Page 16 of Lone Wolf’s Claim (The Kincaid Werewolves #1)

B rock was still awake when the sun rose the next morning. He'd been awake all night keeping the fire alive while Heather tossed restlessly in her sleep on the damp ground.

Watching her now, it was hard to believe what she'd told him last night. A Faerie? Clumsy, straightforward, sexy, city dwelling, adorable Heather was one of the Fae? He was having a difficult time wrapping his brain around it. What he’d said earlier was true though; he should’ve known by the way she smelled.

Her scent attracted him like a bear to honey.

Or rather a wolf. Just being near her woke up every nerve in his body.

The way her pretty eyes were always dancing with mischief as her lush curves enchanted him with every move she made, she was a nymph of nature calling to the animal in him.

But if she was one of them, what was the point of this stupid game they were playing? Why had the prince thrown them here together after finding out that Brock wanted her? What was he hoping to achieve?

These questions and others had kept him from getting any sleep, and he still wasn't any closer to having an answer for any of them.

But if there was one thing he knew from all of the old stories he'd been told, it's that the Fae never did anything without a reason.

And that reason was usually one of complete fucked-up-ness.

Like so they could feed off of the souls of humans.

Brock was a relatively young wolf; he hadn't been around yet when the wars were going on hundreds of years before.

But he'd heard the stories. All of those people that died in Europe in the early 1300's?

Yeah, those deaths weren't all from famine and disease, although those things sure came in handy when it came to explaining away the real reasons.

According to the stories passed down by the werewolves that had been there, nearly half of those deaths were caused from Faeries and their addiction to human energy.

The symptoms of the victims were similar to that of starvation and therefore hadn’t stood out as anything stranger than normal back then.

The person would continue to live…zombie-like…

for a week, or maybe two, as their body shut down little by little every day until finally, one day, they just didn't wake up again. Just like a seriously ill person.

No one knew what had made the previously mischievous but reclusive Fae start feeding on humans after living side by side with them for so many years.

Until that had started, they’d easily lived in peace together since the humans had first evolved.

Back then, the Fae were no more than a bedtime story told to human children to keep them out of trouble, or to encourage them to follow their dreams and find that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

When the rest of the supernatural world had figured out what was going on, the others had been hesitant to get involved with anything not having to do with their own kind.

But the werewolves had volunteered to bond together to fight them.

It was the one time in history that the packs had put aside their own differences and joined together for a common cause.

Because in spite of the fact that humans were afraid of, and therefor hunted, anything that was different than them (often with good reason), the wolves couldn't just stand by and watch them be exterminated.

It would throw off the balance of nature, maybe never to be righted again.

So, they'd become hunters of the Fae. Slowly, but surely, they'd killed them all off.

Or so they'd believed.

But if what Heather had told him was true, the Fae still lived. And more importantly, there were different tribes of them. A previously unknown fact as far as Brock knew.

He needed to get out of this place, and warn Cedric, the local pack leader here in Seattle. He would know what to do.

Brock stood and started kicking dirt over the fire as his thoughts drifted back to his one and only meeting with the Scottish alpha wolf shortly after he'd arrived in the States.

As was required when visiting outside of your own lands, he'd gone to the pack leader's home on the outskirts of Seattle to ask his permission to stay in their territory for a while.

"How long is 'a while'?" Cedric had asked.

"Until I can win over the girl, at the very least." Brock grinned.

"The friend?"

"Yes. Heather Knight is her name."

The alpha leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his massive chest. "Ye 'ave my permission tae stay. On one condition."

Brock's "thank you" stuck in his throat. "What condition is that?"

Leaning forward in his chair, Cedric speared him with those eerie white eyes of his.

"Ye see, I ken that yer no' telling me the entire truth.

There's more tae yer story, wee pup. But I'm willin' tae let ye get more comfortable here 'n' with me.

I ken it's hard to trust when ye 'ave been on yer own for a while. "

"Aye, I ken that yer without pack," Cedric answered his look of surprise. "And until I ken more aboot ye, I'm no' inclined to bring ye into mine. Ye ken?"

"Sure. I understand. And thank you, for letting me stay."

"Och. Aye. Now git yer arse out of here before the other lads show up and give ye a hard time. They will nae harm ye. Ye 'ave my word."

The two wolves stood and shook hands.

"Thank you, again. I really appreciate it," Brock told him at the door.

"Take this just in case I need ye." He handed Brock a cell phone. "Now, go get yer lass." Cedric grinned as he closed the door in his face.

Even in just that short time he’d been around him, he’d liked Cedric right from the start. Unlike his previous alpha, Cedric carried his role of pack leader with a mature, confident strength, not cockiness. Maybe, if things worked out, he’d talk to him about staying in the area a little longer.

An ache filled his chest as he thought of being around a pack again.

Even one he wasn’t a member of. It wasn’t natural for him to be off on his own like he’d been.

Of course, that was the whole point of being banned.

Most wolves evicted from their pack didn’t survive the beat down that accompanied it, and they preferred it that way.

Dying was a better option than living such a lonely existence.

It was purely bad luck that he had lived through it.

His thoughts drifted to Lucian: His oldest friend, and the reason he found himself in this situation if you got right down to it.

He really hoped the bastard appreciated what he’d done for him, although somehow he doubted it.

Lucian had always been too self-absorbed, to the extent that Brock had often wondered if his lifelong friend truly cared about anyone but himself.

If he had the choice to do it all over again, to choose between saving himself or his friend, he didn’t know that he would make the same choice.

