Page 14 of Lone Wolf’s Claim (The Kincaid Werewolves #1)

B rock was crushing her, but Heather didn't care. Breathing was overrated, as far as she was concerned. And if she died, well, she couldn't think of a more perfect way to go than being smothered by this beautiful male as he loved her.

She felt him stirring inside of her again and her muscles clenched around him in response. His moan mixed with hers as he started to move inside of her again with long, sure strokes.

He lifted his weight up onto his elbows and she took a deep breath. His beautiful hair fell around them like a curtain as he gazed down at her face, his blue eyes so intense she began to get a bit uncomfortable. But when she closed her eyes, he nipped at her bottom lip.

"Open yer eyes, sunshine. Look at me."

She did, and he held her captive with his gaze as he increased his pace within her until she cried out from the intensity of it.

"I can't get enough of ye," he breathed. Then he pulled back and slammed into her hard. Her hands gripped his tight ass, encouraging him to do it again.

He did, over and over. Then he shifted his hips slightly and Heather’s eyes drifted closed as she lost herself in the feelings he was invoking inside of her.

Reaching between them, he slid his thumb over her clit as he pounded into her.

She arched toward him, the pressure building higher and higher, until with a few final thrusts she shattered around him with an incoherent cry.

Throwing his head back, his voice joined hers and she felt him pulsing inside of her.

Needing something to hang onto, she held him tight as he slowed his pace again, his body trembling as he brought them down.

She sighed happily, tightening her arms around his muscular shoulders and pulling him down to her to hug him to her.

"I'm going to crush you," he grumbled in her ear, but he made no move to get up.

Not that she would have let him anyway. She wanted to stay in this moment just a little longer, before reality caught up to them again.

Her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly.

And there it was…

Brock did move then. "You're hungry. Let me get dinner going.

" With a kiss on the corner of her mouth, he carefully extracted himself and rolled off of her.

Running a hand over her curves from her neck to her thigh, he gave her a squeeze and sighed with longing, then sat up and pulled her up with him.

"Come on. I'll build a fire and we can wash our clothes. We'll dry them by the fire."

"And what am I supposed to wear while they're drying?" she asked with a quirk of her brow.

He gave her a naughty grin, got to his feet, and offered her a hand, completely unabashed by his own nudity.

Of course if she had a body like that, she'd run around naked all the time too.

Taking his hand, she followed him back into the natural spring, trying to stay behind him so he wouldn’t notice all of her jiggly bits.

* * *

A few hours later, they were lying naked in the grass with her back snuggled up against his front. His arm was wrapped tightly around her middle, and between that and the fire in front of her, she was snug as a bug in spite of the oncoming night and the dropping temperature.

Their clothes were washed and strewn across the grass on the other side of the flames, and they themselves had had more than one dip in the spring as Brock had insisted on washing her after each time he'd lifted her from the water to have his way with her.

A "way" she'd fully encouraged. And at least she'd managed to get his shoulder wound clean somewhere in there. It looked to be healing nicely.

She sighed, knowing that eventually they were going to have to get around to talking. He had questions, she knew, and she would have to answer them honestly.

And the chances were pretty good that he would want nothing to do with her after he got those answers. But she wouldn't lie to him. Lies only got you into more trouble.

She sighed again. She would miss him.

"What's that about?" he asked between the feather light kisses he was dropping on the back of her shoulder.

She looked back at him with a sad smile. "Nothing,” she lied. “Just wondering how much longer we're going to be stuck here."

He propped his chin on her shoulder and stared at the flames.

His answering sigh matched hers. “Well, if we can avoid any more lost coin tosses, it shouldn’t be more than a couple more days.

” He paused, and she thought he wasn’t going to say anymore about it.

Then he blurted, “That prince of yours, he sure has an interesting sense of humor. I mean, what’s the deal with him? Sending us here? What’s the point?”

"I have no idea,” she answered honestly. But she supposed they would find out, eventually. When the prince was good and ready to tell them.

