in the Cascades. They loomed over everything—majestic peaks that seemed like they might topple onto the scrubby airfield at any moment.

  A thump outside drew her attention. Joel still bustled around the plane, his ski jacket unzipped and flapping in the wind as he pulled her suitcase from the storage compartment and set it on the ground. Two lights appeared in the darkness behind him.

  She held her breath as her stomach fluttered. Those were headlights. They pierced through the gloom, the beams bouncing as a vehicle navigated the dirt road that led to the airfield.

  Her escort? Maybe even Benjamin Rupert himself?

  Her stomach did a nervous flip. She pressed closer to the window, which showed her reflection. A young woman with blue eyes and a tangle of light brown curls crammed under a knit beanie stared back at her. Her looks were nothing remarkable—not like the glossy dark hair and porcelain skin of Lizette. She didn’t have Sophie’s long legs and voluptuous curves or Lily’s fiery red hair and glinting green eyes.

  She wasn’t ugly. She was just . . . average. Nothing to write home about.

  Nothing to impress a young male looking for a lifelong mate.

  She didn’t even have a Gift.

  The headlights grew brighter as the vehicle approached.

  Her heart pounded.

  By the plane, Joel looked up and waved at the vehicle, which turned out to be a black Chevy Tahoe. It pulled next to the plane and stopped. Then the door opened and a man got out.

  She swallowed. Maybe the hangar had a back door. If she hurried, she could slip out before anyone noticed she was gone. Sure, she didn’t know how to survive in the mountains—or anywhere, really—but she was a werewolf. How hard could it be? She’d ditch her clothes, shift, and then head south until she found civilization.

  The SUV’s headlights made it impossible to make out the man’s features. He was just a tall, faceless silhouette. Joel walked over to him and started talking.

  About her? What would he say? Yeah, she asked if I was a pilot and then wanted to know where I was taking her. Not too bright, that one.

  She let out a shaky breath, which formed a round circle of condensation on the window.

  The male from the SUV listened with his head bowed as Joel spoke . . . or maybe he stood that way due to the height difference between the two men. Because Joel was considerably shorter.

  Which meant SUV guy was well over six feet. Like most werewolves, Joel wasn’t small. Still, the other male towered over him.

  She drew closer to the window, trying to make out his features. Handsome would be nice, but he shouldn’t be too handsome. If they were seriously mismatched in the looks department, people would always wonder how she landed him. They’d wonder if she had a trust fund or some kind of lucrative influencer business. Or that she’d blackmailed him into marrying her.

  Wait. She shook her head. You’re moving way too fast, Michaels. She hadn’t even met the guy and she was already planning their nuptials? If she gave off that desperate of a vibe, she was going to scare him off before he even had a chance to get to know her. She might as well march up to him, stick out her hand, and say, “Hi, I’m Haley. Don’t be alarmed, but I picked out our wedding colors and some names for our future babies.”

  Massive cringe.

  What she needed was a quick chat with Lizette. The Alpha’s wife had worked as a teaching assistant all through college. She knew how to talk to males—especially young males. It didn’t hurt that she was stop-traffic-gorgeous.

  Outside, the taller man slapped Joel on the shoulder, then turned and headed toward the hangar.

  Haley gasped. He was walking straight at the hangar. At her!

  Except, wait a second. He wasn’t so much walking as he was . . . limping. That was the only way to describe his gait. The car’s headlights blazed at his back, making his body a solid black shadow haloed by the harsh beams. With each step, he sort of flung out his right leg and then hauled the left one behind him. The movements were jerky and unnatural, and they made his shoulders shift up and down as he made his way to the hangar.

  Was he injured? It wasn’t unheard of for young males to get hurt now and then, especially if they got caught up in a dominance contest.

  Or, as she liked to call it, senseless dick measuring. Their species had enough problems without idiot men maiming or killing each other over who was manlier.

  A sigh built in her chest. If this Benjamin Rupert was prone to stupid dominance challenges, she was getting on a plane tomorrow. The silhouetted man continued limping forward. Behind him, Joel finished with the Cessna, then headed toward an old pickup truck she hadn’t noticed before.

  Panic zi
pped down her spine. He was leaving her? Alone with Rupert? Sure, the taciturn pilot hadn’t been much of a traveling companion, but he was literally the only person she knew in this place.