Brock shook off the thoughts of his past as his gaze wandered back to the lovely female snoring next to the smoldering ashes of the fire.

Her snores were soft and ladylike, just like her, and he smiled in spite of his trepidations.

He'd gotten the girl. But he'd lost the phone Cedric had given him.

Not a good way to gain the trust of the Kincaid pack if the alpha was, in fact, trying to reach him.

But there wasn't much he could do about it at the moment.

There was, however, something he could do about the girl.

If she was Fae as she claimed, this relationship wouldn't last once they got back to the real world.

It couldn't. Werewolves and Fae were sworn enemies, and had been for hundreds of years.

Even if he accepted her as his mate, other wolves wouldn't. And the Fae wouldn't accept him either.

He would forever be protecting his mate from being attacked and quite possibly killed by others of their own kind.

She'd be an outcast. Like him. And he cared about her too much already to do that to her.

He needed to end this thing between them. Now.

As if she could feel his attention on her, her eyes fluttered open, blinking in the light of morning.

When she saw him standing there, she smiled up at him and her entire face lit up like a ray of much needed sunshine.

He felt like an ass when that smile faltered because he didn't reciprocate, but he'd never been very good at hiding his feelings.

She got stiffly to her feet and brushed off her clothes. "What's wrong?" she asked. "What's happened?"

He knew he looked like he'd just lost his favorite snuggly.

But he couldn't help it. He would miss her. He opened his mouth to tell her what he’d been thinking, to let her know that the night before had truly meant more to him than she would ever know, but that they needed to go their separate ways once they got out of here.

But all that came out was, "Nothing. We just need to go, so we can get the fuck out of here. "

She eyed him up and down, but only said, "Okay. Just give me a few minutes."

He watched her walk into the shelter of the trees as his heart fractured within his chest, then he finished putting out the fire and laced up his boots. He released a frustrated breath.

Dammit.

Brock was used to being alone. He'd been alone for a few years now. No pack. No friends. His parents had died when he was very young. So why did the thought of never seeing this one particular female again bother him so much? A female he'd only known for a few days?

He sighed heavily. Realistically, he’d only known her for a few days, but his soul felt like he’d been searching for her for a long, long, time.

Well, he'd just have to get over it. There were other females in the world. Lots of them. Human females. Shifter females. He could have any one of them he wanted.

Except he didn't want any of those nameless, faceless women. He wanted Heather.

He kicked at a few last burning embers in frustration, then kicked at them harder when they refused to go out. With a curse he knelt down on one knee to use his hands, and then he realized why those embers were still burning.

Because it wasn't embers he saw in the dirt. It was a half buried golden coin, glinting up at him like there was not a cloud in the sky.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he muttered.

A trickle of nervous sweat meandered down his temple, and he wiped it away impatiently.

Brock looked around for Heather, but she was nowhere in sight.

"Heather!" He waited for her to respond or come wandering out of the fog, and even debated going in after her after a few minutes had gone by with no sign of her.

Then he felt something hit the toe of his boot.

The coin had moved all on its own and was now lying right next to his foot.

“Ah, fuck it.”

Closing his eyes and saying a quick prayer to anyone who happened to be listening, he picked it up and threw it in the air.

"Heads!" he called loud and clear. Catching it and flipping it over onto his opposite hand, he sent up another quick prayer for good measure and took a deep breath before he forced himself to look.

The prince's face looked back at him.

"Whoo!" he whooped to the sky, and stuck it in his pocket with the other one.

Take that, you bastard. Maybe they'd get a change of clothes or something.

Or a toothbrush. He smiled, thinking how happy Heather was gonna be when he told her what had happened while she was gone.

He waited for a bit, but nothing dropped out of the sky. Nothing appeared out of the mist.

Maybe that was what he got for winning. A whole lot of nothing happening. And that was just fine with him.

Kneeling at the edge of the spring, he stuck his hands into the water to splash some of it on his face.

With a yell, he yanked them back out again and looked at the blisters rising on his hands in disbelief.

The water that had been pleasantly heated while they’d bathed the night before was now scalding hot.

"What the fuck?" he exclaimed.

They were burned from the scalding hot water. The shit was practically boiling.

A gurgling sound pulled his attention from his burned hands back to the water.

As he watched, a bubble floated to the surface of the spring, then another, and another.

More and more of them until the water was heated to a roiling boil.

Steam rose in a thick curtain from the surface as the hot water dissipated in the cool morning air.

“Well, hell.” It was a good thing they hadn’t jumped in for a morning bath. They would’ve ended up more like flavoring for the soup.

Brock stood up and backed away, noticing something weird with the water level. It was rising. Rapidly. He squinted into the thickening fog and searched the trees again. "Heather!" he shouted. "Heather!!"

The water started to trickle over the rocky sides, and Brock danced back out of its way.

Once it hit the grass, some of it soaked into the ground, but not enough.

The ground was already over saturated, and it quickly began to flood the area.

He needed to get to the other side of the spring to the thicker set of trees where Heather had disappeared before he got cut off from her.

No sooner had the thought entered his mind than the spring erupted, spewing a fifty-foot stream of boiling water into the air.

Heart pounding, he took off running before it could fall back down to land on him, skirting the edge of the overflowing water.

Drops of hot water rained on him from the fountain, burning him, but he ignored them.

Keeping his eye on the water he pumped his arms and legs harder. He was almost around it.

The ground rumbled beneath him and Brock stumbled as another burst of water shot into the air not ten feet from him, and twice as high this time. Waves of it came rolling rapidly toward him.

He wasn't going to make it.