Why, out of all the places in the entire world, had her people decided to hide out in the bustling city of Seattle? “Stupid, freaking faeries," she mumbled out loud. Immediately, she slapped a hand over her mouth, hoping she’d caught the words before he’d heard them. But no such luck.

Brock stiffened behind her. And then she felt the cool night breeze against her bare back as he sat up to look down at her with a guarded expression. "Did you just say 'faeries'? Like, as in Faeries ? Fae people? People of the forest? Evil, witch-like creatures that like tae fuck wit’ everyone?"

There was that accent again, which she was quickly learning only came out when he was feeling very emotional. Dammit. Why couldn't she keep her mouth shut just for a few more hours?

Sitting up, she scooted over to her clothes. They were just about dry, thank the gods. She couldn't have this conversation naked.

Brock seemed to have no such qualms. Wrapping his arms around his bare knees, he sat in the grass and waited for her while she pulled on her tee shirt and panties.

Feeling slightly less vulnerable, she scratched her forehead, trying to think of a way to make her answer less shocking. Unfortunately, she didn’t think she could.

He stared at her across the fire, his expression unreadable as he repeated, "Heather, did you say 'Faeries'?"

She heaved a heavy sigh and nodded. "I did."

"How do you know what they are?" he asked, his tone laced with suspicion.

Ah. The hundred-dollar question. She chewed her bottom lip while avoiding his eyes. She studied her healing palms. She peeked up at him through her lashes and dropped her eyes again. She ran her fingers through the long, tangled strands of her hair.

He sat still as a statue while she fidgeted. "Heather. How do you know?"

Hanging her head, she let her hair fall forward to cover her face, hiding behind it like the coward that she was. "Because I am one," she whispered.

Brock was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, his deep voice was a full octave higher than normal. "I'm sorry?"

She lifted her head, cleared her throat, and spoke clearly this time.

"Because I am one. I'm Fae." Let him judge her if he wanted to. She wasn't ashamed. She had no control over how she’d been born. She only had control over how she lived her life now that she was here. And thanks to her parents stealing her away when she was a child, she’d managed to do that as far removed from being a Fae as possible. In other words, she was a good person.

He blinked at her with shocked blue eyes for a good ten seconds.

Dropping his gaze to her knees, he studied the rapidly healing flesh there.

Then he rubbed the sides of his face with both hands, rifling the short hairs of his close-cropped beard and smoothing it down again.

“So that explains the ghosting about, and the electricity shooting from your fingers.” He laughed quietly in disbelief, showing straight, white teeth, then became deadly serious again as his eyes returned to her.

Heather sat quietly as he had earlier, waiting for him to take in the fact that he, a werewolf, had just had sex multiple times with her, a Faerie. Something that just wasn't done.

He pulled his hair back off of his face and rubbed his eyes. "I thought they were extinct."

"Not exactly. More like in hiding."

"And you. You are one o' those things?"

She nodded.

An epiphany came across his face. "Ah. I should have guessed from the moment I met you. That's why you smell so good."

"Like the flowers?"

"Yes. But, you're nothing like I was told to expect," he said as he studied her from across the fire like the bug she'd felt like a few minutes earlier.

"For one, you haven't tried tae siphon my soul from my body yet, at least nae that I've noticed.

Or is it only humans that are susceptible tae that? "

"I'm not that type of Fae," she said.

"What kind o' Fae are you then?" he asked. "Exactly?”

She could see his mind churning. Going over everything she'd said and done since he'd met her.

She wished she could say something to ease it, but she was kind of at a loss herself.

She'd been raised outside of the tribe, raised nearly identically to humans.

She'd never tapped into her Fae self, until he'd almost died fighting those raptor things.

Before today, she'd never known she could make electricity fly from her fingers. Or that she was capable of killing something. The only things she’d beaten up previously to this were punching bags and manikins. She had no idea how to be a Faerie.

What she did know, thanks to good old mom and dad, was that the tribe of Fae he'd surely been taught about was different than her tribe, but that wasn't saying a whole lot except that her tribe wasn’t addicted to humans.

She was a good witch, not a bad one. Her people were the ones that had kept the bad Fae under control. Or tried to, anyway.