  The door squealed, yanking her attention away from the window and Joel’s departure. Yellow light spilled across the concrete floor, and a pair of broad shoulders filled the doorway. The stranger stood less than a dozen feet away, but she still couldn’t make out his features—or anything else about him.

  Except that he was big. Very big.

  She fought the urge to take a step back. Rule number one when facing down a predator? Don’t show fear.

  Besides, he probably didn’t mean to be intimidating. The poor guy couldn’t help his size. He’d most likely spent his entire adulthood being misjudged and distrusted. Usually, the largest wolves were the biggest softies. Remy was a perfect example.

  She swallowed her misgivings and stepped forward, hand extended. “Hi, I’m—”

  “Haley Michaels?” The deep voice was gruff, as if he hadn’t used it in a while. There was also an edge of . . . something. It wasn’t irritation, but it was close.

  She realized she’d frozen in place, her hand hovering in the space between them. Cheeks heating, she dropped it to her side. “Yes. I mean, that’s me.”

  Silence, then he dragged his gaze down her body, like he was taking an inventory.

  Like he had a right to do so.

  Later, she couldn’t recall how she knew that’s what he was doing. After all, she couldn’t see his face, let alone his eyes.

  No, it was more like she sensed his scrutiny. As if he branded her with his gaze—as if his eyes threw off heat that seared her skin, even through her thick leggings and puffy ski jacket. His regard started at her head and then slowly worked its way down in a hot sweep that raised goosebumps on her arms and made her head feel curiously light. Her stomach fluttered. If there had been a wall nearby, she would have sagged against it. As it was, she could only stand there, rooted to the floor while her head spun and her cheeks flamed.

  She was still reeling when he said, “Follow me.” Before she could reply, he turned on his heel and disappeared out the door.

  Huh?

  “Hey!” Shaking off the daze she’d fallen into, she scrambled after him, darting through the thick metal door and into the night. Cold air slammed into her, and she gulped a shocked breath. Ahead, Rupert was nearly to his SUV. He moved fast for a guy with a limp, his long legs eating up the stretch of patchy grass between the hangar and the airstrip.

  She shoved the thought aside as she hurried after him. What was it with these Washington wolves and expecting people to just follow them? She was getting a little tired of being treated like a well-behaved dog.

  “Excuse me!” She broke into a jog even as she squinted against the glare of the headlights.

  She caught up to Rupert just as he reached the SUV and turned. As he swung around, she saw him clearly for the first time.

  And all the breath left her lungs.

  He hadn’t been in a dominance contest. He’d been savaged. Scars crisscrossed his face in ugly weals, the jagged lines red and uneven. One started at the corner of his lip and stretched all the way to his ear, giving his mouth the impression of a permanent sneer.

  At least on one side. Because the other side wasn’t sneering. Or smiling.

  Instead, it was a hard, flat line. Emotionless.

  She let her gaze wander up, daring to meet his eyes.

  That took her breath away, too.

  A black patch covered his right eye. The strap was taut against his skin, bisecting his flesh like a thin black scar. It wrapped around his head and disappeared into hair that was black sprinkled with white.

  White hair on a werewolf. This was the young trainee Max had sent her to meet?

  “Finished?”

  She jerked her gaze to his face. “Wh-What?”

  His good eye—a piercing blue—bored into her. There was a thick scar across the bridge of his nose, too. She hadn’t noticed it before.

  The scarred side of his mouth twitched, and his deep voice rumbled again. “You’ve looked your fill. Anything else you want to see?”

  His tone was a mix of anger and condescension. Like he’d caught her ogling him and wanted her to know.

  Which, of course, she had been.

  But, dammit, he’d just sized her up like a piece of meat!

  She lifted her chin—not hard to do considering she already had to crane her head back to meet his gaze. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to stare.”

  The blue gaze hardened. “That’s a lie, Miss Michaels.”

  “How—”

  “I can smell your deceit.”

  Against her will, she dropped her eyes to his scarred nose. “You’re a Tracker?” It was a common Gift—and a prized one. Wolves with an advanced sense of smell were superior hunters. They were also exceptionally skilled at sniffing out lies.

  “No,” he said.

  The blunt response threw her off. Hell, the whole conversation was throwing her off.

