Page 3 of Lone Wolf’s Claim (The Kincaid Werewolves #1)

He could be mistaken, it was still pretty dark after all, but he could swear that he'd finally caught up to the woman of his dreams, only to find her about to get on the train with some scrawny, homeless-looking guy hanging on her arm.

Leaning his head back against the wall, he couldn't believe his luck. Had she been playing with him all this time? Messing with his feelings? What about all of those smiles on the plane ride over? And the touching? And the looking?

And the touching?

His chest heaved on a heavy sigh. Somehow he wasn't surprised. What the hell was wrong with people these days? Everyone was so damn selfish. No one cared about other people anymore. About their feelings. Or about how their decisions may affect another person, and the plans they'd made.

Naked plans.

Respectful , but naked, plans.

He thumped the back of his head against the wall and looked toward the heavens for some answers. None were forthcoming.

He sighed again. It didn't matter. He didn't deserve a sweet female like that, anyway. Sooner or later she'd find out the kind of male he really was. Or at least the kind of male everyone thought he was. The circumstances didn't matter. Not in his world. She wouldn't be so keen on him then.

Shoving his hands deep into the front pockets of his jeans, he scowled at the pavement through the curtain of his long hair.

Then he shook his head slightly in response to his own self-doubt.

No. He wasn't going to give up that easily.

He wasn't a bad guy. He wasn't. There were reasons he'd done what he'd done.

Honorable reasons.

And he had plans. Plans that included running his hands and mouth over every single inch of soft skin covering all of those luscious curves of hers. He'd never be able to get her out of his head until he did. The need to fuck her had obsessed him since he’d first laid eyes on her.

An uplifting thought occurred to him: Maybe he was jumping to conclusions. Misreading the situation. He could at least try to have a conversation with her. Find out what was going on. He hadn't come all of this way for nothing.

Besides, he'd saved her life. And her best friend's life. That had to count for something.

His head snapped up, his musings scattering away on the gusty breeze. He could have sworn he'd heard his name. Leaning around the corner, he saw they were just about to get on the light rail.

Heather hesitated in the doorway and looked around, shooting her companion a dirty look when he rudely shoved her and ordered her to get inside.

Had she looked scared? Was she looking for him?

Brock scoffed at himself as soon as the thought crossed his mind, yet somehow, he felt that he wasn't far off the mark.

Straightening up off the wall, he rushed toward the train, hopping through the back door right before it closed.

Lowering his large frame into the first empty seat he saw, he slouched down and decided to watch and wait.

He didn't want to make a fool out of himself. He wanted to know what was going on between them before he’d let his presence there be known.

His eyes narrowed and a possessive growl rumbled in his chest as the homeless guy put his arm around Heather. The only thing that saved the degenerate from a certain immediate death right then and there was the way she stiffened at his touch.

"Is that really necessary?" Heather hissed.

Even though they were sitting more toward the front, Brock had no trouble hearing their conversation. Supernatural canine hearing and all that. Plus, they were the only ones on the train other than a middle-aged couple who still looked half asleep.

The homeless guy chuckled. "Just wanna make sure you don't go anywhere."

Heather grabbed his hand, bent his wrist back, and ducked out from under his arm, shoving it back toward him.

That's my girl.

"Where would I freaking go? I'm not going to jump out of a moving train, even if I could get the doors open."

"It's not like it would permanently hurt you," the homeless guy said.

Huh? Of course it would hurt her.

"Be that as it may," she answered, "I still don't like pain. Not even the temporary kind. I wouldn’t purposely inflict it on myself."

The guy leaned in closer to her and lowered his voice until even Brock had to strain to hear him. "Then I strongly suggest you don't give me any trouble. Now that we know you're still alive, there won't be any more hiding from us."

"I realize this, Frank. I'm not stupid." After a pause, she asked, "So, what does this mean? For me? What's going to happen now?"

"You're going to come back to us. The prince will tell you anything else you need to know."

Go back where? Prince of what? What the fuck is this guy talking about?

"What if I don't want to come back?"

"That's not an option."

Heather narrowed her eyes at him. "Oh, there's always another option."

The man stared at her, but she glared right back until he gave her a tight smile and looked away.

They were quiet the rest of the trip, but Brock could tell that Heather was extremely nervous.

Scared even. He fought the overwhelming need to follow his heart and swoop in there and rescue her.

His head was telling him to bide his time.

He would continue to follow them instead, and find out what they were talking about before he saved the girl.

The light rail pulled up to SEA-TAC. Brock slid down lower in his seat until they walked up to the front door and got off, and then he waited until the last second before he jumped out the rear door.

He quickly spotted Heather and her friend and set off after them, staying back far enough that he wouldn't be easily noticed.

