Page 18 of Lone Wolf’s Claim (The Kincaid Werewolves #1)
B rock fought the current and leaped to the side, all four paws scurrying for purchase on the muddy ground as he tried to avoid being sucked back into the floodwaters.
He'd watched with his heart in his throat as Heather had disappeared over the edge of the waterfall.
Her terrified scream had triggered a corresponding reaction in him, bringing on the change without warning.
He'd screamed with her as his body had contorted, throwing him mid-change right into the water with her.
Swept along with the raging water, he knew better than to try and fight it, instead he just took a breath whenever he could and tried to avoid colliding with large debris.
As soon as he'd regained some control in the swirling water, he'd managed to paddle over to the side and drag himself up onto the muddy bank.
He looked out over the devastation the water had left behind.
The little stream they'd been following, their only landmark in this crazy place, appeared to have been transformed into something that resembled more of a river about the size of the Amazon.
Of course that was only speculation. With the ever-present fog obscuring his view, he could only hazard a guess as to how large it had grown.
All of the trees anywhere near it were gone, washed away in the power of the flood. Which meant so were the pieces of clothing he'd tied to them to mark his way back to where he'd landed. Hell, the entire area he'd previously travelled was probably under water.
Sprinting along with the rushing river, he slid to a stop at the edge of the waterfall, searching below for any sign of Heather. He didn't see anything floating in the water or washed up onto the bank. Not a scrap of clothing, nothing. Throwing his head back, he howled his anguish to the sky.
Pacing back and forth, he searched the edge for an accessible way down.
However, all he saw was the sheer side of a rocky cliff.
There was nothing to dig his claws into, nothing to break his slide.
And at the bottom were more of the never-ending, fucking pine trees.
He had to be at least a few hundred feet up.
The towering trees resembled tiny plastic pieces of a child's toy rather than the majestic evergreens that they were. If he tried to slide down the rock he’d end up impaled on the pointy tip of one of those trees.
He watched the churning water as another uprooted tree was swept over the edge to shatter at the bottom like it was nothing but a matchstick. Could Faeries die from a fall like that?
The thought left him reeling. He had to get down there, and fast. Running horizontal to the edge of the cliff, he finally found a traversable gradient about a half-mile away and bounded over the side. Half running and half skidding down the rock, he made his way to the bottom in record time.
Backtracking to the water, he put his nose to the ground and searched for signs of his female.
Watching her fall off the edge of the earth had brought a simple clarity to what was between them.
He couldn't lose her now. Not now. Not when he'd just realized how much he needed her.
And fuck the fact that she was Fae and he was a shifter.
He didn't belong to a pack. He had no one to protest his choice of a mate.
They'd move around a lot. Stay under the radar. He'd protect her.
He didn't want to be alone anymore.
Fortified with a new determination, he followed the edge of the water.
A few miles downstream, he caught a trace of her scent.
Twenty feet inland, he found her. It looked like she had dragged herself by the elbows as far as she could away from the edge of the water before collapsing in the soft pine needles under a massive pine tree.
She was unconscious, black and blue and bloody from numerous cuts and scrapes, but she was alive. He could hear her heart beating. It was strong and steady. Her left arm and right calf were twisted at weird angles, the bones broken in numerous locations.
He nudged her limp body with his nose, then stepped over her to try again on her other side. She didn't respond.
Whining with worry and fear, he shook the water from his fur and paced back and forth a few times before he sat down next to her. He tried to calm himself enough to change back so he could help her. It took him a good while and some chanting of mantras, but he finally did it.
Back in human form, he rolled her onto her back and pulled her limp body halfway onto his lap.
"Come on, sunshine. Wake up for me." Peeling her wet hair from her face, he watched her eyelids flutter briefly.
"That's it. Come on. Wake up for me now.
" He put his palm against her cheek, one of the few places he could see that wasn't bruised or bleeding, and kissed her on the forehead.
"Heather. Please. I need you tae wake up and let me know that I can stop freaking out. Come on, sunshine."
He shook her gently and she moaned in protest, her lids fluttering again.
"That's it. Wake up and ye can yell at me all ye want for causin’ ye discomfort. But until then, I'm going tae keep bugging ye." He shook her again.
"Ow," she croaked.
It was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. He grinned like an idiot and pulled her against his chest, hugging her close in spite of her weak protests.
Then she passed out again.
He let her be this time, as hard as it was for him to see her in such a state.
It would be easier for her when he set her broken limbs.
Gritting his teeth, he laid her back down and did what needed to be done quickly and efficiently, ripping her thin, running jacket in half to bind her newly set bones as best he could.
For a long time afterward, he sat naked in the mud with her on his lap, just watching her breathe.
As her chest rose and fell in a steady cadence, his thoughts drifted back to the epiphany he’d had when she’d gone over the waterfall.
He’d meant every word. Heather was his now, and he was hers.
She wasn’t your usual Faerie, and he was a wolf without a pack.
Somehow, they’d carve their way in this world.
Together. And if her prince didn’t like it, he could shove it where the sun didn’t shine.
Something teased the edge of his memory when he thought of the Fae prince. Something important. But no matter how hard he racked his brain, it remained just out of his reach.
He sighed, too distraught to worry about it now, and worried instead about what Heather would say when she found out the truth about him.
Three Years Earlier
Brock stood in a submissive pose in front of his alpha, waiting for him to declare his decision.
Sweat trickled down his spine, not entirely caused by the unusually warm sun beating down upon the back of his neck.
Behind him, the rest of the werewolf pack moved about restlessly, some already in the process of changing in anticipation of the bloodletting that was surely about to happen.
He glanced over to his right toward his lifelong friend, trying to read how he was feeling about all of this in his stormy grey eyes.
That face was as familiar to him as his own, but his only friend refused to look at him, keeping his eyes somewhere in the vicinity behind his left shoulder.
Was it from guilt, or was he really that selfish?
Brock sighed inwardly. He didn’t know why he was surprised. And he supposed his friend appearing indifferent was for the better. No one would guess the truth of what had really happened to bring them both to this point in time.
"Brock Hume, please come forward tae me.
" Thomas, the alpha male of this unruly Scottish pack, spoke quietly but firmly.
Brock took a few steps forward, keeping his head bowed and his eyes lowered.
The thick-soled boots of his alpha entered his line of vision, and beside him, the silver-tipped boots of his new advisor who was even now whispering in the pack leader's ear.
Low growls of approval vibrated the air around him as the pack surged forward with him, eager to get on with the ritual they were certain was about to happen. Bones cracked and fluid gushed as more of them gave in to the change, bloodlust overtaking them until they were helpless against it.
Thomas bared his teeth at the wolves, calling for order.
Once they'd quieted down to a low roar, he turned his attention to the young werewolf awaiting his decision.
Brock held his breath, even though he knew what was coming.
There was no other choice to be made, really.
Not with him having just spoken his confession loud and clear in front of the entire pack and the evidence of Sara's growing belly: The belly that was growing in spite of the fact that her husband had been off working with another pack for the past eight months with no time for a conjugal visit.
Thomas' voice rang across the clearing, the Scottish brogue rolling from his tongue that Brock had since worked hard to lose. "Brock Hume! Ya have, by yer own admission, broken one o' our most sacred laws.”
A few high-pitched howls rose into the air behind him.
“Th’ punishment for this crime, as stated in our pack law, tis non-negotiable.
" He paused until Brock looked up at him.
Although his features were set in stone, the remorse he was feeling shone behind his eyes.
But as the alpha of the pack, Thomas had no choice but to condemn him to his punishment.
Brock knew this, and did not hold it against this male that had taken him in and helped raise him to be the male that he was.