  So much for making a good first impression.

  She swallowed. Maybe he was nervous. Given his appearance, she couldn’t blame him.

  Sympathy swelled in her gut, banishing the annoyance that had risen at his rude tone. She forced politeness into her tone. “I just realized Max didn’t tell me your Gift.”

  His expression didn’t change. Or if it did it was too difficult to tell. The scars were like angry seams across his face, obscuring any emotion he might have displayed.

  But his eye was a different story. The black brow over it dipped low, and confusion glinted inside the piercing blue.

  The gruff voice rumbled again, and the glint in his eye hardened. “Why would he?”

  Was he serious? “I . . . We . . .” Good grief, was he going to make her say it?

  “We what?”

  Yep.

  At least the freezing air kept her cheeks from blazing. She took a deep breath. “We’re supposed to date.” When the glint sharpened even more, she added, “Go on a date. Like . . . go out.”

  “Go out.”

  “Yeah.” As they stared at each other, realization crept over her. She’d wondered why his mother seemed so eager for a former latent to fly across the country to meet her son. Why any werewolf parent would want their only child to mate with a wolf who lacked a Gift.

  Now she knew. Benjamin Rupert wasn’t just disfigured. He also had the personality of a rock.

  Wind whipped across the airfield, blasting icy needles into her face and finding its way into every buttonhole and gap in her coat.

  “You’re cold,” he said. He popped the passenger door and made a curt gesture. “Get in.”

  Her hackles rose. First he ordered her to follow him out of the hangar without so much as a “hello.” Then he expected her to get in his car without a fuss.

  Although, it wasn’t like she had many options—at least not any appealing ones. She could pursue her half-baked plan to shift and make her way south until she stumbled across a town. Given Rupert’s limp, she might even be able to outrun him.

  The wind blew even harder, whipping her hair around her shoulders.

  Rupert gritted his teeth. “You have a choice, Miss Michaels. Either you get in the car or I pick you up and toss you in.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You—”

  “Five seconds.”

  He was joking.

  The scarred mouth wasn’t smiling. “Five.”

  She sucked in a breath. “You’re counting down like I’m a toddler?”

  “Four.”

  “I’m a guest in this territory.”

  “Three.” He loomed over her, his broad shoulders filling her vision.

  Limp or no, he could sling her over his shoulder and dump her in the SUV like a sack of potatoes.

  The question was, would he actually do it?

  His voice dropped to a growl. “Two.”

  She ducked and shot forward,
scrambling into the SUV.

  The door slammed after her with a muted thud, enclosing her in expensive leather. Heat blasted her face, shoving her hair back. Almost unconsciously, she relaxed into the seat. Warmth seeped into her back and bottom.

  Heated seats. Rupert was living good.

  The driver’s side door opened, and cold swirled into the car. Rupert folded his large body into the seat, making leather creak.

  She leaned away until her shoulder brushed her door. Aside from Remy, he was the biggest wolf she’d ever seen.

  He paid her no attention. His jaw clenched as he put both hands under his left leg and lifted it into the car. Then he gripped the steering wheel with his right hand and used his left to shut his door. When this was done, he released the wheel and let his hands drop. His shoulders slumped, and he seemed to take a bracing breath. His patched eye was in profile to her, so it was impossible to read his expression.

  She bit her lip. Maybe he was injured worse than he let on. She’d be grumpy too if she had to drag her leg around—and in the cold, no less. No wonder he’d thrown a hissy fit over her getting in the car.

  Wind battered the car, rocking the big SUV back and forth.

  Rupert took another deep breath.

  Against her better judgment, a tendril of sympathy broke through her outrage.

  He lifted a hand and touched his door.

  Click. The sound of the locks engaging was like a gunshot in the quiet car.

  Alarm jolted down her spine. “Ben—”

  In a move too fast for her to track, he spun, seized her arms, and hauled her across the center console, dragging her body against his.

  Terror robbed her of breath. Pinned against a hard chest, all she could do was stare into the narrowed eye inches from her own—the shade lightened to wolf blue.

  “My name’s not Ben,” he said, his voice like gravel. “It’s Bard Bennett.”

  She couldn’t speak. All her training deserted her, leaving her dangling in his grip like a helpless deer.