Page 9 of Lone Wolf’s Claim (The Kincaid Werewolves #1)

H er nipples tightened against his chest and moisture pooled between her thighs as he claimed her mouth again.

His beard was soft against her chin and Heather moaned, her hands grasping his sides of their own accord.

They slid underneath his shirt, up the firm slabs of muscle and across the light dusting of hair on his chest to grip his shoulders. He was so warm…and hard.

His hands dropped from the wall to grip her ass, squeezing hard.

One leg wedged itself between hers until she was riding his muscular thigh, which she did with abandon.

She couldn’t help it. She’d always been a lusty girl, and this male brought her to entire new levels of shamelessness.

A low growl of approval rumbled through his chest, and he pulled her hips toward him.

She could feel the warmth of his hands through her yoga pants, and she would've given anything at that moment to have them on her bare skin.

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than his hands slid up to her waistband. One of them slid up her back, underneath her shirt, while the other made its way under her pants and panties to cup a bare cheek in his large palm.

She broke off the kiss. "Brock…"

He stilled immediately. With a last squeeze and a groan of disappointment, he removed his hands from underneath her clothes. "Too fast? I'm sorry." Holding her hips, he pressed his forehead to hers, breathing as hard as she was.

"I just…" She stopped. She just what? Wanted him to stop? Wanted him to rip her clothes off and take her against the rough wall?

Wanted him to know who she was before they took it any further.

She opened her mouth to tell him when she felt him stiffen against her, and not in a good way. He lifted his head and stared toward the entrance. She could practically see his hackles rising.

"What is it?" she whispered.

He released her hips and stepped away, holding one finger to his lips, and then turned to face the entrance to the cave.

Her muscles tensed as her eyes flickered back between him and the entrance, waiting for a cue as to whether she should find a weapon of some sort and prepare to fight, or if she should get ready to run.

Tilting his head up, he sniffed the air. "Stay here," he ordered in a low tone that brooked no argument. His heavy boots made no sound at all as he silently slipped from the cave.

She did exactly as she'd been told for almost an entire ten seconds before she crept over to the entrance and peered out into the mist. Brock was nowhere to be seen, but she knew better than to call out and give away her presence there. She wasn't stupid.

As quietly as she could, she tiptoed along the right side of the small mound of earth that enclosed her hideout.

Reaching the edge, she put her hands down on the damp moss that covered it and leaned over as far as she could, trying to see through the damn fog.

But all she could see were the ghostly tree trunks that peppered the landscape around her hideout.

Nothing moved. No birds sang. Nothing scampered through the tree limbs.

All was quiet. Too quiet. It was downright unnerving.

She’d decided to go back toward the cave when her toe nudged something on the ground. She picked up Brock's shirt and pants and, looking around, found his boots.

If she'd found his clothes, that meant he was out here somewhere in wolf form.

He could be miles away by now. She should definitely go back into the cave, but she felt too trapped in there.

If someone or something other than Brock found her, there would be nowhere for her to run. Nowhere for her to hide.

But she could at least go stand by the entrance. That was fair, right? He hadn't actually told her to stay inside the cave.

She'd barely taken two steps when something cold and wet touched the back of her neck through the strands of her hair and a warm snuffle of breath lifted the goose flesh there.

She froze in fear, a scream catching in her throat just as a large wolf-like thing with sun-kissed fur stepped up alongside her.

His back was nearly up to her ribcage, and his large head was tilted toward her, not quite wolf - not quite human, his scathing blue eyes reprimanding her more severely than words ever could.

Heather gave him a sheepish shrug and a nervous smile, whispering, "I was just on my way back there. I swear!"

The wolf narrowed its eyes at her and tossed its head toward the stream, then trotted off in that direction. Was she supposed to follow him?

He stopped about twenty feet away and swung his head around to stare at her. She could still feel his anger because she hadn't followed his orders, but apparently he wasn't angry enough to abandon her to her fate.