Surprisingly, they didn't enter the airport, but veered off toward the parking garage instead. The homeless guy, Frank, steered Heather toward a rusted out, green Buick parked about halfway down one of the rows of vehicles. Brock watched as she stood passively while he opened the door for her, but as soon as he let go of her arm, she tried to make a run for it. However he must’ve been expecting it, for he caught her easily and lifted her into the car like her superior height was nothing to him.

Shutting the door, he shook his head at her and waved his hand through the air in front of him. The locks clicked.

Brock heard the locks go down and ducked behind a nearby car. He watched through the windows as she struggled to open her door while Frank casually strolled around the front of the car and got into the driver's side.

As soon as he heard the engine rev, he flagged down some people that had just parked their truck near him. "I need to borrow your vehicle," he told the man and his young wife.

"What? No! Get the hell out of here. Asshole."

The human had a lot of balls seeing as to how he was a good foot or more shorter than Brock with nowhere near the muscle mass. He had to respect a guy that stood up for himself, even if he was obviously lacking in intelligence, but he didn't have time to play right now.

Letting his wolf out just a bit, his blue eyes became brighter and brighter until they glowed from his face like burning hot flames. He pulled his lips back from his elongated canines, and growled ominously at the human. "Give me your fucking keys."

The man’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. Sweat popped out on his upper lip. Dropping the keys on the pavement, he turned and ran, leaving his suitcases and his wife behind to fend for herself.

Brock picked the keys up off of the pavement and looked over to see Heather and her companion just pulling out of the garage. "Ma'am," he said politely to the terrified woman standing there next to the luggage. "I'll need you to get out of the way."

She jumped to the side as he hopped in and started the truck, backed it up, and pulled away with a squeal of the tires.

He didn't have to follow them far, just across the highway and into a residential neighborhood.

They pulled into the driveway of an ordinary, one-story house with tan siding and flaky white trim.

Brock hung back just down the street, pulling over to the side of the small road.

Turning his lights off, he waited to make sure they were going to stay there before he shut off the engine and got out.

This early in the morning, none of the other residents were up and around yet, so there was no need for the vagrant to continue the ruse of being any kind of a nice guy. He kept a firm grip on Heather's upper arm as he yanked her toward the house, forcing her along with him even when she stumbled.

Brock jogged up the street as soon as they disappeared inside, and after a quick scan of the area to make sure no one was watching, he slid around to the side of the house.

The back yard was fenced in, so he reached over the gate and felt for the latch.

He found it easily and let himself into the backyard.

Leaving it unlatched behind him, he dropped into a crouch and waited, listening for dogs, but none came running to see who was invading their territory. Staying low, he snuck around to the back of the house where he could see in the windows.

Heather was there, standing in the middle of a large kitchen devoid of any furniture.

She stood tall with her arms at her sides and her chin lifted as she faced the one in front of her.

But he saw her eyes skitter around the room, belying her calm outward demeanor.

Behind her were three men, including Frank, the homeless guy who had brought her here.

Brock crept closer until he was right outside the window closest to where she stood and pressed his back against the outside wall, out of sight.

One, two, three!

Twisting around, he took a quick look inside before slamming his back up against the outer wall again.

Other than a block of kitchen knives on the counter, there weren't any weapons in there that he had seen.

That would certainly make his rescue a hell of a lot easier.

Of course, even if there were, they wouldn't hurt him enough to stop him.

But getting stabbed or shot did tend to make him wolf out, and he'd rather not do that in front of her just yet if he could avoid it.

Besides, it ruined his clothes, and he'd just bought these jeans.

His musings were interrupted by the sound of a silvery voice speaking perfect non-accented English.

"An unexpected guest! I'm so glad you could come!"

Brock froze, thinking for a moment that he was speaking to him until he heard Heather mutter, “This was unexpected all right.” Squatting down until only his eyes were above the bottom windowpane, he peered through the window again.

The guy in front of her was speaking. A tall man with long, white hair and an aquiline nose.

He was wearing a black, button down shirt and dress pants, and was quite elegant in his mannerisms. Brock guessed him to be about fifty-ish, more or less.

It was hard to tell. Narrowing his eyes in thought, he looked the male up and down again.

There was something strangely familiar about him…

The homeless guy with the dirty-blonde hair gave Heather a shove from behind.

"You will kneel before your prince," he spit out.

She gave him a look over her shoulder. "Stop being such a bully, Frank." But doing as he'd ordered, she lowered herself rather gracefully to one knee and tilted her head toward the man's silver-tipped boots.

The "prince" tsk’ed at Frank and smiled down at Heather. "There is no need for that, daughter. Forgive him. You may rise."

Daughter?

She rose to her feet but kept her head down.

Lines of worry were etched on Brock's forehead. Even in the short time he’d known her, he knew that being so well behaved wasn't like her at all.

He could see her chest rising and falling with each rapid breath and knew she was frightened.

But other than the rude one who'd brought her here, he couldn't see what was so scary about these guys. They looked perfectly pleasant to him.

It was really a shame that he was going to have to pound them all through that pretty hardwood floor.