She headed his way and he waited until she had caught up to him before he turned away and headed toward the creek.

Tucking his clothes and his boots under one arm, she ran her fingers through a hunk of fur on the side of his neck and hung on tight, taking comfort in the feel of him as they walked together.

His eyes closed briefly at her touch, and a shiver rippled across his skin. She noticed his reaction, but didn't let go. She needed the reassurance.

"Is there something out here?" she asked quietly.

Giving her a sideways look, he gave his head a quick shake, but then growled low in his throat. She took that to mean that he felt like there was, but hadn't found anything yet.

He picked up their pace, discouraging any more questions.

Heather struggled to keep up without tripping over the rocks and branches that littered the ground, but she didn't complain.

She was just grateful to be with him and that he hadn't left her back in the cave to cower alone in the corner until he came back.

When they came alongside the stream he walked to the edge and then turned to follow it upstream.

His ears swiveled around this way and that, twitching at every little noise, and she didn't need to be told to be as silent as possible.

His body language was telling her that whatever threat he sensed was still out there.

She tried reaching out with her own untrained senses, but other than his rapidly diminishing anger with her, she felt nothing else.

Nothing unusual. Blowing her hair out of her eyes on a frustrated exhale, she tried again.

But still, nothing. His instincts alone were going to have to be enough to guide them.

They'd gone about a half-mile when he skidded to a halt.

She stood next to him, breathing hard for a few seconds before she noticed he was staring at something.

Glancing around the area first, she stepped closer and saw something glinting among the rocks at the edge of the water.

Bending down, she reached into the icy water and picked it up.

Her stomach clenched when she saw what it was.

A golden coin.

She dropped it back on the ground, intending to leave it there and keep on walking, but Brock nudged it closer to her again with his nose.

Frowning at him, she said, "No. I'm not playing his stupid game."

He shook his head up and down and pushed the coin right up to her foot. Heather sighed and picked it up again, sticking it in her coat pocket. "There. Now let's go."

After a brief hesitation, he joined her.

They'd been walking for about five minutes when Heather asked, "Why does it seem like we've been passing that same exact fallen tree over and over again?

" She glanced over at Brock, and his eyes were narrowed on the same tree she was talking about. So, he'd noticed it too.

He stopped and dug at the ground with his front paw. When he was finished, there was a distinct "H" dug into the dirt. Glancing over at her, he only started walking again after making sure she'd seen it.

A minute later, Heather saw that same fallen tree, and watching the ground in front of her, she wasn't surprised to see the form of an "H" dug into the ground.

They stopped again. Looking behind them and then ahead of them, she asked him, "How is this possible?

We can't be walking in circles. We're following the stream!

We didn't cross it…" Unless the stream just went around in a circle and reconnected to itself? “Does the stream go in circles?”

He snuffled and shook his head.

“Then why do we keep coming back around to the same place?” she asked.

Brock shook himself, then sat down on his haunches and stared at her.

"What?" she snapped. She hadn’t meant to sound like that, but she was frustrated and tired and she wanted to go home.

His eyes went purposely to her pocket, then to her hand, and back up to her face.

Heather shook her head, "Oh, hell no. I am NOT tossing this thing."

He cocked his head and stared at her, an infinity of patience in his gaze.

"I said no," she told him adamantly.

He huffed out a breath and gazed off into the distance. Waiting.

"Brock, we should try to keep going."

Other than one ear twitching toward the sound of her voice, he gave no indication that he had heard her.

"This coin is not the reason we can't leave where we are." But deep down inside, she knew that it could be exactly for that reason.

Rubbing her forehead with her fingertips, she sighed.

"Fine. I'll throw the damn coin." With a feeling of dread, she pulled it from her pocket.

Brock watched with anxious eyes as she flipped it into the air and called out, "Tails!

" Catching it and flipping it over onto the back of her opposite hand, they both peered at it.

The narrow face of the Fae prince stared back at them.

"Well, hell," Heather breathed nervously.